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Logs:Partying Every Night

2013-09-09T20:55:07Z

Vienne: Created page with "{{ Log | who = I'zech, Telavi | where = Weyrling Training Cavern, High Reaches Weyr | what = I'zech and Telavi catch up between things. Or something. | when = Day 22, Month 9..."

{{ Log
| who = I'zech, Telavi
| where = Weyrling Training Cavern, High Reaches Weyr
| what = I'zech and Telavi catch up between things. Or something.
| when = Day 22, Month 9, Turn 32
| gamedate = 2013.09.07
| quote = I just want to crawl right back inside the womb.
| weather =
| categories =
| mentions =
| ooc =
| icons = i'zech ermmtongue.png, telavi disney.jpg
| log = Oh, autumn. The chill in the night air, the scent of dead leaves on the wind, the crisp dawning of winter constellations. And a light on in the barracks. Maybe it's our intrepid Weyrlingmaster, burning the midnight oil in preparation for her next class of promising young... Yeah, no, that's not it. It's just I'zech. He's lit a glow on his way in, but then he's flopped himself on that sad raggedy couch, still in his jacket, a leg strewn over the arm and his head on the misshapen cushion. Somewhere outside, lurking in the shadows, Rojeth's pale eyes gleam faintly, watchful. And here in the barracks, facing the ceiling with his eyes closed, I'zech laughs to himself. Or probably not himself, but what, really, is the difference?

Telavi doesn't hide from prying eyes, might not even if she noticed them, if she didn't swan on into the barracks like someone who ''belongs'' here-- "Oh, it's you." After a glance at the sole of his boot, she aims to rap her knuckles against his ankle instead. "Still enjoying the vacation?"

At her voice, his brows go up, even though his eyes don't open. The rap at his ankle comes, and then her question, and then I'zech heavy exhale that might want to be a complain but doesn't quite seem to have the energy. "Sure," he replies, a hand coming up to rub the the side of his nose before folding on his chest again, fingers just tucked beneath the open edge of his jacket. "What are you after?" He cracks an eye, just enough to peer through at her.

"Beating you up." Tela says offhandedly, helping herself to a seat on that same arm of the couch, nudging at his leg only if she has to make room. It's just, when he looks at her, he might catch her glance towards the weyrlingmasters'-- ''weyrlingmaster's'' office, now. "You'll have so many fewer of us, whatever will you do."

"Was that all you've got?" That knock on his ankle? I'zech lets out a sigh through his nose to know that he's failed so thoroughly at teaching his weyrling anything of value. But he does shift his leg toward the back of the couch so she can steal a bit of a seat there on the arm. His eyes have closed again, looking, for all appearances, to be resting comfortably. "Don't remind me. Promise not to search anyone who is too much of a useless shithead, yeah?" His bent leg stretches out so his boot can rest heavily in her lap. It's probably a bit dirty.

"It's the element of surprise. If you're expecting it, it's no good," Tela says blithely, quite as though she's not giving away a game of any sort-- or, at least, as if it doesn't matter. What ''does'' turn out to matter: "I'zech!" she yelps, immediately shoving away his foot even as she slides away from that perch she'd ''just'' chosen. "''Shithead''." Because ''dirt''. "It's like you ''want'' me to go get the worst of the worst."

His foot goes down again, but this time I'zech opens both eyes to stare over at her, his expression somewhere between long-suffering and dully amused. "What, you're done calling me sir already?" She must have called him 'sir' at some point. Even if just by accident. "You followed me in here," he points out with a sneering smirk tugging at his mouth, showing a slice of teeth. But she can go on being all outraged if she wants.

Telavi ''does'' want, apparently. "Not ''you''," she says with a toss of her blonde head, her three plaited-together plaits swaying before she angles to try and get a better look at what had been her lap in the glowlight, brushing it off with one hand: which is to say, quite possibly as easy to bait as when she did indeed call him 'sir.' "I should get you a lied-that-he-was-thirteen zitty-faced bed-wetting stank-smelling ''whiner'' who throws up at the smell of muck." Not that, at that last, he'd have been the only one.

"Aww," I'zech croons. "You want to remind me of you?" His chest starts to bounce, entertained by his own teasing, head lolling to the side so he can watch her brushing at herself. I'zech is not looking at her face. "Make sure you find a good bloody one, too." Because no, he has not forgotten her kind offer to show him her bucket. A brow lifts, already expecting a good reaction for bringing that memory up again. And he jerks his head, which could mean she's supposed to come closer. Or maybe it means she should head out and fetch him some awful prospective weyrlings in the middle of the night.

But Tela's already laughing at that whole ''reminder'' crack, even as she takes a neat step back, outrage lost in bright humor: as ''if''. Even when he follows up with the bloodiness, it's too late. "Nice try," she says, leaving her lap alone with one last long stroke. "I'm pretty sure kids go for the 'Like you!' deal when they're ''six''. Or five, maybe." No step forward, no more steps back. "What's it like without Meara around? Are you partying every night without Mommy?"

"And I'd always hoped to impress you with how mature I am," I'zech answers dryly. And if she's not going to attend to the instruction of his jutted chin, then he'll just go back to laying with his eyes closed. "She may have been your mommy, but she wasn't mine," he exhales. "How long has it been since you graduated? And you can't get enough of the barracks." He blows out with a purse of lips. Neveryoumind that he's in the barracks too, for no apparent reason.

"So that's what that was," Telavi says, just as blithely as before. If she should, while his eyes are closed-- and she ''is'' watching his eyes being closed-- ease the slightest bit nearer, she doesn't do it while she's talking, and when she ''does'' talk she drops the volume down that little bit more: a six-Turn-old's game of Statues. And she allegedly can't get enough, but she gives, "And what, you're leashed to them?" a nice little edge.

"Didn't feel like going home," comes I'zech's answer, perfectly unaware that she's nearing, or at least doing a fine job of not caring. Could go either way. "There's a couch. And no one to bother me." He puts a point on those words, stretches those eyebrows again without opening his eyes. And just how close is she now? Arm's reach? Or does she still linger near his feet? Does she secretly have a bottle of something to dump over his head? Oh god, it's not the bucket, is it? In other words, the suspense, it builds.

He can imagine the bucket, if he likes. He can imagine the ''smell'' of it, invading the barracks along with the ghosts of fewmets and teenaged sweat. She might be reachable, were he to suffer himself to stretch, though it's true she's closer to his knees than any other joints. "It's good to know it's not a ''bother.''" But then of course Tela has to add, "And your home, it isn't better than ''this''."

Thankfully, I'zech does not imagine the bucket, nor the bucket's smell. Remember, he's totally unaware that she's creeping in, careful with her voice. Or at least it appears that way. "Not what I meant," he grumbles about the bothering, making a face for her intentional misunderstanding. "And why are you here?" After all, she presumably has a home too, yes? This time when he lifts his hand, it's to rub at one closed eye. "Or did you finally get tired of the whining."

"I wouldn't say," Telavi says judiciously, "that my wing ''whines''." Another intentional misunderstanding? "Oh, it's just too stressful being in the Weyrleader's wing, and being all ambitious and everything. I just want to crawl right back inside the womb." Speaking of buckets. And intentional maybe-misleadings.

"Wasn't talking about your wing," I'zech answers flatly, cracking an eye again and with no surprise that she's nearer his knee than his foot. "Is that your slant now? Looking for a womb to hide in?" Again, the brows flick, a momentary 'well sure' frown taking his mouth. "I suppose I'm not surprised," he says with a shrug. And then there's a resettling of his shoulders against the cushions. "Can't knock it." He snorts out a laugh, either at his own silent jest or someone else's.

"Weren't you," Telavi says flatly, if not quite ''as'' flatly, cracking a smile if not anyone's eye. She doesn't ask. She ''can'' knock at I'zech's knee if not his ankle this time, unless he dodges just that well, right before, "Speaking of," and starting off toward Quinlys' office with the intent to try the door.

I'zech doesn't dodge, and he even swings his leg a bit when she goes knock knocking on his knee. But at least he's watching her again, just in time to see her head off toward the office. He tracks her for a few paces, and then, without much of the usual 'oh, my life is so hard' fanfare, pushes himself up to sit, both boots on the floor as he pitches over his knees. He doesn't ask her what she's on about, poking at the office in the dead of night. He just looks out toward the bowl and makes a face, mouth twisted to one side and eyes squinted. A hand rubs over his unruly hair before he stares after Telavi again.

What Telavi knocks this time is the door. It echoes. There's no voice from within, so she tries the handle, gingerly. It moves, so she keeps at it, slowly, until the door glides open beneath her seeking hand. She glances back over her shoulder at I'zech, once... and then steals inside.

I'zech sucks in a nice long breath, chin drawn close to wrinkle at his neck, forehead creasing too as his brows reach high. But she's in the office now and so little point in the visuals, just the audible deflation of his exhale and then the creak of the couch as he stands. The sound of his bootfalls grows quieter instead of louder, and he heads out to the bowl without another word. Or any evident concern about what she might be doing in the weyrlingmaster's office. If Quinlys doesn't want anyone in there, she should lock the door.

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Logs:Hraedhyth's Senior Flight

2013-08-01T05:41:20Z

Vienne:

{{ Log
| who = Azaylia, K'zin, Alida, Z'ian, K'del, B'rant, R'co, I'zech, H'vier
| where = Lake Shore / Hraedhyth and Azaylia's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr
| what = Hraedhyth takes to the skies for her Senior flight and is caught by bronze Tsanth. There's only ''some'' fighting this time!
| when = Day 23, Month 5, Turn 32
| gamedate = 2013.07.31
| quote = "Get him to back the '''fuck''' off."
| weather = The sky is clear today. The air remains cool and damp, but the weather is overall pleasant today.
| categories = General, Divided Leadership, Flight
| mentions =
| ooc = Thanks to everyone who showed up and made this a hilarious, fun flight! Really, you're all fantastic. <3 Feel free to add icons or any poses I may have missed. e.e;
| icons = azaylia free.jpg, azaylia hraedhyth.jpg, r'co sullen.jpg, r'co deveriteauxth.jpg, i'zech ahahaha.png, i'zech rojeth beast.jpg
| log = '''Lake Shore, High Reaches Weyr'''

''The rest of the bowl may be barren, grass barely surviving at best, but here by the lake, it's brilliantly green in the warmer months: thickening and thriving in the silty, boulder-dotted soil just before it transitions to soft sand and thence to the cool, clear water itself.''

''A large freshwater lake fed by a low waterfall, it not only provides warm-weather bathing space for humans and dragons, but has one end fenced off as a watering hole for the livestock in the feeding grounds. The water there is often muddier than the rest of the clear lake, whose shallows drop off abruptly several yards out into deep water, and whose edge undulates against the coarse-hewn bowl wall: here close enough to just be bramble-covered rocks, there far enough away that a narrow land bridge divides the main lake from a smallish pond. Between are several rocky outcroppings that form excellent makeshift diving points, though only one -- across the bridge -- has a set of narrow, slippery, quite possibly tempting stairs.''
----

Though the sun is shining bright, it's not nearly warm enough for anyone to take an afternoon dip in the lake. And yet, here's Azaylia. Heat that has little to do with Rukbat has chased her to the chilly waters, pale yellow sundress soaked and clinging around her legs and waist. Her torso is mostly dry, save for where she's splashed herself to cool off. Sitting in the shallow surf with her head tilted towards the sky, the Acting Weyrwoman gives a content sigh.

She's long since eaten lunch and at this point in the day, Alida's bathing Ilicaeth, the grey-toned blue playing submarine for some moments as he rinses away the sand his rider used to scrub away some excess dead skin that he couldn't reach. It's a quick scrubbing that leaves the woman winded but pleased, and her blue pleased and, more importantly, itch-free. During her dragon ablutions, the blonde's left Zay to herself a bit father beyond, but now that she's pretty much done, the guard gathers up her stuff, redons socks and boots, rolls down her pants, and trudges over towards the goldrider. "Hey Zay..." is noted in a clear tone, green eyes then glancing around for a few moments, as if peering for someone or something that's missing.

It was likely Rasavyth who pointed out to K'zin that the goldrider was starting her own one-woman wet-dress contest at the lake. Even with the torso dry, since K'zin doesn't apparently have somewhere else to be right now, he's meandering, hands in pockets toward the lake. He's not dressed in his leathers for once, but in a set of work clothes, some soot and grunge speaking to the fact that he's recently been at the forge. "Hey Zay!" He cups his hands around his mouth when he gets near enough to shout and have it be heard. Rasavyth is not with him, perched outside the feeding grounds, contemplating his next meal, as it happens. Or maybe waiting for something ''more interesting''. It's possible that's why he's been hanging around here the last couple days. He's too young a bronze to have honed his senses.

Azaylia doesn't open her eyes, words carried by another sigh of pleasure, "Hello..." Drawn out, much like the bluerider's silence. It has her opening her eyes just enough to peer up through her lashes, though it takes her longer to realize, "Don is with Hraedhyth." The gold that's lounging on her ledge, hide rippling with amber heat. Occasionally she'll shift in the ''best'' ways, ensuring her ever-changing audience of browns and bronzes are watching. She's soaking up the attention much like the brown hatchling on her back is attempting to with the sun's weak rays. Azaylia's head rolls towards K'zin as he approaches, happy little smile growing, though she doesn't shout in return. "How are you?" A distracted pleasantry meant for both blue and bronze rider, once he's near enough.

"Don?" Alida inquires of Azaylia, then making a 'd'oh' face. "Keep fergettin' 'is name." Still, the bluie's casting her gaze over towards where the sunning 'hussy' of a gold and her tiny brown companion are splayed, then returning her gaze to Azaylia. Ilicaeth might be totally oblivious to the ways of love, but Alida's in her prime...and right now, Zay is looking rather...nice. Ahem. And then K'zin's call is heard upon the air, 'lida turning to him and calling back, "*You* again?!" Smirk. Back to Zay, "Okay. How's...uh...Don treatin' you?"

"Look, I'm trying to avoid you, but you're just not cooperating." K'zin calls to the bluerider, moving closer to the blonde while still angling closer to the edge of the water, changing the angle of the triangle the three riders create. "Zay," He addresses the goldrider, "I'm great, only you forgot to take your clothes off when you got in the lake." It's a complaint. One that would decidedly be considered too brazen on normal occasions. The roll of his shoulders is a touch different than the way K'zin normally carries himself, his grin a little wider, a little less guarded and a lot more cocky.

Dragon> Over the past few days, Hraedhyth has been a stifling, unforgiving presence on those of ''her'' Weyr. Every throb of need, all of that ''burning'' frustration is shared so that her suitors might writhe with her in blissful agony. Finally, just as Rukbat reaches its pique... so does Hraedhyth. With ruby and amethyst eyes blazing she lets forth a roar, heard as well as ''felt'' as her drums sound the call. She desires ''many'' things, but first: blood. (To High Reaches dragons from Hraedhyth)

Dragon> To High Reaches dragons, Tsanth has steered clear of the warrior queen all this time, all these months. Suspicion of her has hovered vaguely in his conscious, a wariness that he's no longer able to place. But now that she has reached her pique, he returns driven by that primitive desire to chase, to catch. And to the pens he'll go, landing between larger suitors and reacting violently. He nips at their legs, snapping to drive the less fierce away.

Dragon> To High Reaches dragons, Cadejoth has not been much prone to roaming, these recent days: he knows. He knows where he's supposed to be, and if not the exact ''when''-- well, that will come. He's been uncharacteristically drawn to the ground, today, as though hoarding up all of his energy for the inevitable main event. Now, though... ''now'' is the time. He is in the game (damn it).

Dragon> If there are those who hope that Iesaryth's rare storms will rise in challenge to the heat, that her specific possessiveness will be drawn out in response to the other queen... there is no such luck. The roar might bring the surge of seas and the briefest pluck of the undertow of the depths, but her rider has been aware, and waiting, and ''not'' sleeping -- so in short order, both the tall dark goldrider and her lifemate are up into the skies and ''away'' to leave Hraedhyth and hers to it. (To High Reaches dragons from Iesaryth)

"Hraedhyth wouldn't let me." Comes Azaylia's smooth reply, jaw tilting so that she's able to look up at K'zin. "She says the males won't be ''hungry'' for it if I--" A sudden swallow cuts the goldrider off, blinking for a moment before she tries to answer Alida. "A.. ah, fine. He's protective, I think. And I ''know'' he's stubborn." Her breathing has picked up, and it's only when Hraedhyth lets loose that roar that the source might be obvious. Chilly water is sent every which way as the woman scrambles, effectively soaking herself as she crawls out of the shore. Then? She's running.

"Do I 'offend?' Alida inquires smirkily back at K'zin, the woman unable to help but picking up on all the draconic emotion thickening the air as she too puffs up just a little. Bleed-over...but at least it's not from her own swimming blue...or it'd be much worse. Oh cripes...that's Hraedhyth's call, and then Zay's buggering out. Alida? She's going to hole up deep in her weyr.

Dragon> To High Reaches dragons, Rasavyth won't ''admit'' that he's young and inexperienced. He knows what's up. Or that ''something'' is up. He won't ''admit'' that he's been hanging out near the feeding grounds just casually waiting for the right moment. But with this surge, this change in the desires of the gold, he knows his waiting hasn't been in vain, at least. He's here. He won't ''miss'' it. If he can get off the ground with enough blood to last. And that's a big 'If.'

Dragon> What the hell's he doing in here? Adding his own eighth mark, likely, Ilicaeth bursting into the lust fest and hollering, << BATTLE! >> before disappearing. (To High Reaches dragons from Ilicaeth)

Dragon> To High Reaches dragons, Deveriteauxth's icy, pale green is curious about those drums, but not oblivious to their meaning: his whisker-touch twitches and tickles as he takes up the call, and takes to the pens. Is Tsanth snapping? He'll dance out of the way, blasting the bronze with an aniseed wash, while he gets on with it all. There's glorious blood, flight, and sex to be had!

'''Azaylia and Hraedhyth's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr'''

''Accessed via a narrow staircase from the Weyrleader's Complex, or from the broad, sunny ledge beyond, this weyr was clearly designed to be for one of the weyr's junior queens. Spacious, but not extravagant, it boasts a well-sized outer room, narrowing in front the well-sized dragon couch and ledge beyond. Much of this main room has been turned over to a couch and several chairs, which circle the hearth and the blue rug set down in front of it. There's a low table here, too, set in the middle of that rug. A tack-cupboard stands tidily behind the couch, keeping out of sight a rider's paraphernalia.''

''Three low steps lead up onto a peculiar little landing, just large enough for the brand new desk and set of shelves that have been placed there. Here, too, there are definite pointers to the lived-in state of the weyr: the desk could in no way be described as tidy.''

''Behind the desk, a narrow passage leads in an inner set of chambers, made up of a sleeping cavern and a private bathing area. A decent-sized bed fills much of the space, the mattress piled high with overstuffed down pillows and comforter. There's a nightstand on either side, and against one of the other walls, a tall, heavy wardrobe made from a dark wood that matches the bed. The bathing area is part of the same cavern, a folding screen shielding the toilet and slightly raised, double-sized bathtub built into the stone, and a small shelf to hold toiletries.''

''Unusually, the walls, ceiling and floor of this weyr have all been whitewashed thickly, covering the natural stone. The hearth is brand new, too, as are most of the built-in fittings, as though they have recently needed to be replaced.''

----

The little brown firelizard that was with Hraedhyth? He makes like a tree and gets the fuck out as the gold hurtles down towards the feeding pens. There's a fluidity to her movements, and while she ''burns'' for flight, she isn't quick to make a kill. No, she arches her blunt neck and fans her dark wings, a territorial show to inspire as well as ward ''them'' away from her kills. By the time she's finally made a kill, Azaylia is all but throwing herself into her weyr, yellow sundress soaked and clinging. Is she late?

K'del hasn't been so crass as to hang around the Weyrleader Complex all day, but that doesn't mean he's not quick to arrive - clambering up the steps ''before'' Azaylia makes it back. He's serious faced and quiet, paying attention to no one in particular, though Azaylia's arrival ''does'' lift his gaze for a moment. Out in the feeding grounds, Cadejoth bloods his kill with not unexpected fervor, blood ringing his mouth and bedecking his talons.

Tsanth throws himself into the herdbeasts, quickly taking down his prey like any experienced dragon is meant to. And like any rider with over fifteen turns under his belt, Z'ian doesn't arrive late to this particular flight. He's there before Azaylia like some people and takes his place back away, not crowding anyone just yet. And does it seem like he's keeping his hands carefully tucked up under his arms this time? He must remember the last time Hraedhyth rose.

Oh jays, NOT AGAIN! That's the look of utter woe and horror on B'rant's features when they weyrling's youthful but huge bronze decides to take up the urges of his baser nature at High Reaches for the second time. This time, with a whole three green flights (all unwon) to his name, Rhenth skids into the pens, accidentally plowing over a pair of herdbeasts in his hurry to blood. Their bodies crushed by his fervor, the young dragon makes the best of it, and starts supping off of them, his red eyes roiling with need. And his rider? Is escorted in Azaylia's weyr by some kind fool that's taken 'pity' upon the clueless bronzer.

As a gentleman should, Deveriteauxth waits for the lady to make her choice before he makes his, unnerved by her territorial display. He lunges for the nearest beast, parchment-pale and fluid of movement, jaws latching down upon the unfortunate creature's neck to begin suckling its lifeforce away. Hot on Azaylia's heels is R'co, still decked out in flight gear with his goggles pushed up onto his forehead. He pauses just inside the entryway to simply ''watch'' for the time being, while stripping off his gloves, helmet and so on. He holds onto them for now, fingers curled deathly tight around them while his other hand remains shoved deep into his pocket.

Rojeth takes advantage of the frenzy that the feeding dragons have caused among the herdbeasts, reaching out his talons to trip a terrified animal and the smashing its head into the dirt with a satisfying crunch. But as he drinks from his careful distance, he watches the gold, head tipped aside to keep her in his sight. I'zech's glance, as he staggers into Azaylia's weyr with a hand scrubbing over his cheek, is for the nearest chair, which he swings out to face the gathering bodies before dropping to sit, hands hanging between spread knees and an irritated look on his face.

Dragon> Hraedhyth's flames stretch far and wide, unmerciful as they scorch and snare those who choose to feed along side her. Oh, ''now'' Tsanth is interested? ''Good''. (To Tsanth from Hraedhyth)

K'zin and Azaylia have trained together - run together on many occasions. The bronzerider, who had been on the lakeshore with the goldrider, ''should'' have entered on her heels. But he doesn't. There's a delay. When he arrives, it's at a swaggering stroll, and he's already looking smug. Clearly, this bodes well for K'zin not ending up battered in some way by the end of the flight. In appearance, he's sooty and wearing work clothes like he's been at the forge (which from the smell of sweat, metal and smoke, he probably has). He doesn't seem to be particularly drawn to a wall, so he just wanders in the familiar weyr. Rasavyth has enthusiasm! But not skill. Woe. His first attempts to catch ''anything'' go woefully amiss. It's not, at least, a surprise to either member of the bronze pairing.

Dragon> To Hraedhyth, Tsanth meets the flames with sheets of sand. Sand the melts and twists and settles in pools of liquid glass, a reflection. A mirror of an image of Hraedhyth's image. Fierce and strong, terrifying and brave. Something to be admired, revered.

Hraedhyth is greedy this afternoon, not only for blood but for their adoration. ''She'' watches them right back, judgement clouding her jeweled gaze that burns into each and every male. She doesn't ''quite'' finish with a beast, stopping to roar at a younger pair, squabbling and nipping at each other-- luckily she doesn't catch Tsanth doing the same. Rather than continue, her jaws snap another almost in half, messily slurping up what doesn't get all over her muzzle. Azaylia's eyes are wide, fighting to focus on the riders who are already in her weyr. Waiting. "''Oh.''" She stumbles towards one, K'del, before stopping short and moving ''away''. Her chin is tilted towards the feeding grounds, not being able to see, but not needing to.

"''Zay''," says K'del, when the goldrider stumbles towards her, half-raising one arm in order to reach towards her, though he's control of himself enough that he doesn't keep trying when she moves away again. Not that that means there's not naked longing in his gaze, of course, or disappointment. Cadejoth seems genuinely delighted by Hraedhyth's wanton wastefulness (or perhaps it's just the 'wanton' part of it): he hurtles his mostly-spent beast off across the grounds, heedless of whether or not it impacts with someoen else. ''He'' is enjoying himself.

Dragon> Melted glass is maintained by her fire, thundering drums sending ripples through them that alter their image. Tsanth at her side. Tsanth twining with her. Then he's gone, and another, non-descript dragon takes his place. The future is as fluid as her preference, but he will earn the chance to prove himself. (To Tsanth from Hraedhyth)

Deveriteauxth takes down a second beast; a small one, that's quickly drained. Having had his fill, the pale brown spreads his silvery-scrawled wings, taking to the skies ''early'', it might seem; but that's so he can get into a position he feels will give him an ''advantage''. Someone's ledge is commandeered as he hunches over the edge of it, every muscle in him tensed and ''waiting'', ready to spring into action once Hraedhyth makes her move. R'co is less forward than his dragon (for once); his blue-eyed gaze remains on Azaylia, lips pursed in a thoughtful, somewhat unhappy pout, as he hangs back and observes.

Dragon> Poor pup. How can he expect to catch her if he is not able to contest with a filthy beast? Hraedhyth urges him on, dark tendrils of smoke twisting in a sensual dance, much like what will take place in the sky. Is he not hungry to learn? There is so much she could ''teach'' him. (To Rasavyth from Hraedhyth)

Rhenth isn't going to screw it up /this/ time! The weyrling bronze tosses his first, bloodless herdbeast out of the way, the carcass unintentionally striking a brown in the side. A low rumble soon finds the Fortian bronzling tucking into his second 'beast, suckling heavily at its throat, his eyes finally lifting to Hraedhyth and her messy blooding, the young beast crooning to her. Lovely! Finally inside Azaylia's weyr, B'rant's distress at being caught up in a foreign gold flight only becomes more apparent when he settles his gray gaze upon all those other, more experienced folk within. Wingleader, Weyrsecond, riders. Oh sweet Faranth, no weyrlings! The towering teen tries to cave in some on himself and hide against a wall, but Rhenth is doing his thing out there, and his bronze's lust is starting to collide with his rider's aghast state, beginning to push such silly human things aside. Once, those grays even manage to find Azaylia deeper inside the cave, and they cling to her like a drowning man would a piece of driftwood. A very sexy piece of driftwood.

Tsanth rips into another beast, suckling the heated coppery blood down with expert precision. He knows when to stop blooding and now is the time, he doesn't glut himself. It's now that he waits, bundling himself up into a tight package that's prepared to launch into the air just as Hraedhyth is. And oh no, he's no longer nipping at those around them. Though maybe that's just because he has a personal bubble now, they know better. His rider meanwhile remains quiet and in the back, away from the others that swarm the weyr. Waiting and watching carefully, for any movement or change in what's happening.

Dragon> He's all youthful adoration for the warrior queen, her youngest suitor's noble heart roaring with desire for her and her fiery ways. << Hraedhyth. >> His hearts might burst with the want of her. (To Hraedhyth from Rhenth)

K'zin happens to be wandering near enough to K'del that when Zay strays toward him and then away, the look in the older bronzer's expression has the man bursting out with laughter. Definitely laughing ''at'' K'del. He did warn him he was an ass in flights, so... ''Someone's'' having a good time at this flight anyway. His eyes flick toward Azaylia, a sly, secret sort of smile starting as his gaze lingers, and then it's away again as he continues to wander. Rasavyth is more focused, though, his head tossing toward the golden huntress. His efforts are renewed, and this time, he meets with success. Not once, but ''twice''! Though they're not the most sizable of beasts.

Dragon> And while the fire that melts and helps form his glass is hers, the material itself remains belonging to him. The image is dashed and changed. Mirrors turn to blown sculptures, the other dragon gone. Unimportant. Them together, a rippling mass of impressive muscle hurtling through the sky. Towards a destiny. (To Hraedhyth from Tsanth)

Dragon> Hraedhyth can sense his delight, kindling to her fire as it licks at his chains, demanding they glow red hot. There's an unspoken, savage promise-- she'll be able to soothe the burn once he catches her. ''If'' he catches her. (To Cadejoth from Hraedhyth)

Dragon> The intensity Hraedhyth's mind meets with is incredible. Incredible, because the oozy drums that beat are so much a reflection of her mind. It's like an artist painting a perfect image by a great master: it's a ''compliment'' paid, a mirror he provides herself with to see her awesome beauty and commanding presence. He has never been more impressed with her than he is ''now''. His copy is not without his own twist, though, the ooze seeping through, suggesting how ''wonderful'' it would be to worship her in the winds. He ''is'' hungry. He's hungry for many things, not the least of which are ''her'' and ''blood''. She could teach him much, will she? Won't she teach him this dance? His claws slash as he successfully makes a kill, and he drinks his tribute to her dry before seeking a second. He ''will'' give this his all. She calls to them all, yes, but deeper, he feels her calling to ''him''. (To Hraedhyth from Rasavyth)

I'zech's dark gaze slowly begins to scan the room, the assembled men, most of whom have their attention on one wet-dressed woman. Neither Azaylia nor the collection of suitors do anything to soften the glare he's wearing or the sneer of a smile that tugs one corner of his mouth. But he's comfortable in his chair and makes no move to leave it. Rojeth, on the other hand, is the recipient of Cadejoth's used up meal, and he flexes his talons into the ground as he rounds his focus on the other bronze, letting out a rasping growl from between his jagged, protruding teeth. There's a slow, preparatory swish of his tail.

Dragon> They glow - oh yes, they do glow. For ''her''. There are no stars twined in Cadejoth's chains tonight, no ice-cold delight, no honeyed warmth; there are no other queens for Cadejoth but this one, and his chains burn and sizzle in emphasis for it. He ''will'' catch her. He ''will'' have her. And they will be glorious together. (To Hraedhyth from Cadejoth)

Azaylia seems to regret twisting away from K'del's grasp, gaze turning towards him when he utters her name. And yet, she keeps walking. Past K'zin, though there's a long drag of her body against his, dress marked by filth and the bronzerider wetter for it. Suddenly, she's frozen, not so much as breathing as legs flex and she stands on her tiptoes in the midst of them. At that very moment, Hraedhyth's cloak is cast off, revealing clubbed sails that flap after she takes a running leap into the sky-- knocking against Rhenth on her way into the air. Did she mean to? Does it matter? Beating wings send her skyward, gaining a lead through sheer ''power'' rather than agility.

And all of that waiting is eventually rewarded when she launches herself into the sky like so. Coiled tightly unto himself, Tsanth springs forth after her. He's gone and out of the pen before many of the others are, his smaller frame lending him that much more agility. The chase is on and this time, he seems to mean it. There's no attempt to burn his energy creating a path for others. Z'ian knows that moment all too well. Instinctively, his eyes raise up to a sky that he can't see and he pushes past another rider and moves to the forefront of the weyr. Where now, Azaylia would actually be able notice him around if she were to look.

Oh, go on, K'zin. Laugh. K'del's not laughing. For K'del, this is utterly serious: he can't seem to help himself but pull at the knot on his shoulder, and continue to stare so completely after Azaylia. He ''is'' pleased by her glance back, though, even if his own dragon distracts him so quickly. Cadejoth doesn't care that Rojeth has been hit by his beast; doesn't care that he's being focused on; doesn't care about much at all, most likely, except the sudden rush of air beneath his wings, and the height he's putting on as quickly as he possibly can.

Look! Over there! It's a bird! No, it's a plane! Wait-- what the hell is a plane? Never mind. It's Reisoth! His appearance over the bowl is accompanied by an uncharacteristic bellow of frustrated reluctance as he angles himself toward the ''bowl'' and not the sky to deposit his rider. He definitely isn't going to wait for straps to be taken off or anything like that. As soon as H'vier's feet are on the ground, the bronze is launching himself back into the air to take off after the bestial beacon of gold to join her lustful entourage of suitors. H'vier is probably just making his way across the bowl toward the weyr the bronze should have dropped him off closer to.

Dragon> Hraedhyth's drums answer the foreigner who has traveled ''so'' far for his devotion: ''Rhenth''. One solid syllable, one solid beat, the echoes rippling with sound as well as desire-- for ''him''. (To Rhenth from Hraedhyth)

Power that couldn't be matched by Deveriteauxth, hence his chosen lead; but even still, his launch from the ledge he's chosen doesn't give him quite the advantage he'd hoped for. Light plays upon the ripple of muscles beneath his pale hide and across the silvery scrawl that edges his wingsails as he beats down with all the strength he can muster, ignorant of his size disadvantage as he revels in the sheer ''thrill'' of being there in the lust-fuelled flight. From where he is on the edge of the crowd in the weyr, R'co continues to just watch, though he does so now with decidedly less attention on the room and people before him as his focus shifts more to be with his dragon.

K'zin's ''purrs'' in approval as Azaylia slides across him, the laughter abruptly quieted in favor of a leering grin. He doesn't reach out for her though, more amusement showing in his expression and manner, his focus finally latching onto her though, at least for the moment. Hraedhyth's cloak must be hereditary, for her son, too, looks as though he's doffing one. The dulled bronze of the wings he keeps so primly wrapped around his slender, aristocratic form extend to reveal ''shining'' bronze hidden beneath as he takes wing. He might not be as well fueled as some of the other dragons, but he'll be putting his best foot forward and following the silent call that breaks bonds of heredity. (Even if they didn't, he'd be in good company. Right, Cadejoth?)

She shoves against him? Who cares that he's staggering a little, for Hraedhyth's /touched/ him! The sight, scent of her so near drives him mad with want, and in a few instants -- time taken to recover from that marvelous, fierce push -- Rhenth's impelling his huge body skyward, the young bronze squarely at the center of the pack of suitors, his eyes burning red, with a reflection of gold at their centers. Hreadhyth! His own heart fairly jumps into his throat when his lifemate ascends, B'rant suddenly staggering away from such earthbound things as a wall, then looking over imploringly to Azaylia...who he starts to drift towards as if upon a cloud.

Dragon> Of ''course'' Hraedhyth calls to ''him''. He's Rasavyth. Though passion surges through every fiber, it is not anger at her suitors-- suitor. No, she desires them. Him. The beat of her wings matches the adrenaline shared by two bodies... Will the young bronze catch and be her third? (To Rasavyth from Hraedhyth)

Rojeth launches, though perhaps it's more inspired by Cadejoth's take-off than Hraedhyth's. But maybe that doesn't matter, since it all happens at basically the same moment either way. He powers upward with the rest of the pack, trailing tight on Cadejoth, where he could just about catch his tail, even if Rojeth's eyes are on the leading gold. In his seat, the burst of activity tenses through I'zech with a long inhale and a momentary closing of eyes. They open again to survey the tightening of the crowd in front of him and one legs bounces, but he doesn't yet stand up from his chair. He can keep an eye on Azaylia from here.

It doesn't look as though Azaylia will be swinging at any riders today, eyes closed as she tilts her jaw skyward. The little curl to her lips widens to bare her teeth in a savage grin, hands curling into tight fists at her sides. Even with Hraedhyth's heat, the fabric of her dress is clingy and cold, urging her to find something warm. Someone. Opening her eyes, she catches the frantic movement of I'zech's knee. She's reaching for him, though there won't be objections should she be intercepted. The gold in the sky is not so generous with her touch, not yet. Smokey, spiced incense leaves a trail for them to follow as Hraedhyth climbs higher and higher-- wings straining to lift her gorged body. That earlier greed will be her undoing.

He's 'floating' towards her, and she's...moving towards him? Of course Azaylia is, because right now B'rant isn't really noticing the other men in here, especially I'zech back there. Smiling with sudden confidence and obvious want, the Fortian reaches out both hands to try and gather Azaylia into his arms. Greenhorn! Rhenth, meanwhile, is riding slowly above the main Flight pattern, wanting to be free of others so close so he can better see, close on the glowing siren that is Hraedhyth. He might lose a little forward ground at first, but his huge wings and their beats are making up for it, the queen's scent intoxicating him as he's never been before. His own urgent pine and oaks of forest medieval grow even taller, tower like titans towards her, their roots pulled from the ground in their/his want.

Reisoth's only focus is on Hraedhyth and trying to gain lost ground from his late start. The lack of blooding will probably catch up to him but it would be worse to not get in the sky at all before one of the others had their tails around the gold that should be ''his.'' Despite his frustration at being behind, Reisoth is silent. H'vier, not so much. He's swearing to himself as he finally makes his way into Azaylia's weyr, growling unconsciously at the first man he nearly runs into but manages not to shove out of his way.

Dragon> ''Destiny''. It speaks to her primal nature, urges her to leave his sands hot to the touch, scouring and scalding much like her desire. It too is beginning to chafe, wearing down her need to ''escape'' them. Him. Her flames flicker, unintentionally sharing that waver in strength. (To Tsanth from Hraedhyth)

Dragon> To Hraedhyth, Rasavyth is too clever a dragon, even when lust-clouded, to miss the summation of those few mistaken points. But it doesn't ''matter''. That's how these things go, right? The female gets many offers, and she accepts the best one. The one that brings her flowers, or in this case bones. He's not naturally leant toward ferocity, or licking. Or anything that gets his mouth near a potentially unhygienic, icky surface (like another dragon's flank), for that matter, but with a snarl, and flare of ooze-touched fire, his reflected drums intensify as he makes his declaration of ''war''! Look out fellow fliers, he's on a collision course!

"''Back off''," says K'del, lifting a fist to emphasize his words: yes, that would be towards you, H'vier. Never mind that H'vier is taller (and bulkier); that's not important right now. It's a distraction, though - something that pushes K'del's attention away from his dragon's upwards climb, and away, too, from the sublime conclusion that is, surely, theirs for the taking (if only they succeed at the whole positive thinking thing, right?). K'del lets out a breath and Cadejoth adjusts his path, thrusting himself into motion in a different way now that it ''seems'' like it won't be so long a flight as all that.

Led on by that incense, Deveriteauxth powers after Hraedhyth, using his smaller size and agility to whatever advantage he can manage. A dip of his wing makes him swerve from the path of a larger bronze; a powerful downbeat drives him forward towards the glowing golden prize, on which his whirling, jewel-toned sight is firmly set. Perhaps it's H'vier's growling entrance that causes R'co to move at last - perhaps it's the young bronzerider with hands attempting to grab ''his'' Weyrwoman, but the brownrider finally steps towards Azaylia, hovering just behind the Fortian as if ready to pull him back - then he seems to change his mind, echoed in the skies above by another surge from Deveriteauxth. Wiry little R'co - because he is ''small'', compared to these much taller men! - nudges in closer to Azaylia, one hand held up with its palm towards her, as if hesitant to touch her despite flight-fuelled lust and need.

The pack, what a joke. Tsanth weaves between them, expending some energy to bully the younger and more inexperienced dragons. The older bronze slams his small but muscled body into them before resuming course, chasing down that alluring scent of her spiced incense. It's the move that B'rant makes towards Azaylia that has Z'ian actually moving. Because he's done this before, well, he knows that it isn't going to end well for that Fortian weyrling. "Kid. Back the fuck off." He tries to warn, not quite making the distance to the pair before contact can be made.

Dragon> Her heat turns his sands into something burning, something destructive and scolding it's true. But also something that could nurture, something of him that speaks to something she knows so deeply. Heated sands that warm eggs, that keeps them nested and safe until the moment that they hatch out into the world. Tsanth's sands can do that for her, for her progeny. If only she'd just stop flying from him. (To Hraedhyth from Tsanth)

Well if Azaylia is going to give him attention, I'zech can get up. He doesn't even haul himself out of the chair with heavy reluctance as he might usually do; he just moves easily to his feet, an elbow ready to shove off anyone who looks to intercept -- seems like that person might be B'rant. With dark laughing eyes on Azaylia, as if the two of them are sharing some private joke, a smug curve sharpens on I'zech's mouth, feral and undeterred by the minute jostlings of the other men in the room or the dragons in the sky. Rojeth continues drafting on Cadejoth, and then encroaching, creeping along his back with talons spread dangerously, downward strokes of wings near enough to tangle with upward sweeps should the rhythm change. He growls again, scratchy, and louder this time so that the sound isn't lost in the rush of thinning air even if the other bronze can't actually feel the breath on the back of his neck.

One thing can be said for certain, even so early on: much will be learned here by young Rasavyth. So far, he's keeping up well. Except, is that-- is the mannered socialite of a bronze ''snarling''? It looks... well, downright silly. Although, he is a bronze, so maybe that lends it a little weight. This is the warrior queen, and he's decided to ''fight'' for her! His first target is a brown. A big brown. A brown that's ''very nearly'' the same size as he, and his weave has him slamming up against him. Thankfully, wings don't tangle, but it has Rasavyth ''rebounding''. Well, ''that'' didn't go well. Someone probably could have told him that physical force wasn't the way to get the win with a slender frame like his, but he's young yet. He'll learn. K'zin's attention is pulled off the heat-seeking goldrider and back to K'del for the moment, observing the spat between his 'mentor' and H'vier, the smile that pulls on his lips almost gleeful, almost-- as if-- as if it gives him an ''idea''. Let them take ''each other'' out...

When B'rant volunteers, Azaylia doesn't hesitate to open her arms, intending to wrap them around the Fortian. Is he foreign? Does it matter? Before she's able to, I'zech and his elbow are there. It's not as brutal as it could be, but his feral display has her eyes bright as she instead tucks up against him, shivering from chill as well as delight. There are goosebumps on her arms as they wrap tightly around his waist, trying to soak up his bodyheat. Above, Hraedhyth's oversized jaws are parted as she pants with exertion, deciding now to take a sudden turn. Sudden for her size, at least, though in reality she cuts a wide arc that offers plenty of time for her chasers to gain some distance. She begins to falter, stubborn until the very end as she struggles to keep ahead.

"Go fuck yourself," H'vier snaps back at K'del, eyeing the fist with a sneer while his own hand clenches in response to the prospect of violence. That's not why he's here, though, and he'd really rather be touching that woman over there. She's alluring to the point of distraction, especially with Reisoth above, desperate to close distance between himself and his queen, to take his place beside her. He pushes himself but it's clear he's flagging with as hard as he's been pushing himself up to this point trying to catch up.

Was Cadejoth a little distracted by his rider's distraction? A ''little'', sure. It's got nothing on his distraction, now, a distraction fuelled by Rojeth's close proximity, and that increasing feeling of being hemmed in... and that is ''really'' not going to work with his plans. H'vier gets forgotten as a result, whatever he says in answer (none of it matters). "''Get him to back the '''fuck''' off''," K'del belows, turning his gaze away from the taller bronzerider and off towards I'zech. You. That. There. ''Him''. Hraedhyth falters, and Cadejoth makes a desperate attempt to pull away from the bronze behind him, all but throwing himself at the queen. ''Now'', Hraedhyth. ''Now''!

And he's managed to keep his stamina up this time, kept it up and not lost it. Even if he did knock around some of the younger bronzes. It's now, just as Hraedhyth takes that sudden wide arc that Tsanth shoots up in the sky to fly over and above her. He passes a suitor that really should be better prepared to catch and now, drops down suddenly with his wings swung out wide to meet her. The older dragon isn't distracted by the others, unphased even. This is his time ''now'' to act. And he does. Z'ian meanwhile has slipped quietly between the would be suitors, edging closer and closer to Azaylia as his dragon gets nearer to hers.

Someone's saying something in urgent tones, and the part of him that's still B'rant is telling the young bronzer to listen, at least. But the part of him that's Rhenth -- the part growing in power with each passing moment -- couldn't care less. Hraedhyth/Azaylia is all there is in the world, right now. A small and foggy cant of his head is offered in faint irritation at Z'ian, gray eyes barely 'seeing' him, but certainly not seeing the approaching I'zech at all. And then there's an elbow, and that elbow hurts some...and B'rant's no longer finding Azaylia quite as available. Instant denial equals anger equals instant thrown punch in the vicinity of that elbowing. All the jockeying and growling and such is simple and pure distraction, in Rhenth's mind, the youngest dragon in the 'pack' seperating himself from all the others both physically and mentally as he shadows Hraedhyth from above. As she rises, so does he, as she veers, again, he does the same. He too is flagging, but he can see that the gold is too, and such only makes Rhenth try /harder/ to close with her, the young bronzling starting to lose some height as his lust drives him closer to her. Down must meet up at some point, and when he get so close to Hraedhyth that he can almost taste her exotic spices, the Fortian's misformed tail and large claws flex to aim themselves at her, stretch at her own limbs and tail. I'm /here/!

Hraedhyth's change in course is adjusted to with a dipping of his scripted wings, Deveriteauxth's smaller stature giving him an agility advantage over those bigger dragons, even if it means he's flagging a little due to lower stamina. But where there's a will there's a way, and the scribe's far from finished writing his verse yet; the parchment-pale brown pulls upon his last reserves to make a desperate attempt to capture the glowing prize. R'co stays where he is, surrounded by all the tall people, hands dug firmly into his pockets now as he leaves them to their thing, while he focuses on willing his lifemate ''forward'' - maybe. That unhappy-looking pout is back upon his lips; perhaps it's just a look of concentration.

Dragon> There's a skipped beat of surprise, quickly followed by delight, and it has her smokey tendrils reaching for ''Tsanth''. Eggs, yes. Sands, yes. But first? First, Hraedhyth will make her choice. And it ''is'' hers to make. (To Tsanth from Hraedhyth)

Dragon> A choice yes, there are so many choices now for her. The young and inexperienced, the older yet still rash. Those that want her because they think they ''know'' better than her, their queen. And then there is Tsanth and he is waiting, waiting for her to allow him to take her. (To Hraedhyth from Tsanth)

''And things were going so well!'' Okay, not ''really''. But better than the last time! And the time before that! And all the times K'zin's memory can help Rasavyth remember. But it's the same problem. He's ''spent'' and he's not gotten anywhere near close. Lagged to the back of the pack of chasers after the rebound and now suddenly out of fuel, Rasavyth's bellow is one of earnest frustration. He won't win this battle, but maybe, just ''maybe'' he'll win the war, ''someday''. K'zin's eyes briefly find Azaylia tucked at I'zech's side, a slight sigh quietly slipping from him, before he's pushing a hand through his hair and moving to meet his lifemate on the ground.

It's probably not too much of a surprise that I'zech lets out a bark of a laugh when K'del starts fuming in his direction. So, in short? Fat chance. He's got Azaylia all slunk up against him, all damp and clingy in the wrap of his arms, and even though he's laughing at K'del, that sharp, insufferable smile he wears is for the goldrider. And Rojeth, well, this was the plan all along: to fuck with Cadejoth and get the upper hand, er, wing. Without being deterred by fluster, he darts after the queen, ready to finish off the scheme with a mighty victory. You know, if all these other bronzes weren't around and thinking basically the same thing. And if that enormous Fortian didn't aim a meat-fisted punch at his rider's side. The blow is enough to knock I'zech off balance, feet tripping sideways and his grip pulling Azaylia with him as he winces and fumbles. Which leaves Rojeth fumbling too, at just the wrong/right moment to see his golden prize slip beyond his grasp.

A squeak quickly turns into a squeal as Azaylia goes tumbling down with I'zech in a tangle of limbs and sopping wet clothing. It's a spark that ignites Hraedhyth's fury, a surge of energy that has her climbing higher still, barreling towards the bronze above her with purpose. She stretches, reaching for Tsanth just as her rider lifts her arms, squirming not unpleasantly against I'zech-- too bad she's trying to get ''away''. It's only when gold collides with the older bronze that Azaylia turns savage, kicking and biting if she has too in order to get to Z'ian.

K'del ... what? The look of shock on his expression is the kind that probably ought to be commemorated for all times. It doesn't last long, though: a few seconds, and then it's crumpled, and he's turning to all but run for the exit. But no, he doesn't cry. (He ''does'' disappear atop Cadejoth a few minutes later, though, so make of that what you will).

Ha-HA! She's /not/ yours! And so says B'rant's triumphant sneer/grin when he lands that punch somewhere on I'zech, which in turn drives Rojeth away from Hraedhyth/Azaylia. Too bad that Rhenth is diving just a little too slowly to beat Tsanth to the 'prize'. The Fortian bronze gives off a basso howl of frustration and loss, and immediately banks away from the Reachian pair, to slowly spiral to the ground, and thence to the chill lake. B'rant simply gasps -- his own consciousness within huge gray eyes, now -- and bolts for the hangings that lead to the outside of Azaylia's weyr. Once they've both got a few breaths to spare, it's Between and back to Fort, where at least one of them will get laid.../and/ yelled at later.

Man, a guys takes a punch for a girl and what does he get? Kicks and bites? As her squirm becomes rather nasty, I'zech's finger dig in a bit, as if he might just be able to keep her anyway, but a knee to the rib that B'rant just bruised is enough to roll him away, onto a knee so he struggle to his feet to glare at the huge wall of a boy who just screwed it all up. Nevermind how he himself screwed it all up for K'del. I guess maybe we shouldn't go throwing herdbeasts all willy nilly, should we. As Rojeth tears away from the other dragons, I'zech goes stumbling out toward the bowl with a hand on his side.

Foiled! Deveriteauxth lets out a sad croon of disappointment, before pulling away, tucking wings to his side and spiralling slowly down to the bowl below. R'co is quick to exit, too, hiding his long blonde hair beneath his flight helmet as he ducks out onto the ledge. He, too, doesn't linger long in the Weyr - it's up and up and ''up'' some more before the pair wink into between for places unknown.

Down and... caught. Tsanth is over Hraedhyth, twining up with her and guiding them now through the skies over the 'Reaches. And somewhere in there, the messages goes out to their weyr at large. Even now the bronze is beginning to extend his influence, his persuasion and weight to the others. And within Azaylia's weyr, Z'ian has been quietly approaching. And while there's a fervent look in his eyes, it doesn't stop him from pausing to actually help her up and out of the fallen bronzerider's grasp. He'll take it from here, thanks. And with a firm grip, he'll tug the damp clothed goldrider into his arms.

Shock is a good word for it. H'vier stares across Azaylia's weyr to where she's headed. It's ''that'' bastard. The one that kept him from winning the ''last'' flight. For a moment or so, it looks like H'vier kind of wants to go over and rip the other bronzerider a new, uh, something. But he somehow manages to turn himself toward the exit instead. He doesn't even hit the wall. His mom is probably proud!

Dragon> Along with her body, all of that once-feared ferocity slams into Tsanth, hungry and hunting and-- ''oh''. Tangled as they are, that intensity is used for pleasure rather than pain as they fly over ''their'' Weyr. For the first few moments, Hraedhyth will set the place ablaze with her savage claim, heat stifling and smoke choking until her hold suddenly relaxes. She is Matriarch, and she has chosen her mate. (To Tsanth from Hraedhyth)

Once Azaylia is free from I'zech's painful grip, those arms continue to reach for Z'ian until he helps her up. There's a moment of tense calm as she simply ''stares'' at him, and then she's crushed against him in a full-bodied embrace. She might even undo his good deed, enough force used to bring them back down to the floor, where ''most'' of their clothes will be joining them.

{{#ifexist: Logs_talk:{{BASEPAGENAME}} | <hr><hr><br><h2>Comments</h2>{{Logs_talk:{{BASEPAGENAME}}}} |<hr><hr>}}

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Logs:Two Different Conversations

2013-05-28T05:18:56Z

Vienne: Created page with "{{ Log | who = I'zech, Sabella | where = Fantastically Blue Weyr, High Reaches Weyr | what = I'zech stops by to touch base with Sabella, which would go a lot better if Tacuset..."

{{ Log
| who = I'zech, Sabella
| where = Fantastically Blue Weyr, High Reaches Weyr
| what = I'zech stops by to touch base with Sabella, which would go a lot better if Tacuseth hadn't filled her head with things to worry about.
| when = Day 6, Month 11, Turn 31
| gamedate = 2013.05.22
| quote = You've got options.
| weather =
| categories =
| mentions = Jo
| ooc =
| icons = i'zech no.png, sabella dangerous.jpg
| log = It's late and most people would probably be in bed. But something has Sabella awake and restless when most would be dreaming. To kill whatever time there is left in the evening or to at least pass it until she's able to ease herself again, she's taken the rough sandpaper she took from stores. There's still a few sections of the weyr left that need the cheap paint scrubbed away, so she's at one of those now. With a determined expression she works over one stubborn spot, heedless of the dust this generates. Ghislaith watches like a darkened sentry on the ledge, her eyes turned upwards to the skies.

There's little warning that Rojeth is coming. He likes it that way: sweeping in from the night sky like a shadow turned corporeal. It's only after he lands that a wisp of fog is present, but then only that much and fading fast. Perhaps it says something about how long I'zech intends to stay, or Rojeth's willingness to share space with Ghislaith that he doesn't take off again right away. And with little warning, there's little time for Sabella to drop her sandpaper and meet him on the ledge, so he just heads right in. She knows where he's been and he knows that she knows, so as he stands just inside her entry way, it's with hands spread, almost a helpless 'what can you do?' pose, at least until the wave of his fingers beckons her to bring it on.

Ghislaith appears only moderately surprised by the bronze's sweeping arrival, but perhaps some part of her was expecting it. Whichever one it was, her rider at least heard the arrival before I'zech stepped into the entry. There's a quick pause, where she turns to throw a glance over her shoulder at the man and his beckoning fingers. "Did you find out everything you wanted to know?" She asks, returning to the task at hand. Perhaps a more desirable thing than meeting him head on the way he seems to want.

"And then some," I'zech answers with a weary sigh, eyes rolling to the side and head tipping after. He drops his hands, since she delivers pretty well. "What do you think I was asking?" Or maybe it's more like 'what did you hear I was asking', but he doesn't bother to specify. He just folds his arms to wait patiently for the reply and lets his glance skim along her sanded walls in the meantime. He hasn't been in here before, after all.

It's better looking than it used to be, but it's still not the prettiest weyr at High Reaches. "Why do you want to know what I think you were asking?" She returns, another glance over her shoulder with a gentle lift of her eyebrow. She'll let the silence fill the moment while he responds or doesn't, turning back once again to the wall. "You're going to get me into trouble, you realize that, right?"

"Oh good, it's the questions for questions game," I'zech drolls out, eyeing that stubborn bit of paint she's been working on. "I'm not going to get you into trouble," he tells her plainly as his gaze from the wall to the girl tending it. "It was just Jo." Like she's the safest thing in this Weyr. "And I'm sure the two of you can make plenty of trouble on your own. You don't need my help for that." His mouth pulls in a quiet smirk.

Sabella finally stops working on the wall to turn on him, leaning her back into it. "Have you been at this weyr that long that you've gone soft?" Maybe it is the questions for questions game. But this time she follows it up with something more concrete. "She's questioning my loyalty. Tacuseth is questioning Ghislaith. She doesn't need much to tell someone ''else'' and then, the possibility that I could be out there in the world and have something happen to me? Becomes very real." At his remark that it's just Jo, she purses her lips and shakes her head. "Never trust anyone. Even the people who say they're out to help you."

"Sounds like something you should probably get used to," I'zech mutters without much sympathy. "She won't tell someone else. There's nothing to tell. I probably know more about their business than you do." Which could, at least in some ways, be true. If nothing else, it's an assumption he's willing to make as he sizes her up now. "She's not gonna sell you out at the drop of a hat. Doesn't mean she won't sell you out somewhere along the way, if she has to." So yes, he agrees, trust no one, at least not completely.

"You don't know that, you have no way of knowing that." Sabella crosses her arms over her chest, shakes her head. At this mention of knowing more about their business than she does, she rolls her eyes upwards. Taking a tightly controlled breath, "You set me up to have my loyalty doubted. And it ''is'' now. I'm not sure why that's so difficult to comprehend." Her chin lifts in the direction of the ledge behind him. "Leave. Before you get the idea to cause me anymore trouble."

"And you have no way of knowing if I'm wrong, either. If you think anyone's got control of this -- me, you, or Jo -- you're..." But with a snort, he changes direction. "Listen," I'zech says quietly, dropping his chin as hers lifts higher, stepping toward her as she tells him to gtfo. "You're gonna need to grow a thicker skin because that life," that life, "is going to strip more control than it gives you. You want in, great. I said as much to Jo," kind of. There's a 'but' that lingers unsaid, if only briefly before he surmises. "Loyalty relies on love or fear. You wanna be loyal? You're gonna have to get comfortable with one or the other. Just remember you don't need them anymore. You've got options." But then he's said enough and with a shake of his head, he turns, ready to retrace his steps.

Maybe because she's already said it, said it before and felt like he hasn't heard her. Or perhaps chosen not to hear what she's been trying to convey so she just looks away from him when he goes into the assertion that she needs to grow a 'thicker skin' or develop some 'loyalty'. There's no further denial or attempts to convince him otherwise. She told him to leave and he's going, so there's no dramatic attempt to get him to come back now. "How're those options working out for you?"

"We'll put it this way," I'zech says, turning on a heel as he continue toward the door, to walk backwards a few paces while he meets her eye. "I'm not afraid of what's going to happen to me out in the world." He flashes her a grin, big and unworried, not about his fate or his dealings or whether or not she's feeling unheard or hearing any of his remarks in turn. See, Rojeth knew this would be quick, and he's been silent and still, waiting and listening, and now he unfurls his wings to be ready to leave again as soon as I'zech mounts up. He has nothing to say to Ghislaith.

"Maybe you should be." Sabs doesn't move from her spot on the wall, back still neatly pressed against it. At least not until the pair are both off of her ledge and gone, back to wherever they came from.

"Oh no, baby! Don't go! Come back and ravish me!" Cried Sabs as his dragon flew away.

I'zech mishears and leaves a basket of radishes on her ledge the next day.

Sabella makes fun of him to all the girls.

What else is new?

The part where you have herpes?

Does she know because she got them?

A girl doesn't divulge those kind of specifics.

Convenient.

Dimple.

Penis.

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Logs:Tea Time - No Tea

2013-05-28T04:52:26Z

Vienne: Created page with "{{ Log | who = Vienne, Z'ian | where = Brickwork and Boulders Weyr, High Reaches Weyr | what = Z'ian and Vienne have some catch up time to discuss tithes and leadership and l..."

{{ Log
| who = Vienne, Z'ian
| where = Brickwork and Boulders Weyr, High Reaches Weyr
| what = Z'ian and Vienne have some catch up time to discuss tithes and leadership and lies and such.
| when = Day 2, Month 11, Turn 31
| gamedate = 2013.05.20
| quote = Everyone seems pretty miserable.
| weather =
| categories =
| mentions = Aishani, Azaylia, E'sren, K'del
| ooc =
| icons = vienne glance.jpg, z'ian11 zian11.png
| log = It was well into afternoon when Oswinth dropped by, a bit stiff in his carriage, in all senses. When Vienne hopped down in her usual demure attire, still clinging to her skirts as the weather turns cold, though now with stockings. She brought along the social lubricant of a snack, a small basket of mixed fruits from water climes and assorted nuts and cheese. Lunchtime was a while ago and dinner is still a ways off. And so sitting around at his table, idly munching, talking about members of the wing ensued. "Did you ever hear anything more about those tithes?" she wonders, head cocked to one side as she slices off a little sliver of hard cheese.

A man can never turn down a woman that shows up with food. Isn't that a secret passage to the heart or something, the stomach? Someone should let the healers know. Z'ian chews on a piece of fruit, rolling his shoulders idly when she asks her question. "I saw Azaylia a few days ago." He answers, pausing to swallow. "She said that Aishani and Lady Edeline spent a lot of the time talking with shadows and being kind of catty with one another. At the end Tillek agreed to release the tithes, but really, we'd already secured them by that point anyway. I haven't seen Aishani, not that I think she'd want to see me at this point anyway."

That's why people soothe heartache with food, right? A happy belly is a happy heart? But yes, Vienne is no dope and visits are always friendlier with a little something brought along to occupy one's hands. She should probably have brought a drink, too, since the last time she was here, Z'ian had nothing to offer but whiskey. "'Release the tithe'," Vienne repeats, rolling her eyes a little. "Was it being held hostage? Sitting on our doorstep with just a little hedge for us to jump over? Aishani mentioned that Edeline is good with words; I haven't talked to her, myself." As if the bluerider's opinion on the matter is undecided until she's seen the proof. "I guess it all worked out in the end," she supposes, if her Wingleader hasn't heard anything more. "I wonder what did Azaylia did while Aishani and Edeline were talking in circles."

It's true. That's all he has to offer now too and he probably has already offered the hard alcohol. This is a bachelor weyr in every sense of the word. "Secretly that man who was leading the tithe train was a master of physical combat. He would have taken down us and our dragons." Z'ian smiles quickly for the joke, popping the remainder of the fruit into his mouth. "I met her after the fall at Tillek. She seemed upset? That's probably not the best time to judge a person." As for the role that Azaylia played in that meeting, "She mentioned feeling as if she was making the problems worse. But then I don't know that the two of them were going to come out of that without licking some wounds."

Vienne whistles low. "I guess we're lucky we sweet-talked him like we did," she says of that 'deadly' man. Tempranillo, was it? And how nice of her to include Z'ian as a party to the sweet-talking. Onnly after that faux-serious bit of play does the bluerider flash a cheeky grin. "No, I'd imagine Lady Tillek is a different creature altogether when she's at her own table, when she's holding all the string and waiting for everyone else to dance. But at least it's done for the moment. I wish it wasn't such a worry. With everyone going on in the Weyr... But maybe having trouble coming from the outside can... unify things. If that's possible." She doesn't sound hopeful.

"We're lucky that you sweet-talked him like you did. I mostly fumbled around and felt confused about why I was even there." Z'ian rolls his eyes good naturedly for the entire event, reaching across and chunking off a piece of cheese. "I think Holders are an entirely different beast even when they're not at a 'table'. I'm a little too common to get on with them, maybe Azaylia feels the same way. The straight forward approach doesn't always work." It should though, his voice indicates. "I wish I thought that was true. But I don't really know. That kid, E'sren. He was asking me a lot of questions the other day. I felt terrible that I didn't have all the answers. All I could do was tell him other people felt the same way, confused. But that the Weyr wasn't going to burn down."

"I wonder, really, if it didn't play right into Edeline's hands. Going to see her about the tithe. I wonder what would have happened if the weyrwomen had just shrugged, asked you to sign and sent everyone on their merry way." She slips the block of cheese toward Z'ian, for an easier reach. She makes no remarks about her sweet-talking, though her quick smile is both pleased and embarrassed. "E'sren, one of the weyrlings," she says, just sorting out for herself which young man they're speaking about. "What did he want to know?"

"She probably would have had a very boring evening. She wouldn't have gotten to play daggers-with-words with Aishani and watched Azaylia squirm uncomfortably." Z'ian shakes his head for that. There's nothing much that the two of them can really do about what went down between the Lady Holder and the two goldriders. "He's a bluerider. He was with us and the other two when we went to get the tithes, asks a lot of questions." There's a grin of mild amusement for that particular personality quirk. "He wanted to know what was going to happen. What people were going to do. Wanted to know what had happened with Iolene's gold and all of that."

As Z'ian talks, Vienne's mouth twists thoughtfully to one side. She reaches for a strawberry to otherwise busy it, and only after the bronzerider is done, and the chewing is done, does she sigh. "I see what you mean. Not that anyone has those answers, that it's even something you should know, but just... to have someone looking for guidance, being the bearer of the news that... there is no guidance. We're all just standing on the edge of the unknown." She reaches for another strawberry. "Speaking on men on the edge," the bluerider says with a lilt of humor in her voice, changing the subject and tone with one segue. "How's K'del?" Whether she assumes they haven't spoken since the night of the big exposure or not.

"I never expected myself to be having these kinds of conversations." Z'ian admits as well, shaking his head again. He eventually ends up just leaning back in his seat, his long legs stretched out under the table beneath them. There's a snort of dry laughter for that segue. "He's as good as he's ever been, honestly. He's been hiding the truth from everyone for so long that it has to feel good for it to be out. Even if it doesn't necessarily cast him in the best light. Not that he's been the pillar of excellence in other regards, but."

"Never? Not even with your kids?" Vienne asks with a knowing little smile, that makes her question less of one. "As good as ever. I feel like his... pull on the Weyr is slipping, which might be for the better. I'm not sure that it was ever to anyone's benefit to have people dragged in so many directions at once," as much as she's clearly sorry for the fallen Weyrleader. "But I wish there was some way for him to heal. If not for the Weyr, then just for himself." Her mouth purses again. "I'm sorry I couldn't help him more." Past-tense. "I tried."

He laughs at this, "Their questions aren't quite as tough, yet. The older one is getting there though." Reaching behind himself, Z'ian locks his fingers behind his head. The gaze he levels onto Vienne is attentive. "I think that you're right. I don't think that anyone imagined it would get to this kind of point either, you know?" The Holds, Taikrin, tithes, wings, etc... "Honestly, if there was ever a time for him to begin healing? I think that it's probably now. There's nowhere left for K'del to go but back upwards in his life. I think F'manis promoting him to Wingsecond did him good too. He's earning respect from his work with Taiga, not just because his dragon caught a gold." His shoulders lift. "So am I. We all tried to help him. Aishani told me that he turned down being the Weyrleader, that's why I went to him before. To find out why, then he told me about the whole other mess. Some of the hurts go down too far."

Vienne actually has a touch of a hopeful smile for news of K'del's wingly pursuits, her head bobbling low in the process. "That's good," she agrees, light but earnest. As for that stuff about him turning down the job he supposedly wants to badly, her nod is quieter. "I tried to warn him that it was coming. I thought maybe, if he was more prepared for it, he wouldn't react only with his gut." But the long draw of a breath and its sighed release says how wrong she was. "I didn't know, obviously, about Iolene. I guess maybe he tried to hint a few times, but I never thought it was anything like that. And it never seemed like he was ready to talk."

"I don't know that there was really a way to prepare him. He's been so preoccupied with everything else." Z'ian rolls his eyes up to the ceiling, studying some spot there as he leans his chair back. "None of us did. I still can't fathom how we were all so completely fooled, I've been riding for so long now. I should have noticed the difference." There's an edge of frustration there and he lets the front legs of the chair drop back down. "He was ashamed, I think. Deeply horrified that ''he'' hadn't even been able to tell the difference between the real thing and a fake."

"Did he... explain at all? Was he drinking or just... that in love with her?" Vienne wonders, her head tipping far to the side, her brows furrowing for a second as she puzzles through the things to ask. "And not just to be tricked, but to be tricked by someone he cared about so much." No, Vienne can only shake her head at that. "Sometimes I wonder if he knew her at all."

"He said he thought she might have drugged him?" Z'ian offers up as he looks back to the bluerider again, lips pursed together thoughtfully. "And that he can never talk to again. He can never ask ''her'' why. It makes all the ways he's been behaving make a lot more sense, now." And for that last, he nods in agreement. "That's what I'd been thinking too. How well could he have actually known her if she could do that to him? How hard it must be to look back at your entire experience with a person and doubt that any of it was real at all."

Drugged. Vienne winces. "Does he really need to ask? It seems like all the answers are probably clear enough, especially to him. He just doesn't want them to be true. I think people usually know the ugly truth, having a question roll around and around in your head is just... what happens when you'd rather not see the answer." She sweeps a hand up over her arm to her shoulder, rubbing as they hunch a little bit under the weight of such unfortunate talk and sad perspectives. "Do you think it was just Iolene and Aishani? Did Azaylia know?"

"I don't know. I just know that I'm glad to not be K'del right now." Z'ian breathes out through his nose, snorting then for her next. "She knew too. She found out afterwards. But she didn't want Lujayn to become the Weyrwoman, so she helped support the fraud too." His elbow comes down onto the table and he rests his chin into his palm. "It's been amazing really how people have picked and chosen the traditions the wanted to follow. How is that bucking the system working out for them all? Everyone seems pretty miserable. Gold flights are the deciding factor until they're not and you don't like the person whose dragon rose?"

"Lujayn must have been..." Vienne shakes her head, finding it to hard to finish. "That they would all feel so strongly about it. I hear she came here. I don't know what the purpose was, what outcome was. I can't imagine she'd think very well of... anyone." But then Vienne doesn't know Lujayn at all. "It might not always turn out the way we'd like. It might end up that some seventeen year old boy with pimples on his face becomes the Weyrleader we're all supposed to follow. But at least we all agreed to follow the same person. At least, when the dragons choose, there's little blame to cast and we're all on the same side." Elbow to the table, she drops her chin into her hand, fingers half-covering her mouth. "I don't know what anyone can do now. I don't know if we can get back there, now that everyone is aware of these... options."

"I can't claim that I knew Lujayn all that well, there didn't seem to be anything offensive about her? I think Iolene just wanted the leadership to further her own agenda. If I were to go guessing." Z'ian presses his fingers into the side of his face. "I don't know either. K'del mentioned I think that she knew already? That he told her? But that she wouldn't come back ''then.''" He can only roll his eyes briefly for that. "So we're left to our own devices still. I'm hoping that with people aware now that this can be done, that they'll be better prepared for it. They might be able to tell the difference next time someone tries to fool them. It's almost too much to think about it."

"It's not just that, though," Vienne says, her gaze slipping off to skim idly around Z'ian's weyr. "It's not just the lie. It's all of it. People thinking that their preferences should be the difference between which gold, which bronze, which leader. Which orders to follow, which traditions to hold onto, which tithes to send. Not that..." Apology slips into her smile. "I don't think that everyone should just follow blindly, either. I'm still upset that they pressed us the way they did. As much as I wasn't crazy about Igen, no one ever so abused their power while I was there. But I guess that's the way they were trained." It brings something cool to Vienne's eye, a chilliness not often seen on the gentle little bluerider.

"No. I never believed in that whole 'follow orders or we'll all die' mantra that some like to pull out of their pocket. You know, when it suits them." Not that Z'ian is going to name any names or anything on the matter, but. "But the framework for our whole society is there and just... I don't know. Things got way fucked up here at some point. We need the next goldflight to come sooner rather than later. I just hope that it comes with the type of results that the majority can accept, give the whole place some time to heal." He catches the chillness to her eye, his mouth quirking to the side. "I didn't expect that they would press so aggressively."

"Like, how about: just one gold rises and one bronze wins, no funny business," Vienne proposes with a wide grin. Such a novel idea! Her smile is pulling into a broader smirk, though, a cheeky thing. "Maybe one gold, two bronzes, knowing our luck." At which point the conversation devolves into other ridiculous and potentially taboo ways for flights to turn out, with enough jokes coming from the bluerider to prove that Vienne isn't actually the most prim woman in the whole Weyr.

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I'zech

2013-05-24T06:50:45Z

Vienne: /* Relationships */

{{HrwProfile
|picture=izech.jpg
|position=Assistant Weyrlingmaster
|craft=
|birthplace= podunk hold outside of Crom
|mother= Karinka
|father= unknown
|siblings=
|children=
|friends=
|playedby= Adam Levine
|livejournal=}}

== Description ==

He's a generally attractive guy, though it might be hard to say why. His face is long, a lot of nose and cheek, dark hazel eyes on the small side, physique hard and rangy. But he has a good head of dark hair, cut short enough to stand mostly on end, and perhaps the unshaven scruff has a certain appeal, at least when it hasn't had a chance to grow out to more beard-like lengths. There's an overall sense of destructed dishevelment about him, a generally slept-in look about his hair and the snug fitting shirts that never quite manage to cover a body of tattoos, the rough-worn trousers and the dubiously tied boots. Basically, he's just this side of a complete mess.

== WYSK ==

* From somewhere in the Crom region, he was a pretty shady kid.
* Impressed Bronze Rojeth at HRW when he was 18
* Had a brief spell of promise as a weyrling, which fizzled long ago.
* Kind of a jerk now.
* He has a reputation for not treating women very well.
* Currently embarking on being a pretty sketchy Assistant Weyrlingmaster.

== History ==

Ikarzech was born on the outskirts, of Crom logistically and of life in the broader sense, a single mother with no prospects, father unknown, no siblings to speak of. The tiny holding was home to miners predominantly and a few scraggly farms: a depressed existence. Disaffected and disenfranchised from an early age, he was more involved in scrappy fights and petty theft than paying attention to his schooling, the quality of which was underwhelming at best. By fifteen, he decided he'd had enough of this crappy life and headed for Crom proper, where he fell in with more unsavory youths before he was eventually searched by a High Reaches blue.

At 18, he impressed bronze Rojeth, a dragon as dark in outlook as himself, and in all truth, they applied themselves to weyrlinghood with all the dedication of a pair ready to make something of their life. But, little by little, the impetus to try has whittled away, disillusioned by turns of Weyr turmoil. Now they're rather more apt to sit back and watch the world burn, with I'zech apparently intending to drink and sleep his way through the rest of his life, along with whatever other unsavory ways he finds to spend his time.

Recent abysmal displays in Hailstorm Wing have prompted I'zech's Wingleader to beg that Quinlys take him on as an assistant in the hopes that working will the weyrlings will both reconnect him to his better days and to punish him just a bit with the extra work that weyrlings generally require - as well as deliver the tacit warning that if he doesn't shape up, he could be on his way to indefinite watchrider duty somewhere really abominably dull.

== Relationships ==

Since I'zech has been at the Weyr for a while now, and isn't exactly the unremarkable sort, he probably has quite a few 'relationships'. If you'd like to hash out some back-story, I am, how shall we say.... YES PLZ! :D

*[[Jo]]: Having impressed together, I'zech and Jo have something of a past. It's somewhat checkered. Big freaking surprise there. They're loosely connected in that 'we've shared a lot of shit but we aren't superbuds' way.

Weyrlings:

*[[Alida]]: Crabby one.
*[[C'wlin]]: Shifty one.
*[[D'kan]]: Unassuming one.
*[[E'sren]]: Nice-guy one.
*[[K'zin]]: Yappy one.
*[[N'hax]]: Big one.
*[[N'ky]]: Stuttering one.
*[[Sabella]]: Okay one.
*[[Telavi]]: Naked one.

== RP Logs ==

{{RP Logs | name = {{BASEPAGENAME}} | columns = 3 }}

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

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

{{Icons}}

{{HRW}}

[[category:Characters]]
[[category:Riders]]
[[category:Bronzeriders]]
[[category:Flurry Wing]]
[[category:Cirrus Wing]]
[[category:High Reaches Weyr]]
[[category:Crom Hold]]
[[category:High Reaches Area]]
[[category:Greater Pern]]

Logs:Something Like A Talk

2013-05-12T03:22:22Z

Vienne: Created page with "{{ Log | who = Alida, E'sren, I'zech | where = The Snowasis, High Reaches Weyr | what = I'zech tries to help some weyrlings with their questions about flights. Except they don..."

{{ Log
| who = Alida, E'sren, I'zech
| where = The Snowasis, High Reaches Weyr
| what = I'zech tries to help some weyrlings with their questions about flights. Except they don't really have any.
| when = Day 4, Month 10, Turn 31
| gamedate = 2013.05.11
| quote = But my thing was more personal, not really constructive to the uh... lesson.
| weather =
| categories =
| mentions =
| ooc =
| icons = alida.jpg, e'sren 1.jpg, i'zech punchself.png
| log = Rojeth, with his sneaking fog and terse words, has passed around a general invitation. I'zech is available. In the bar. For Talks. And so he is, having gotten himself a head start this afternoon, two empty shot glasses on the table, a pint and a pitcher of beer. He lounges in a booth in his flight jacket, a knee up against the table and a scratch across his cheek. He's waiting, and maybe there's even a glance toward the ledge now and then, though his expression is dull rather than expectant.

Ahruth relays the general idea, and E'sren finds it too good an opportunity to pass up. He's already grinning when he arrives, his own jacket unzipped and a long blue scarf draped across his shoulders. Finding I'zech is easy, and he slides into the seat across from the bronzerider and aims that grin at him. After a moment of silence he says, "I'm really excited to find out what this is gonna look like."

Ah, here comes one, in his pretty blue scarf. I'zech already has a skeptical eye for the weyrling when he walks in, and then a snort added to it for the expectations. "Sit," he says, not looking as excited, but at least vaguely amused now. He lifts a hand for the bar, a signal for them to bring a glass for E'sren. "I wasn't expecting you." You. He cracks a derisive smirk as he looks over the dapper bluerider. It's the scarf. It's definitely a look.

E'sren had his hands in his pockets when he came in; they're still there. It kind of makes it seem like he might get up and go at any moment, like maybe he just came by to see if this was actually happening. But he relaxes back into the seat and folds his leg under the table, still grinning, and lifts his eyebrows. "You didn't honestly think I was gonna miss this. Why not me?" Once the glass shows up he smiles up at the waitress in thanks and reaches for the pitcher. So he ''is'' staying.

I'zech rolls his eyes. "Glad you find me so entertaining," he drolls out, watching as the glass shows up and the weyrling helps himself to pouring. "You're not one of the ones who's gonna freak out like the whole thing is some big mystery, all worried about everyone's ''feelings'' and shit." And for that, he'll lift his glass and take a drink of his own. "''Do'' you have questions?"

For that, E'sren just grins and shakes his head while pouring slowly until his glass is full. He relaxes again, though sits up straight with one hand wrapped around his ankle under the table, the other lifting his glass for a drink. He squints over the rim and shrugs when he can talk again. "What do you mean by that? Who did you have in mind?" Does ''he'' have questions? He thinks about it, dark eyes wandering, pulls the corners of his mouth down. "I dunno. Yeah. Maybe. Too many. I feel like it's one of those things I just have to deal with. It isn't really me I'm worried about. Does it suck?" That might have been more than I'zech wanted.

I'zech tips his head, brow high and wrinkled. It's a 'you know' look, in place of an answer to his first question. To the not-the-point question. As for the questions that he's supposed to ask, if there are too many, that doesn't seem to bother the bronzerider, who gestures with a wave of his free hand for E'sren to let loose if he wants. "It can," he answers with a shrug. "But that's always the way, isn't it? But you don't care much at the time. There's some voice in the back of your head going, 'fuck, what are you doing', but the voice in the front is just 'yeah, man, do it', you can have feelings about it later. But most of the time it's some decent looking little greenrider and it's not like boning them is a real chore, you know? People get all worked up about winning. Losing is more annoying. Can be." Unless, you're I'zech, whose self-satisfied smirk says it can be a problem for Other People.

Alida has arrived.

Does he know? He lifts his chin to try to receive the information from that look I'zech's giving him, and it must be successful because he slow-smiles, then grins, his eyes squinting. "Oh yeah." He knows. E'sren considers his glass for most of what comes next from the bronzerider, but does make eye contact occassionally. He nods slowly too, to confirm the points are sticking. His snort at the end is for that smirk, but it's amused. "But not for you," he assumes, from it all, and presses his mouth. "I can't even imagine what it's gonna be like. But I feel like... I know it's a part of life for me now? I just don't know how I feel about the whole... blind groping and mindless sex part. And I feel like shit because I don't wanna hurt... someone. And we haven't talked about it all. I dunno." He shrugs again as if he could shrug off the whole thing, take it all back, and drowns his regret in another drink. He's sitting in a booth with I'zech, across from the bronzerider, who's had a couple shots and now shares his pitcher with the weyrling.

Dragon> He remembers Rojeth's feel, and so when Ilicaeth's skittering, swirling golden sands meet with that freaky dampness and mist of the bronze's, they morph into sandstone: a jutting fist raised upward to the sky, defying the ages. << Alida needs ta' talk with him. Where's he at? >> The blue's almost-baritone is raspy, straighforward. (To Rojeth from Ilicaeth)

I'zech is already making a face at E'sren's fretting about hurting someone. "Don't worry about it. They like it. At least, in that moment they do. And how they feel about liking it in the moment, afterwards, that's their own problem. You're both only half-there anyway. Like you said, it's just blind groping and mindless sex. It's surprisingly hard to fuck someone to death. You're not gonna accidentally do it." He drinks again. "I mean, it's not like you love that moment where you miss and slam your dick sideways, either." And yes, Alida can feel free to walk in at this moment. Rojeth having tossed out a blanket invite to all the people who were on I'zech's 'you should talk to these weyrlings' list, and the rumor of the infamous weyrlingmaster available for drinking and talk of flights probably spreads easily. Rojeth hides I'zech's location from no one just now. He's in the bar, at a booth with E'sren, drinking beer. There's a pitcher, ready for company. "If they seem unhappy afterwards and you care to apologize, you say you're sorry and get the hell out of there." Or out of them, as the case may be. That goes without saying.

Said blanket invite is accepted, but Ilicaeth wanted the specifics of I'zech's placement. With those hopefully gotten, the blonde will find it easier to stride directly to his table, instead of looking around, Alida then taking up a sudden seat across from the bronzer. Where that puts her in regard to E'sren is up to positioning of the moment. Immediately, the woman opens up her flying jacket, then pours herself one of whatever's in the pitcher...and starts drinking. At some point, flat greens look over into I'zech's gaze...and stare. Yeah, she's a little stiff. For now, nothing is said to both of the guys she's sitting with.

For all I'zech's tactful word choices, E'sren laughs or winces and looks around to see who might have heard. This is what he came for. "I have no regrets about this conversation by the way," he states finally, before another drink. And before Alida's gotten there, and before he realizes she's come into the bar, he looks like he's about to say something else, something more meaningful maybe, but that's when the other bluerider shows up and he quickly straightens up and gives her a neutral smile, nothing to see here! When she sits and says absolutely nothing to either of them he looks at I'zech, lifts his eyebrows and says, "Hello Alida." At this point, he's used to it.

"Well isn't this a nice surprise," I'zech says with a sharp smile for Alida's silent arrival and her settling right on in. He takes one long look over her and turns to gesture toward the bar, pointing at his empty shot glass and holding a finger up. Someone here needs something stiff, all right. But he didn't miss that almost-speaking look on E'sren's face. "What. Let's hear it. Alida's not gonna give you a hard time," he smirks, shifting his weight so that a boot can kick lightly at her under the table. When the shot is delivered, he slides it across to the blonde.

"E'sren..." is murmured politely, a hint tightly, Alida bobbing her head to the other bluie, then swallowing another draught of whatever potent potable was put out for them. After a moment, the blonde scrapes off a casual-seeming, "Don' let me interrupt," to her fellow weyrling, the irony of it hitting her suddenly, causing 'lida to snerk at herself. At I'zech's words, the often-prickly, sarcastic gal *almost* starts to needle someone...and then she's so kindly toed in the shin by the weyrlingmaster. There's hardly a reaction from the blonde, her gaze narrowing just slightly upon the bronzer, but she *does* remain silent...a thankful bob of head offered for the gift of the shot...which she pounds back half of in a solid swallow. There's no gasp or eye-watering, but the burn of it down her throat leaves the woman unable to do anything but squeeze her eyes shut and hold her breath for a moment.

"I am definitely not worried about that," E'sren replies, in regards to Alida. "But my thing was more personal, not really constructive to the uh... lesson." If that's what this is? He decides it's an okay word choice and moves on. "Besides we should probably open it up for the table. She didn't hear what you just filled me in on, for instance. And really everyone deserves to hear that. Needs to. What were ''you'' just saying?" He takes another drink, draining his glass, and grinning behind it.

"I'm pretty sure it's all personal," I'zech says with a snort, topping off his glass and this time signaling for the bar to send another pitcher. Whether E'sren should take his words as an invitation, or that it's okay to let his more personal comments wait is up for debate. "What are you wondering about?" he asks Alida with a jerk of his chin. No, he's not going to repeat himself for E'sren's amusement.

If she was going to comment upon E'sren's words of keeping his previous inquiry to I'zech private, Alida can't manage to do so, as her breath is only now starting to return to her body after that hit of liquor. Her greens finally open again, and flick over to try and 'read' the look on her fellow bluie's features. His tone and vocal emphasis give her some small warning that something's afoot, and the weyrling ratchets up her internal defenses another notch higher, nothing upon her *outer* self showing this...except, perhaps for a minute tensing of her shoulders beneath jacket. And then I'zech's speaking...and not letting some kind of a bomb drop, which makes that small tension across Alida's shoulders slowly disappear...though her whole body still holds enough of such left over to power a small building with. To the bronzer's inquiry comes her clipped, too-casual, "Me 'n N'ky got the duty this month." As he likely already knows. "Figure there's potential that some weyrlings might come ta' us lookin' fer..." search for it, woman "...info on this subject." In case he's thick as two planks: "Give me the details."

Whatever chance E'sren might have had to spill the proverbial beans is lost when Alida answers, which is just fine with him. He just calmly reaches for the new pitcher when it shows up and fills I'zech's glass first, then his own, then a third for Alida if she wants it. While she talks he listens, pulls a face. "I'm not sure that's true, I mean why would someone who doesn't know something go to someone else who also doesn't know. I mean even if he tells you everything, it's still just gonna be secondhand knowledge. I think that's why we're coming to them for the answers in the first place."

"Why, you think that the other weyrlings believe you guys have a lot of experience with flights? Or just with hapless fucking?" I'zech cocks a brow at Alida, but then his attention is on the table with a scowl. "We need some nuts or something. Nuts!" That's yelled over to the bar, as they should apparently just be constantly sending someone over. At least this time they can snag a bowl of peanuts as they bring the fresh pitcher. "It's sex," he tells Alida plainly. "You rub your needy-parts with someone else's until you don't want to anymore." He slips some nuts into his mouth. "You guys have questions. It's not your fault. People talk about the whole thing it's something it's not. And it's not like you don't sit there thinking about the prospect from the time you impress. You imagine big awful hairy guys, bad as it can get, and how much you don't want to do it. But when the time comes," he shrugs. "You'll be fine."

Right on the heels of the other bluerider's comment comes, "Y'never know the...vaguarities uv' a kid's mind." Alida raps this off crisply to E'sren, the woman taking another drink from her glass, then looking at that half-shot left in her hand. "Even if we don' know too much...they might feel safer talkin' t'another weyrling." The hint of consternation and faint aggravation upon her face might show that she too wonders why anyone would *ever* think such...but there it is: reality too often goes contrary to what people might want, or think. I'zech's 'question' was just answered by her, though Alida gives him a heavy stink-eye for his 'contribution,' the woman snorking as he calls for nuts, then pounding back that second shot. After a few moments to recover from its effects, she once more gazes upon the weyrlingmaster, and lips off a grumpy, "That's about the most pathetic and useless explanation uv' sex I think I've ever heard." For the bronzer's assertion that others blow it all up into something too much... "So? If it's so underwhelming, then y'ough'ta be able ta' give us more insight."

"I still don't get how anyone would feel safe talking to someone who doesn't know anything more than they do about a specific subject." There's no bite there in E'sren's voice, he's using the kind of voice a person uses when they're expression an honest opinion, unmarred by emotion or need to convince. He grins at I'zech when the nuts show up, for the incorrigible, and reaches over to steal a pinch for himself. While chewing his brow furrows in reaction to Alida's next words but he doesn't say anything, not quite yet.

"If someone comes asking you what a flight is like, you let one of us know," I'zech clarifies with a twist on his mouth that is not quite believable as a smile. "I didn't say it was underwhelming. And I'm not here to put on a damn show. You wanna know what sex is like, go have some. I'd recommend getting tanked first so really get the full experience of looking back on a few decisions you can't really take responsibility for, just to round it all out. And ending up with a stranger. What do you want from me? You want me to tell you what your own orgasms feel like? I'd imagine," he says with a flick of his gaze over Alida, "that they piss you off." He pops a few nuts in his mouth. Then he jerks his chin at E'sren. "What was the thing you wanted to ask?"

"Yer guess's as good as mine..." Alida mutters in commiseration with E'sren, the woman shrugging before she also reaches over, nabs up some of those peanuts, and starts mindlessly chewing. Around a half-mouthful, "Just tryin' ta' cover as many bases as I can." Riposted to I'zech comes the woman's slightly aggravated, "I wasn't talkin' about flight sex, in specific. Just... sex." His following words only increase the blonde's irritation and tension, her jaw tightening and thrust pugnaciously forward for a moment. Greens simmer rather obviously as she notes darkly to the bronzer, "*You* piss me off." Unspoken: and if I weren't a weyrling, I might just bite your face off. Asshole.

"That actually isn't a bad idea," E'sren chimes in, to go with what I'zech said about having their own sex. "If you haven't had sex yet, you should probably at least figure that out before Ilicaeth catches. Or else you're gonna get thrown in to it all with no idea what's going on on top of not having any idea what's going on. Seems bad." He doesn't have this problem, but he's willing to help out. "You know he can like... ground you, right? Give you extra work on top of what you already have? Just sayin'." Because she seems to be having a problem with remembering rank. As for what he was ''going to'' say, he shrugs and quirks a half-smile. "Just... I have someone I need to talk to about this stuff. Like... what it might mean. When. You know."

"That people will talk to you about sex or that you need someone to tell you all about it?" I'zech appears to either be oblivious or unconcerned about Alida's irritation, but when she comes right out to say he pisses her off, the bronzerider cracks a wide, smug smile. Meanwhile, of course it's a good idea, but the he shrugs again rather than dwell on his brilliance. "I don't know how much it matters that you know what's going on. And there's no gaurantee that anyone's going to be catching anyone else right away." Obviously, if they were going to ground Alida everytime she mouthed off, they'd never have time to train her to do anything. Plus, they are drinking, after all. It implies a certain informality. But for E'sren having someone to talk to, he snorts out a laugh. "Already? Didn't waste any time, did you."

E'sren's words to her seem to fall on unresponsive ears, for Alida simply continues to stare with growing irritation at I'zech, though she lips off casually enough to the other weyrling, "Yeah." But she's talking to I'zech personally, not to 'the weyrlingmaster...' and the bronzer's response apparently says so. Still, she holds on to her anger, tries to drown it in booze, the rest of her beer chugged down, and the next one that was alreay pre-poured set in on with gusto. After a few moments to get herself under more control, the female bluie notes to I'zech, "Apparently nobody's punched ya' in the mouth hard enough ta' knock out a few teeth." Sip. "Yet." Snark. She completely ignores any further sex or flight sex provocations from him, and instead settles back stiffly into the booth to await how E'sren will answer this next rhetorical question. Cue more drinking.

"I think if it was wasted time I wouldn't be telling you I had someone to talk to. Right? So I guess no, I didn't." Grinning, E'sren swirls the beer around in the glass and tilts his head back. "It's gonna suck," he figures, calmly, and gives Alida a weird look without words for all her violent talk. Just... yeah. "Aaaanyway," he adds slowly, "that's nobody else's problem so I didn't want to bring it up. And ''I'' thought this was a really constructive talk. I know so many new things." Or something.

"Am I supposed to be scared?" That someone's going to knock his teeth out? I'zech isn't. He drinks his beer, eats his nuts, unworried. Really, he's too busy smirking for E'sren's swirling beer and that grin he's wearing. "I didn't think she was into you." He might just be giving him a hard time, but there's just enough sharpness left in his eye to make it dubious. Of course, that's only fair turn around for all the 'new things' E'sren's been learning. "So basically, neither of you have questions about flights because you," Alida, "just have questions about sex and you," E'sren, "just have questions about being in a relationship." And this, this makes the bronzerider roll his head back against the booth, relaxed, because that means he's basically off the hook for now.

"You c'n be whatever you wanna'..." Alida notes briskly, not taking I'zech's bait, the woman instead continuing to eat peanuts and take thirsty sips of her beer. It's better than cussing and maybe even reaching out to 'touch' someone, right now. E'sren's weird look garners him a very shark-like grin that has not too much besides wan, black humor behind it - that emotion never touching her eyes - which is soon enough turned upon the lolling bronzer, then dropped in favor of a drawled, "So; tell us all about flight sex."

"No? Well that makes two of us," E'sren jokes in turn with I'zech about obviously Sabella. "But hey. Surprises abounds. And yeah, I have questions about what to do when you only wanna be with one person and you and that person might end up having random mindless sex with other people at some point. Obviously I'm in the wrong section of the library." He lifts his eyebrows for a pointed look at first Alida, then the bronzerider, who also gets a grin because they're bros like that. He drains the rest of his beer and says, "I should probably get back to Ahruth. He needs a bath. Good talk though." He slides out of the seat and stands, stretching, says his goodbyes and leaves, whistling some song.

"Aren't we all," I'zech slings out. Wrong damn library altogether, for him. He tips a leisurely salute to E'sren as he takes his pretty blue scarf and hightails it out. I'zech pulls himself upright to slide to the edge of the booth and stand. "I'm not here to dish about sex. It is what it is. And it's a whole lot less earth-shattering than some people make it out to be." He digs around in his pockets to pay for all their drinks and adds with a smirk, "Still a good time, though. And if you need, I know some girls..." There's a tip of his head and a glance over Alida to finish his offer to hook her up if she wants. "The whole thing just isn't worth worrying about. In the end, you wind up having sex with someone who wants to have sex with you. It's only as big a deal as you want to make it out to be."

Waiting around to try and continue to have the delight of biting at I'zech somemore, hoping to get rid of some of her inner venom... Alida is let down some when the bronzer beats a retreat. After bidding E'sren adeiu with a silent lift of hand in farewell, the blonde remains a little stoney of aspect, until the full rider notes that about other women. A hint of fire is noted within her gaze, but it's snuffed by another voice within, the bluie's aspect going bland, while her tired-sounding voice notes, "Honestly; if I hear *another* walkin' penis use that tired old attempt at an insult..." Eyeroll, beer-sip. A casual lift of hand waggles fingers a little, the weyrling then following it up with a clipped, "Thanks fer the drinks." And nothing else.

I'zech looks down to count what's in his hand, and he lifts a glance to Alida, brow twisted and wrinkled. "What insult?" he has to wonder. The count comes up good, so then it's just closed in his hand while he waits to see what the testy one is imagining now.

She just *knows* he's trying to get her to react - this time by lying - and so the bluerider just sits there, sipping her beer, and staring coldly at the questioning bronzer. Apparently anyone who's ever used used that particular tack on Alida before has been trying to insult her... so why wouldn't I'zech.

If that's the way she wants it. I'zech shrugs a shoulder and turns away, to pay for the beer and shots that lubricated this little encounter. "If you do have questions, you know where to find me." Apparently she needs the right kind of questions, though. Off he goes.

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Logs:Bucket of Horrors

2013-05-10T22:31:29Z

Vienne: Created page with "{{ Log | who = I'zech, Telavi | where = View to a Kill Weyr, High Reaches | what = I'zech wants to know why Telavi is missing drills. Wait, no he doesn't. | when = Day 20, Mo..."

{{ Log
| who = I'zech, Telavi
| where = View to a Kill Weyr, High Reaches
| what = I'zech wants to know why Telavi is missing drills. Wait, no he doesn't.
| when = Day 20, Month 9, Turn 31
| gamedate = 2013.05.07
| quote = Girl things.
| weather =
| categories =
| mentions =
| ooc =
| icons = i'zech nailbite.png, telavi notgood.png
| log = Is I'zech sent to check in on the missing weyrling? Does he volunteer? Was it his own idea or just another way for the rest of the weyrlingmasters to saddle him with an inconvenient duty? Only people who actually show up to their weyrling lessons get to know things like that. Rojeth could send a warning on ahead but there's only a touch of clamminess laced out for Solith's breezes, no further explanation before the bronze sweeps onto her ledge, all craggy teeth and stalking quiet. As soon as I'zech is on his feet, Rojeth takes off again and his rider just wanders right on in, unafraid of whatever plague Telavi supposedly has. He should probably call out or something, on the off chance that Solith doesn't give her a heads up, but he doesn't bother.

He arrives quickly, he departs quickly, Solith lifts one sleepy eye only to shut it again. She's curled up, out of the way, making the most of the sunshine. Tela's curled up too, a lump under the covers, nowhere near the sunshine. It's dark. There's no rioting 'Ha ha, fooled ''him'', sorry. This time, anyway!

In truth, I'zech's first assumption is that Telavi isn't here at all. That C'wlin and Solith are conspiring in some great ruse to let her slip away for some clandestine reason. He stands there without seeing her, without recognizing that the bundle in the bed is actually a person. He's about to turn back to the ledge when he realizes that she really is the lump. He puts a hand on what he probably assumes is her shoulder. And whether it's because this is potentially a very quick visit, or because it's just his way, Rojeth doesn't feel far, some lingering mist or a faint aftertaste of swamp water to stay with Solith while she dozes so easily in her sunshine.

The air can't help but seem fresher around Solith in her sleep, even with that drift of mist. Solith doesn't push it away, just wriggles her narrow muzzle against her paws in a way that ripples muscle from head to tail until it's worked all the way down and she goes still again. Tela doesn't move much more, though yes, that is her shoulder. Her eyes open, hazily, but if the hand's not moving... maybe she imagined it?

Ah, just enough movement to be sure it really is a shoulder and not her head that he's got his hand on. That's important information, really, since I'zech lets his weight sink more firmly into that hand, and that would be pretty rude on her head, even by his standards. Plus now he can see hair and the glance of her eyes off in a direction that doesn't include him. "I don't hear coughing. The room doesn't stink like you're losing it from both ends." Lovely. "And Solith is out there having herself some nice sunshiney dreams like she doesn't have a care in the world." His hand tightens on her shoulder to rock her back and forth. "So let's hear it." The excuse.

There should be some reason why Tela isn't squirming past I'zech's hand and leaping out of bed or, at the very least, biting his face off, too. Some reason other than how, at first, the added pressure might just feel like more comforting covers. "...What?" It's drifty, just like Solith for once. That doesn't last long. Her braided hair's in her eyes, but she twitches her head to get it at least a little out of her face and twists her neck to look up at him. Or try, because there's that rocking. "''Stop'' that." Her voice is gravelly, like she hasn't used it for awhile now, even if it hasn't been all that long since C'wlin left. "Makes my head hurt. Shells." And then something coarser, as well as not so anatomically possible, involving I'zech's father. Apparently she ''does'' know it's him.

"You first." That's for anatomical impossibilities. And, of course, I'zech just jerks her shoulder around a little more soundly, more roughly, but he stops after that to stare down impassively at her. "I don't want to stand here all day," he tells her, sounding like he's already bored by the guessing game. "What's going on. And why is C'wlin running around as your message boy?"

Which just pisses her off, that shaking, not that Telavi's likely to have invited I'zech to sit at the best of times. Moving to thrust off his hand even before he stops, she twists to sit up with an actual wince, scooting higher in the bed with the covers so she can keep the solid wood of its headboard to her back. Her face must itch, given the tearstains, but she wears them like warpaint. "I promised I'd sing him a song, and he was just so into that, he let me off." She rolls her eyes. "You know harpers."

Teary-faced. I'zech looks at her without those streaks inspiring any soft sympathies. Instead, he gives a snotty expression for her explanation about C'wlin and the roll of her eyes. "Listen, if you're just having a wah-wah, woe-is-me day, you can haul yourself out of bed and join everyone else who would rather holed feeling sorry for themselves. So either tell me what the fuck is wrong or get up. You hungover?" Because it's never been an excuse that's gotten him anywhere. He glances around and, whether it's because he's eager to be done with this task or because he's anxious to be standing around in her room, his shoulders roll.

Tela slits those eyes at him, too. "I ''wish''." There aren't telltale bottles lying around for the assistant weyrlingmaster to look at, and for that matter, there's still hardly any furniture: a basic clothespress that shouts out 'to be replaced' and the big sleigh bed that came with the place, that's it, though color scarf-streamers decorate the balcony and the spork collection is missing. It's cleaner than it had been, too. "Girl things. You wouldn't want to know." Because nobody's ever given ''that'' excuse before, ever. She says it so offhandedly, too, never mind that she's even paler now.

It's just not fair. Girl things. I'zech forehead furrows in frustration and he lifts a hand to scrub his fingers across the wrinkles in his brow, like he can force them out he if he rubs hard enough. Why is he even having this conversation? But then, he's also not exactly sold on her flippantly tossed-off, no-follow-up-questions excuse. "Try again," he tells her humorlessly from under his hand. But another glance at her does notice the pallor and as his hand falls away again, his eyes narrow.

Why is she never making it easier on him? "It's the truth," Telavi tells I'zech, her chin lifted. Still there's no followup.

"What, you think you're the first woman to ride a dragon? Oh, ow, I have cramps and I'm sad?" Now I'zech rolls his eyes. "Stopper up the gash and let's go. You can be sad later." He jerks a thumb over his shoulder, like he expects her just to pop out of bed and head for the ledge. "Or you can go to the infirmary, because the whole... production..." his with a general wave at her. "...has evidently gone awry."

So Tela generally takes some pride in being all been-there heard-that, but he ''went there'', and she looks frankly shocked. And disappointed, really. "''No.''" she says, irritation scratching up her voice. "Since when did you become an expert? Are you trying to say that Meara ''trained'' you in this sort of thing, or did some girl use that ''excuse'' to tell you ''no''? Listen," and here she has to let her eyes shut for a moment before she can get back to glaring at I'zech, but even then she's lost track of what she was saying.

I'zech doesn't need to go there. He lives there. And so there's no particular expectation on his face, especially given the way he slings the phrase out and moves right along. "Yeah, Meara walked me through the whole thing. I was twenty five before I learned all about women parts." He talks right over her and as such, catches just enough of 'excuses' and 'no' to snort out a laugh. "Listen? Listen. If you all got a free pass just because of girl things..." Well, surely she can imagine how easy that would be. "Got me? So either give me something or get your ass to the infirmary."

He wants something? Tela will ''give'' him something, though she clutches a pillow to herself before leaning forward over it. Through her teeth, "If you can get a healer to come here, fine, waste their time, because they've seen me ''before'' even if it's supposed to ''work better than this''." And now for the ''literal'' something. "If you don't believe me? Look under the bed, I'zech. There is a bucket there. A very, very well-lidded bucket. In the bucket, there is ''evidence''. And if you look in that bucket, ''you'' get to take that evidence down to the laundry ''yourself''... and get the fuck out of my weyr."

A nonplussed look slowly becomes an incredulous one. "What, is this ''your'' first time?" I'zech asks her, shaking his head because no, thank you, he's not messing around with her chamber pot or blood hamper or whatever is in that bucket. "I believe you, Tela. It's your special girl time." Which he says as obnoxiously as he can. "If you've been to the healers for this, why didn't you just say that? Or why didn't they..." Well now he's just frustrated that miscommunications have landed all of this in his lap, weight shifting like he'd really rather just turn around and leave her there with her blankets and her tear-streaks and her bucket. Because, once again, why is he having this conversation?!

"Because you were being an ass," that's why. "And I'm ''hungry''," only that turns out more tremulous. "Except not." Tela doesn't bite her lip or anything, but it's a near thing, and it's very much there in her voice. "Can I go back to sleep now?"

Oh great. Now there's tremulous complaints. "Now that right there?" I'zech says with a drift of his hand that never quite becomes a point at her. "That's a lady problem." Hungry. With emphasis. Except not. The poor man can only shake his head and thank his lucky stars he doesn't have to stick around for this kind of crap very often. "Fuck. Yeah, fine. Next time, why don't you just give Isath a heads up so that I don't have quaking boys running around talking about how you're on your death bed with contagious diseases. And," with a smirk forming and a more pointed look at her blankets, "see the healers again if you can get there without leaving a trail."

Contagious diseases? That gets through Tela's malaise to the point that she actually looks ''intrigued''. But, petulantly, "He ''woke me up.''" And then since she's blushing anyway, she flips her assistant weyrlingmaster off, because it takes even less energy than throwing one of the pillows she can't afford to lose.

It's clear that I'zech really is on his way out, since Rojeth sweeps back onto the ledge, his effortless quiet just part of his nature rather than some intention to leave Solith undisturbed. And Telavi gets nothing for her intrigue other than another cool smirk, one that grows more satisfied as she gives him the finger. He pauses, eyes momentarily dark as they rest on her lifted hand. "Show up tomorrow." Then that's it. He's off to the ledge, leaving her to her bed. And if someone comes by with food in a while, chances are slim he had anything to do with that, right?

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File:Icon i'zech rojeth fog.jpg

2013-04-25T04:19:30Z

Vienne:

File:Icon i'zech rojeth beast.jpg

2013-04-25T04:17:20Z

Vienne:

File:Icon i'zech rojeth woods.jpg

2013-04-25T04:15:12Z

Vienne: Vienne moved page File:Icon i'zeck rojeth woods.jpg to File:Icon i'zech rojeth woods.jpg: I'm a genius and can't spell my own name

File:Icon i'zeck rojeth woods.jpg

2013-04-25T04:15:12Z

Vienne: Vienne moved page File:Icon i'zeck rojeth woods.jpg to File:Icon i'zech rojeth woods.jpg: I'm a genius and can't spell my own name

#REDIRECT [[File:Icon i'zech rojeth woods.jpg]]

File:Icon i'zech rojeth woods.jpg

2013-04-25T04:13:34Z

Vienne:

Logs:Burgers and Whers

2013-04-24T05:05:58Z

Vienne: Created page with "{{ Log | who = E'sren, I'zech | where = Garden Patio Ledge, High Reaches Weyr | what = E'sren and I'zech get to know each other over a burger. Sort of. | when = Day 5, Month 8..."

{{ Log
| who = E'sren, I'zech
| where = Garden Patio Ledge, High Reaches Weyr
| what = E'sren and I'zech get to know each other over a burger. Sort of.
| when = Day 5, Month 8, Turn 31
| gamedate = 2013.04.24
| quote = I can't say that doesn't explain some things
| weather = Nice
| categories =
| mentions =
| ooc =
| icons = e'sren 5.jpg, i'zech ahahaha.png
| log = It's a lovely evening, warm with a light breeze, stars just creeping out overhead as the sun sinks beyond the spires, moons on the rise. Not that it seems I'zech is taking any note of these things. He's currently sitting alone at table with a beer and a burger, the later of which he is chowing into with all the dedication of a man who has nothing else going on. He's in his usual state of dishevelment, the short sleeves of his shirt tucked up over his shoulders and ink on display, though that is likely leftover from when the sun was beating down a little more warmly. There are two girls sitting at a table across the patio, clearly talking about him, just enough so he can overhear words like 'bastard' and 'asshole' and he turns to give them a wide, cold, hamburgery smile and a not-at-all-subtle middle finger, which he swirls around rather suggestively. Despite all of this, it could probably be said that if he didn't care for the nice evening, he could be eating inside.

It's certainly something, seeing your weyrlingmaster flip someone the bird. Even more of a something to see him flip two women the bird. It's like... so gentlemanly. E'sren has this as his welcome, paused there at the stairs to watch the women, then I'zech, then the women again. They're understandably unhappy about that finger, and he lifts his eyebrows and blows out a low whistle under his breath as he approaches the table even if by so doing he also aligns himself with the subject of their ire. "Making lots of new friends I see," he comments wryly as he takes a seat, and it isn't that he doesn't care if he's unwelcome, it's that he wouldn't even think to think he could be. I'zech's a nice guy, right!?

I'zech puts the finger away, not because he realizes a weyrling is there -- because he's just a weyrling, not a wee little innocent child, after all (not that there are any gaurantees he wouldn't flick someone off in front of a child either) -- but because he's turned his attention back to his food and wants both hands to take his next bite. And the girls? They're annoyed enough (or finished with their own meals) to start to take their leave rather than sit where they have to look at him. The bronzerider is chewing as E'sren approaches, but he answers anyway. "Old friends." A correction. But when the bluerider sits, he wonders, "You don't want to get some food or something?"

Old friends. E'sren 'ahs', so corrected, and reclines in his chair, ankle atop opposite knee. "I might in a bit. I might be eating with Sabella and the others. Although I'm not gonna lie that looks amazing." Even half-eaten, the hamburger still got it. The topic of dinner pauses him again, this time to consider I'zech briefly before he offers up an idea. "You could always eat with us, you know. We all hang out at the same table. Plenty of room." He lilts the last, almost singsongy, to make it sound extra appealing.

"Should I leave you two alone?" I'zech wonders with a brow lifting up to wrinkle his forehead and a finger (not that one) pointing to his burger. He's not actually offering it, but he does put it down beside a pile of chipped potatoes to lean back in his chair and switch from eating the drinking. "Don't I see enough of you lot all day?" he asks with a quirk of a grin, a turn of his head. "I'll pass on the kids table." But just in case it seems like he just hates them all and wants nothing to do with him, he then throws the curve ball of asking, "Your folks still visiting?"

The burger seems safe, E'sren grinning off the joke, but the potatoes are another story. He leans forward to casually snag one of those, not at all subtle. It's like hey bro I'm gonna eat this, cool? His reply at first is just a shrug, til he's chewed enough to speak. "Probably. And I know it isn't really your style." He would say style. "But you might like it. Your call. Just throwin' it out there man." The curve ball does catch him off guard, swing and a miss, but he recovers well. "Yeah, for a few more days. Have you seen 'em?"

It must be cool, since I'zech doesn't seem to react at all to the potato theft. They're tasty too, all seasoned and stuff. "I don't know," he says of E'sren's family, turning his head to side-eye the weyrling. "Have I seen them?" Did they turn up to drill or anything? Come swarm the mouth of the barracks like teenaged fangirls? Or, just as unlikely, "Are they wearing signs that say E'sren's Family, because if so, I haven't see that." And if not, he probably doesn't know what they look like. He pops a potato in his mouth, too, reminded of them now. "You like havin' them here?"

"Not all the time," he replies easily about the signs, totally fluent in bullshit. "Sometimes they do. But mostly I was asking because they've been staying at the lake. Not really all that easy to miss." But hey, if I'zech wants to be a smartass, E'sren is gonna let him be a smartass. He takes it really well too. Since he wasn't killed on sight for stealing that potato he steals another, munching away around his answer. "Yeah, what's not to like? I just wish I could spend more time with 'em, or that Ahruth was big enough to take my little sister up. But." Another shrug, it doesn't bother him. "Anyway. What's your story?"

"Oh, is that them," I'zech says with a little flick of his brows that might make his words sound a little less like bullshit, like he's actually noticed people out by the lake. "I didn't realized they belonged to you." Or he just does the dry straight-man really well. "So you're tight." There's not real derision in it. Just a statement. "My mother was a wild wher and my father was a real stupid dude who got drunk and nailed her. I grew up surrounded by bones and carcasses and one day I ran away, got searched and the rest is history." He plasters on a smile and learns forward to take up his burger again. Meanwhile, it might be hard to tell when that hazy chill started to reach for Ahruth, but it's there now, Rojeth's creepy touch.

Nodding, E'sren confirms yeah, that's them. There's a little smile for the idea of them belonging to him, maybe not a concept he ever came up with before, but it fits so well. "Yeah, I guess they do. And yeah we are. There's nobody else out there on the road with you except your family, we didn't have a hold or anything to get lost in. Just us." I'zech's story doesn't sound as pleasant as his story did, does, and E'sren turns his bullshit detector up to max. "I can't say that doesn't explain some things," he comments slowly, taking another potato. Ahruth is away, curled up in a nice patch of warmed stone somewhere, dozing until he feels that chill. His head rears up and he swivels it around on his long neck, searching. Nothing. If a dragon can give a suspicious glance, he's doing that.

"Right. Trader." He probably did hear that somewhere and but it's probably unlikely that anyone expects I'zech to keep these kinds of personal details in his head. Right? Though the look he's giving E'sren now is certainly a thoughtful one. Or vaguely annoyed, it's hard to tell. Anyway, he brushes it all off when it's said his story explains things. "I'm a straight forward kind of guy. How far from here does your family get?" It's difficult to tell where Rojeth's contact might be coming from, but it's high, somewhere high, not in the barracks. The eerie breeze of his touch begins to start and stop, like the sound of breath from some unseen body. He waits.

E'sren does the whole point with finger, click with mouth thing when I'zech nails it with 'trader'. Bingo. And totally okay with being scrutinized, be it thoughtfully or in annoyance, he leans back in his chair and hitches his ankle back up, giving him the stretch of his shin to drum out a beat with both hands. "How far? Depends. Our normal route is around the Hold and the smaller holds in that area, but without any Thread we'll go as far as we can sometimes. We're only limited by how much food and supplies we have with us at the time. Or don't have." Whichever. Ahruth is roused, standing, and wanders the bowl where he napped, near enough E'sren in case he's needed but far enough to give him the space they've established over the past few months. He's searching.

To Rojeth, Ahruth hasn't made the discovery, hasn't been able to latch on, but he's probing the area with his mind, sniffing around for that chill.

I'zech bobs his head as he chews, some silent version of 'nice' or another polite pleasantry that he skips in favor of eating. "You deal in something in particular or just... whatever comes your way?" he asks around the remnants of his mouthful. Some rider he knows passes by and he jerks his chin in their direction, but that's all the attention they get. And, as if he's just now remembered that he's a weyrlingmaster, he wonders, "Are we supposed to talk about weyrling shit?"

Even with Ahruth hunting in earnest, Rojeth's location is hard to pinpoint. He's definitely high, out here somewhere. But his touch lacks some of the usual markers that make it so easy for dragons to track one another. Not all of them, surely, just... something not quite clear. And then it is. He's on the spires, looking down on the bowl. His voice comes, quiet and rasping. << Can you fly so high? >>

"Oh we're full of surprises. We've sold... clothing, perfume, weapons, leather goods. We pick things up along the way, it's part of why we're so well-known in our territory. If someone has a craft or a knack for making something, we can sell it for them. For a cut of the profit, but it gets their name out there. And they don't have to have some badge or knot to tell people they should buy their stuff." To E'sren, this is a great freedom, and he's proud. I'zech's question earns a shrug, a grin, who cares?, and one of his own. "Why're you so interested in that stuff?"

Meanwhie, Ahruth continues on in his search until he realizes he isn't alone. He stops, sniffs the air, then turns his gaze upward to where he now suddenly and inexplicably knows the bronze to be. Aha. His head tilts. His own voice is a smooth tenor, lilting. << I can, >> with confidence. << Is that an invitation? >>

I'zech pauses his eating to thumb a bit of grease from beside his mouth, listening -- at least partially -- to the explanation of E'sren's abandoned trader life, even if it does look like his attention wanders a bit in the middle. He then, for the record, wipes that hand on his trousers. As for the weyrling's question, the bronzerider shrugs a shoulder. "I buy and sell stuff sometimes. Old habits." Maybe they're like old friends? The last of the burger is shoved into his mouth, blocking any futher immediate answer, though he smirks a bit as he chews.

Rojeth's amusement comes like the wind through old, overgrown trees, branches creaking and scraping, the rustle of something in the underbrush. << Do you need one to fly? >> He doesn't seem to think so.

He'll ask the unasked. "Old habits, huh? Are those anything like old friends? You have a lot of old things. How about some new things? Like eating dinner with all your favorite people." His big grin is cheesy and overplayed, and E'sren picked it especially for the situation. It's a special occassion grin. Still, he's interested on the topic of buying and selling things, naturally, and lifts his chin slightly to express that. "What stuff?" he wants to know.

<< Not to fly. Maybe to fly there. >> Where Rojeth is. To share the space. Down below, the young dragon's neon wings open, spread, tentative.

I'zech brushes his fingers over his plate, last burger crumbs falling away just so he can get in on the potatoes again. But the chewing is slow, thoughtful, as he look across the table at the weyrling. "Probably," he admits of old habits and old friends. "Bringing up the same old shit." But as the bluerider goes back to inviting him to dinner, complete with that especially nice grin, I'zech's eyes narrow. "What are you on about?" He shakes his head, ready to have the invitation come to an end. "We'll see. Anyway, whatever stuff sounds good when the moment arises." He gives a sniff.

The fog continues to hang thickly, coalescing into billowing form, receding into shadow. << How will you find out? >> Rojeth challenges the young dragon, which is probably not exactly what he's been assigned to do. But hey, flying practice is flying practice?

E'sren is only too willing to oblige, since I'zech's being so adamantly against the idea. He drops it, hands up in defense but still grinning, and says, "Okay, fine, but don't come crying to me when you realize how cool it would be and you passed it up, and you're left with your old shit." Emphasis on 'shit'. He thinks about that answer for a second, a wrinkle between his eyebrows, then decides, "That's pretty vague, thanks for that."

Ahruth stands there, wings poised, breathing and thinking. There are a lot of reasons not to necessarily trust Rojeth, one of those being he barely ever even ''sees'' him. But the urge for the sky wins out over his common sense and he crouches, his hindlegs wriggling and bunching beneath him. Wings flare out, expressing a surprising span considering they don't look very big when they're furled, and then just like that he leaps. Practice and instinct walk hand in hand in telling his wings what to do, and in a few short moments he makes it to the spires with only one near miss at the end when he misses his landing by a bit and has to scrabble there on the edge to gain footing.

"What, do you want to see my records? Ten bottles of Benden red on the the third of month five? Maybe I deal in blackmarket wher babies. You, know, from my mother." I'zech lets out a scoff for the prying, even if it's coming from such an innocuous source. "Man," he says with shake of his head, abandoning the food for beer again. "Don't you see enough of me during the day? In your face every morning?" Not that he's really been so hands-on in the barracks, but there have been weyrlings here and there who got pretty unfriendly wake-up calls when they were slow to haul themselves from their cots: Quinlys putting I'zech's strengths to good use. But meanwhile, the bronzerider is starting to eye E'sren more thoughtfully again, like he's really, honestly, asking himself a question about him.

Rojeth really is there, a dark beastly beast with the last slivers of sunlight catching on his pale eyes, whirling in the easy shade of a muted, murky green. The hiss he lets out is probably congratulatory. And pointedly, he turns his attention toward the bowl, for the younger dragon to join him in looking down, down, down on everyone.

"Yeah I want records. I want clearly written, fully detailed records. What did the wher babies look like, did they have a lot of teeth, ''that'' kind of thing." If nothing else, E'sren can dish it out as well as he can take it. "And I want 'em on my desk by morning!" he adds on in a rush, pointing. I'zech had just better. "You're not really in ''my'' face in the morning. So. No." Since the bronzerider is back to eyeing him, E'sren can really only stare back. After a moment he's over it and asking, "What?"

Probably. Ahruth rights himself and affirms his spot there on the spires, curling his tail around and catching his breath. There's a zing of adrenaline from him, the rush of flight never something taken too lightly as far as he's concerned, but he tries to contain his youthful enthusiasm and takes the cue, turning his gaze down on the bowl. << Is this what you do? >> he asks of the strange bronze, not quite getting it but wanting to.

The dishing has I'zech cracking a smirk. "It's important to check their teeth," he agrees, something darkly twisted about his amusement. The smirk lingers, fading slowly as discussion goes back to the barracks. "Yeah, well, I might be sick of all you guys by the time dinner rolls around." Not that he's been chasing E'sren away from his private time with the burger. As for what he's been thinking, "You the oldest one?" Given his propensity for calling all weyrlings 'this one' or 'that one' or 'the looney one', it's likely he means in the barracks.

<< Sometimes, >> comes Rojeth's answer, his voice a quiet seething, the fog peeling back, retreating, as if contact is made up in full by the fact that he's physically present. << We have to go, >> is his manner of a farewell, the 'we' clearly him and I'zech rather than him and Ahruth. His wings snap open, and the wind ruffles them like heavy fabric before his take off goes silent but for the rush of air. He leaves the young blue to watch him soar down toward the human-filled ledge where their riders sit.

Yeah, yeah says E'sren's hand as he twirlsh is finger around in the air. His is a different finger, just a nice innocent pointer. I'zech can be as prickly as he wants, it's all about perspective. And E'sren's is pretty much constantly positive. He's just as enduring of all of these questions, cheerful and patient in the answering. This most recent one is attended to with a nod and, "I think so. I didn't really take down ages. Why?" It's then that Rojeth arrives, sort of, at least into the general vicinity, and he leans over to look at him. It might be the first time he's actually ''seen'' him. Maybe. He catches on. "Ahruth says you're leaving."

Sometimes? Ahruth could ask what the other times are for, but doesn't, and just settles into companionable if tense and scary silence with the bronze until he's suddenly excusing himself. There's no goodbye from the blue, he's too taken by surprise, but he does watch that landing, perhaps noting the position of the wings and everything for when he does so himself.

"No reason," I'zech grunts as he pushes himself to stand, sliding the chair back with his legs, the feet scraping against the ledge's stone. He's lifting his glass to pour the last of the beer down his throat, head tipped back and his free hand taking a moment's rest with splayed fingers across his stomach. When it's done and the glass is on the table again, he nods. "Yeah, I am. Things to see, people to do. I'll think about dinner." He lays a hand on E'sren's shoulder as he starts off, too hard to be a pat, too brief to be a grip. If he's supposed to get rid of his plate and things, he doesn't. And he doesn't say goodbye, either.

But Rojeth turns to look at E'sren, all too-pale eyes and glinting teeth. It's probably easy to make the assumption that the bronze stays hidden because he's aware of how he looks. And to the weyrling still looking down, the fog lingers around the edges and some smug sense of knowing filters in, unexplained. And then I'zech mounts up Rojeth carries him into the air, blinking out of existence right in front of where Ahruth sits. That strange sensation that an animal just screamed, but it's quiet now and impossible to know whether or not it really happened? It's unsettling, but it's gone now.

{{#ifexist: Logs_talk:{{BASEPAGENAME}} | <hr><hr><br><h2>Comments</h2>{{Logs_talk:{{BASEPAGENAME}}}} |<hr><hr>}}

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<comments />

I'zech

2013-04-23T17:04:17Z

Vienne: /* Relationships */

{{HrwProfile
|picture=izech.jpg
|position=Assistant Weyrlingmaster
|craft=
|birthplace= podunk hold outside of Crom
|mother= Karinka
|father= unknown
|siblings=
|children=
|friends=
|playedby= Adam Levine
|livejournal=}}

== Description ==

He's a generally attractive guy, though it might be hard to say why. His face is long, a lot of nose and cheek, dark hazel eyes on the small side, physique hard and rangy. But he has a good head of dark hair, cut short enough to stand mostly on end, and perhaps the unshaven scruff has a certain appeal, at least when it hasn't had a chance to grow out to more beard-like lengths. There's an overall sense of destructed dishevelment about him, a generally slept-in look about his hair and the snug fitting shirts that never quite manage to cover a body of tattoos, the rough-worn trousers and the dubiously tied boots. Basically, he's just this side of a complete mess.

== WYSK ==

* From somewhere in the Crom region, he was a pretty shady kid.
* Impressed Bronze Rojeth at HRW when he was 18
* Had a brief spell of promise as a weyrling, which fizzled long ago.
* Kind of a jerk now.
* He has a reputation for not treating women very well.
* Currently embarking on being a pretty sketchy Assistant Weyrlingmaster.

== History ==

Ikarzech was born on the outskirts, of Crom logistically and of life in the broader sense, a single mother with no prospects, father unknown, no siblings to speak of. The tiny holding was home to miners predominantly and a few scraggly farms: a depressed existence. Disaffected and disenfranchised from an early age, he was more involved in scrappy fights and petty theft than paying attention to his schooling, the quality of which was underwhelming at best. By fifteen, he decided he'd had enough of this crappy life and headed for Crom proper, where he fell in with more unsavory youths before he was eventually searched by a High Reaches blue.

At 18, he impressed bronze Rojeth, a dragon as dark in outlook as himself, and in all truth, they applied themselves to weyrlinghood with all the dedication of a pair ready to make something of their life. But, little by little, the impetus to try has whittled away, disillusioned by turns of Weyr turmoil. Now they're rather more apt to sit back and watch the world burn, with I'zech apparently intending to drink and sleep his way through the rest of his life, along with whatever other unsavory ways he finds to spend his time.

Recent abysmal displays in Hailstorm Wing have prompted I'zech's Wingleader to beg that Quinlys take him on as an assistant in the hopes that working will the weyrlings will both reconnect him to his better days and to punish him just a bit with the extra work that weyrlings generally require - as well as deliver the tacit warning that if he doesn't shape up, he could be on his way to indefinite watchrider duty somewhere really abominably dull.

== Relationships ==

Since I'zech has been at the Weyr for a while now, and isn't exactly the unremarkable sort, he probably has quite a few 'relationships'. If you'd like to hash out some back-story, I am, how shall we say.... YES PLZ! :D

*[[Jo]]: Having impressed together, I'zech and Jo have something of a past. It's somewhat checkered. Big freaking surprise there. They're loosely connected in that 'we've shared a lot of shit but we aren't superbuds' way.

Weyrlings:

*[[Alida]]: Testy blonde one.
*[[E'sren]]: Nice-guy one.
*[[K'zin]]: Yappy one.
*[[Sabella]]: Mouthy one.

== RP Logs ==

{{RP Logs | name = {{BASEPAGENAME}} | columns = 3 }}

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

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

{{Icons}}

{{HRW}}

[[category:Characters]]
[[category:Riders]]
[[category:Bronzeriders]]
[[category:Flurry Wing]]
[[category:Cirrus Wing]]
[[category:High Reaches Weyr]]
[[category:Crom Hold]]
[[category:High Reaches Area]]
[[category:Greater Pern]]

HRW:Weyrlings/Month4/Recap

2013-04-23T15:58:15Z

Vienne:

{{WeyrlingNav |title=Month4}}

== Alida ==

== C'wlin ==

== D'kan ==
While D'kan continues to lie low and remain in the background, for the most part, Kazavoth's been doing anything but. When awake, his chatter with the other dragons of the Weyr is almost constant, whether he's pestering just one or two in particular or broadcasting thoughts and songs to the area at large. When told to buzz off, he does so. For a little while. He's only a few months old, after all. At least he's been keeping it to the dragons, or he and D'kan might find a one-way ticket to Some Weyr, Any Weyr But Here. Most notably, Kazavoth has been known to express complaints about the old, tough beasts left for them to eat, and irritation that his newfound ability to fly is kept so tethered by Those In Charge.

D'kan was not one of the handful to find a silver thread on his cot. As with most other things lately, he tends to stay quiet on his thoughts about it, at least in public, though he's shared more specific opinions with a few people in private. He has not pursued changing his thread. He has, however, managed to complete his remedial Harper classes, having retaken the exam for world history a little more than halfway through the month, which means he's down to just the usual weyrling lectures, drills, and other tasks. Will he be supplementing those lectures and studies? He ''has'' been seen with some extra odds and ends of hide and parchment around Kazavoth's couch, but maybe he's just a collector.

== E'sren ==
Since his family arrived, E'sren has been spending a lot more time with them, any free moments he has. He's also been chosen as one of the 'silvers', as their class has been dubbed, and so those free moments are more few and far between as it is. These events have caused a bit of a rift between himself and some of his fellow weyrlings, a rift he tries at every turn to mend by being his usual down-to-earth, amicable self. More time with those other weyrlings who were chosen is not happening either, though he does spend more and more time with Telavi now, and of course with Sabella.

More and more time spent with Quinlys and Aishani might also be noted, though it isn't over the top, and I'zech too during lessons. The work from the leadership program has begun to take, if not a toll then just... things. His sleeping schedule is totally screwed, he sleeps about five hours a night, and nobody would be able to say they caught him sitting down unless he was currently studying politics or etiquette or the Weyr itself. But despite this obvious toil, he's still cheerful, still upbeat, through it all. Must be something in the klah.

Ahruth is becoming more and more talkative as time moves on. Any dragons who interact with him might notice a general absence of the usual dramatic personality demonstrated by the rest of the weyrlings this cycle produced. Instead he uses words, since E'sren supplies him with a constant supply, and color, and his emotions come through clearly. More than that is reserved for playing with others and toying with their imagery.

== K'zin ==

== N'hax ==

== N'ky ==
There's been nothing at all of note happening with N'ky this month. Cailluneth's finally taller than him at the shoulder and he's disappointed that he was overlooked for the silver threads, but that's about it.

By the end of the month his grades have started to slip significantly, and he's not putting as much effort - hardly ''any'' effort, really - into his remedial classes any more.

== Sabella ==

== Telavi ==

== Meara ==

== Quinlys ==

== I'zech ==

Coming into the barracks at the tail end of Month 3, I'zech and his frightful specter of a bronze, Rojeth, brought along with them the rumors that this new assistant weyrlingmaster was kicked out of Hailstorm for being a no-good, lazy, smack-talking... well, you get the picture. Quinlys and Meara have apparently taken it upon themselves to make something of him, like another wayward youth in need of shaping, not that they look particularly thrilled about it. Thems the rumors.

I'zech himself has been shadowing around the barracks, doing little more than coughing out a belligerent 'yeah, what she said' here and there as he learns the schedule and becomes familiar with all the young, shining faces. Supposedly, the weyrlings should listen to him, or something, at some point, if he starts to do something.

Also, there's a good chance he's hung over.

Rojeth has made a habit of making contact with the weyrling dragons while not necessarily being physically present. It seems just to be his way, preferring thus far to watch the training from a distance rather than get involved.

Dragon:Rojeth

2013-04-19T17:43:30Z

Vienne:

{{Dragon
|name=Evolution's Nightmare Bronze Rojeth
|impressee=I'zech
|date=22nd October 2010
|egg=
|size=38.0
|dam=Bloodletter’s Bonfire Gold Iskiveth of gold Iovniath (HRW) x bronze Cadejoth (HRW)
|sire=Frost and Fisticuffs Brown Szadath of gold Iovniath (HRW) x bronze Cadejoth (HRW)
|egg credit=
|dragon credit=I'zech
|puppeteer=}}

== Evolution's Nightmare Bronze ==
He's not quite right. His shadowy bronze hide shouldn't have such a gray-green tinge to it with no sheen to speak of and it shouldn't be patchy and uneven. He has a noble head, but his uncommonly pale eyes are deeply set beneath a strong brow and his crooked teeth are never quite hidden from sight, poking out even when his mouth is closed. Along his spine, his ridges are exaggerated, tall and sharply spiked as they creep down his back to the tip of his tail. His girth is all shoulder and muscle and the benefit of his broad skeleton, because though his chest is deep, he's lean through the middle with ribs showing and his limbs have a certain lithe, sinewed spring, contributing to the effortless quiet with which he moves. His wide wings are equipped with generous sails, too much so perhaps, heavy and opaque as a dark cloak, and he has a habit of letting them drag more than is probably necessary.

==Temperament==

Once upon a time, there was a clutch that everyone thought would turn out ''wrong''. People like to point to Rojeth as evidence that they were correct in that assumption. It's not just that he's hardly the prettiest bronze to crack out of a shell. He has a few peculiarities that some might find unsettling; his lack of connection to other dragons, the unnatural quiet of his movement and a penchant for blood all make him an easy target for speculation.

A loner, Rojeth is not one to spend unnecessary time lingering around with fellow dragons. He's one of those more likely to be perched on the spires or haunting the high, empty ledges of the Weyr, enjoying his shadows and his solitude, spying down on the remote world. Even when in discussion with another dragon, he is rarely ''there'', just a disembodied presence from somewhere else.

But those ledges he lingers on aren't always empty, nor was he necessarily invited. He has a habit of dropping in on 'friends' when they aren't at home, claiming a space he has no right to, snooping in on someone else's little corner of the world without them ever knowing. This pleases him.

As a weyrling, his urge to take was more prominent, claiming someone's couch, stealing a kill, thinking only that he wanted it and therefore should have it. It's an impulse that has been tempered but is by no means gone. The entitlement remains and it extends to I'zech. What they want, they should have.

There's the uncanny way that he moves, a quiet incongruent with his bulk, a controlled grace that makes him seem comparatively stealthy. And even more so in the air when the light is waning and his dark hide can blend in with the gloaming sky.

He loves to blood and sometimes it might almost seem a shame that he should have to stop just because some female is ready to take flight. Necessary or not, it's sometimes the appetizer to his meals. Meanwhile, he's rarely an appreciated suitor, eerie as he can be, and there are a number of greens who have been less than thrilled to be caught by him. Rather understandably, this does not make for the most friendly of afterwards. He's unlikely to ever be sweet, but every now and then, with the right girl, he can be quite passive.

==Mindvoice==

Rojeth's mind is full of dark things and forbidden places, shadowy groves of crooked trees, misty mossy-strewn swamps, an eerie, hair-raising wind on empty moonless hills or the desolation of a silent road. His contact is more ephemeral than most, hard to pin down, a presence difficult to locate. His mnidvoice itself is rasping, gravelly, with a tendency toward hissing.

==Dragon Inspirations==

Cryptids. The root of the word is 'hide' but their mysterious nature is often as sinister as it is elusive. Rojeth is an amalgam of these mythical beasts, from the blood-sucking chupacabra, the swamp-dwelling bunyip and the bad omen of the black shuck. He's part evolution-gone-wrong, part nightmare.

[[category:Bronze Dragons]]
[[category:Clutch 31]]
[[category:Insta Dragons]]

Dragon:Rojeth

2013-04-19T17:37:33Z

Vienne: Created page with "{{Dragon |name=Evolution's Nightmare Bronze Rojeth |impressee=I'zech |date=22nd October 2010 |egg= |size=38.0 |dam=Bloodletter’s Bonfire Gold Iskiveth of gold Iovniath (HRW)..."

{{Dragon
|name=Evolution's Nightmare Bronze Rojeth
|impressee=I'zech
|date=22nd October 2010
|egg=
|size=38.0
|dam=Bloodletter’s Bonfire Gold Iskiveth of gold Iovniath (HRW) x bronze Cadejoth (HRW)
|sire=Frost and Fisticuffs Brown Szadath of gold Iovniath (HRW) x bronze Cadejoth (HRW)
|egg credit=
|dragon credit=I'zech
|puppeteer=}}

== Evolution's Nightmare Bronze ==
He's not quite right. His shadowy bronze hide shouldn't have such a gray-green tinge to it with no sheen to speak of and it shouldn't be patchy and uneven. He has a noble head, but his uncommonly pale eyes are deeply set beneath a strong brow and his crooked teeth are never quite hidden from sight, poking out even when his mouth is closed. Along his spine, his ridges are exaggerated, tall and sharply spiked as they creep down his back to the tip of his tail. His girth is all shoulder and muscle and the benefit of his broad skeleton, because though his chest is deep, he's lean through the middle with ribs showing and his limbs have a certain lithe, sinewed spring, contributing to the effortless quiet with which he moves. His wide wings are equipped with generous sails, too much so perhaps, heavy and opaque as a dark cloak, and he has a habit of letting them drag more than is probably necessary.

==Temperament==

Once upon a time, there was a clutch that everyone thought would turn out WRONG. People like to point to Rojeth as evidence that they were correct in that assumption. It's not just that he's hardly the prettiest bronze to crack out of a shell. He has a few pecularities that some might find unsettling; his lack of connection to other dragons, the unnatural quiet of his movement and a penchant for blood all make him an easy target for speculation.

A loner, Rojeth is not one to spend unnecessary time lingering around with fellow dragons. He's one of those more likely to be perched on the spires or haunting the high, empty ledges of the Weyr, enjoying his shadows and his solitude, spying down on the remote world. Even when in discussion with another dragon, he is rarely ''there'', just a disembodied presence from somewhere else.

But those ledges he lingers on aren't always empty, nor was he necessarily invited. He has a habit of dropping in on 'friends' when they aren't at home, claiming a space he has no right to, snooping in on someone else's little corner of the world without them ever knowing. This pleases him.

As a weyrling, his urge to take was more prominent, claiming someone's couch, stealing a kill, thinking only that he wanted it and therefore should have it. It's an impulse that has been tempered but is by no means gone. The entitlement remains and it extends to I'zech. What they want, they should have.

There's the uncanny way that he moves, a quiet incongruent with his bulk, a controlled grace that makes him seem comparatively stealthy. And even more so in the air when the light is waning and his dark hide can blend in with the gloaming sky.

He loves to blood and sometimes it might almost seem a shame that he should have to stop just because some female is ready to take flight. Necessary or not, it's sometimes the appetizer to his meals. Meanwhile, he's rarely an appreciated suitor, eerie as he can be, and there are a number of greens who have been less than thrilled to be caught by him. Rather understandably, this does not make for the most friendly of afterwards. He's unlikely to ever be sweet, but every now and then, with the right girl, he can be quite passive.

==Mindvoice==

Rojeth's mind is full of dark things and forbidden places, shadowy groves of crooked trees, misty mossy-strewn swamps, an eerie, hair-raising wind on empty moonless hills or the desolation of a silent road. His contact is more ephemeral than most, hard to pin down, a presence difficult to locate. His mnidvoice itself is rasping, gravelly, with a tendency toward hissing.

==Dragon Inspirations==

Cryptids. The root of the word is 'hide' but their mysterious nature is often as sinister as it is elusive. Rojeth is an amalgam of these mythical beasts, from the blood-sucking chupacabra, the swamp-dwelling bunyip and the bad omen of the black shuck. He's part evolution-gone-wrong, part nightmare.

[[category:Bronze Dragons]]
[[category:Clutch 31]]
[[category:Insta Dragons]]

Logs:Creativity

2013-04-16T17:10:26Z

Vienne: Created page with "{{ Log | who = Barnabas, Vienne | where = Diving Cliff, High Reaches Weyr | what = Bones and Vienne discuss book, music and art. Kind of. | when = Day 24, Month 5, Turn 31 | g..."

{{ Log
| who = Barnabas, Vienne
| where = Diving Cliff, High Reaches Weyr
| what = Bones and Vienne discuss book, music and art. Kind of.
| when = Day 24, Month 5, Turn 31
| gamedate = 2013.04.01
| quote = I'm tellin you it's gonna be fresh hot garbage on canvas.
| weather =
| categories =
| mentions = Azaylia
| ooc = My apologies to Bones for taking forever to post this!
| icons = barnabas cleaned.jpg, vienne smile.png
| log =
Diving Cliff, High Reaches Weyr

Thrusting out from the shadow of the mountain, this long and narrow clifftop might once have been a ledge, but a pile of bramble-strewn, graffiti-chiseled boulders where a weyr's mouth would have been suggests a reason for its abandonment long ago. Though its views of the eastern bowl are grand, particularly the lake itself and the yawning air entrance to the hatching sands, its location makes the diving cliff unique: jutting some ten or twelve feet above the deepest part of the cool, clear lake.

Especially in summertime, many climb up the narrow stairs to seek the thrill of a swift fall into the water, but those who just want to enjoy the view can take those same stairs back down: carved directly into the bowl wall, worn and crumbling and slick from use, but enough for the careful to get the job done.

The sky is clear today. The air remains cool and damp, but the weather is overall pleasant today.

With spring taking hold of the Weyr, there are plenty of people enjoying the sun at the lakeshore, and what better place to watch from remote distance than the diving ledge? Especially since the water is too cold to see anyone actually diving. Today, the ledge has been staked out by Oswinth and Vienne, the blue soaking in the sunlight and his rider settled on a blanket to help protect her skirt from the damp of a morning shower. She has a book with her, leaning back against Oswinth side as her attention drifts between idle reading and even more idle glances across the lake.

The sound of Bones' approach is a peircing one, easy to pick up from a distance thanks to the idle whistling of a folk tune likely familiar to only him. It can only grow clearer in Vienne's ears as he makes his way up the narrow steps, the sound soon accompanied by the heavy clomping of worn leather boots into the stone. "I thought that was Oswinth I spotted from down in the bowl!" His voice is boomingly loud, greeting thrown out from a distance as he approaches with a grin, hands in pockets.

The noisy approach certainly keeps Vienne from being surprised by Bones' arrival and the moment he comes into view, she can only smile up from her book at the way he manages to dominate the space with all that clomping and booming. "Bones," she greets with a wide, toothy grin, amusement in her eyes as she's tucking her reading away for some other time. Oswinth lets out a polite rumble as he regards the hairy man and Vienne asks, "How are you? Out enjoying the sun?"

"Eh, I'm good I'm good..." he fires back to her question as he tugs a hand free from a pocket to give a single wave towards Oswinth with two outstretched fingers. "... but I'll enjoy it more when it's warm enough to actually jump back in the water. Been so long since I gone swimming I'm worryin' I'll forget how." The hand slips back into his pocket, and stops at the edge of her blanket, standing above her with a steady smile. "Whatcha readin'?"

"I don't think that happens," Vienne says with a twist of her smile. "I think, once you know how to swim, you know forever." She scoots over a little, leaving plenty of blanket beside her if he wants to sit and the blue dips his head a little, as if maybe he wouldn't mind terribly being a seatback for the gardener. "Oh, it's a book of children's stories. I was just..." She gives a little shrug, like she can't really explain it.

There's a brief blink of worry on Bones' face as he glances down at her blanket, and before settling in he lifts each foot just enough to double check his boots for any excess filth. Each of them are kicked against the stone underfoot just to ensure they won't sully anything by too much, and he settles in alongside the blanket, laying back aganinst Oswinth and tucking his hands behind his head. "... just readin' kid stories." he finishes her sentence for her with a smile. "No reason to be shy. It is what it is. Zee reads em too."

Vienne watches all the careful undirting with a shy expression as if maybe she's not unconcerned about such things, just too polite to say anything. But once he's on and sitting along side her, she resettles herself against the warm blue hide. "Zee?" she wonders, not recognizing the nickname. "I thought I might write a little. Some songs. Just for fun." And somehow the children's books are connected.

Bones moves quick to clarify on who he's talking about. "Azaylia. She's got a whole head full of worry 'bout the Weyr, so she likes to unwind with real easy readin' like that." It's at the mention of a potential interest in more creative pursuits that Bones arches an eyebrow, and leans forward to rest his elbows on tucked up knees. "Oh yeah? Y'got that artist bug in you eh? Whatcha gonna sing about?" It's just pure guesswork that she'd be the the one performing her own work.

Vienne's smile spreads a bit more broadly, "Exactly," she says in agreement with the goldrider's reasoning. "They're light, they end well - happily ever after." As for what's she going to sing about, she lifts that book of children's stories in answer. "Most of them are already songs, of course, but it's nice material to work with. It's been a while since I wrote anything." There's another little shrug to suggest she feels a little bashful about the project, probably the simplicity of it. "Do you have an artistic bug?" she wonders of the man next to her, an eye passing over him.

There's an approving nod and smile for the lifted book, Bones immediately curious about what sort of melodies she intended to attach the the classics. "Well y'got a little songbird livin' in your throat, I'can tell just by hearin' you talk. I'm sure you'll do just fine." The compliment is genuine, though he goes a step further in proving that his assessments are perhaps ''too'' honest. "Course y'could be tone deaf and I'd never know right? Hehe." He leans back again, nestling his shoulder's in against Oswinth's side. "I ain't the creative type, nope."

"I was a harper," Vienne says, trying to explain through a smile that is wide and quiet for the songbird comments. "So..." So that's probably enough reason to believe that she can carry a decent tune. But she cants her head as she looks at Bones, eyes narrowing skeptically. "I don't believe that. You seem like someone who should paint or carve or... something. I think of you as a painter. A great big brush with bold colors." Her teeth catch her lip, like she might worry that what she's just said might sound a little strange.

"So you put those pipes to good use then I bet, eh?" He trusts her humble reassurance that she can carry a tune, but as for trusting her expert opinion on his artistic talent? His face says it all, lips parting in disbelief as one eyebrow once again raises high. "I think maybe you been readin' too many stories. They're makin' you ''too'' creative." His smile sneaks out again. "I grow plants, and I don't even do that all too good, Vee."

Vienne lets out a light chuckle, but she also shakes her head. "I'm serious," she tells him with that laugh lingering in her voice. "You should try it. Maybe you have a talent for it that you don't even know about. Or maybe you'd paint things like no one else does. In a good way." As opposed to the 'what the heck is that' way. She folds her hands in her lap, fingers fidgeting idly. "I think everyone has some way that they're creative. Was there something you liked to do when you were a kid?"

It's her insistence on seriousness that his him giving a short sigh through his nose and looking nowhere in particular. "I don't think I'd much like painting, but..." he trails off intentionally, pondering what he used to do in his youth that could be ever construed as creative. "Go night swimmin', take a sling to treehoppers, get into scraps with the local kids." He'd turn back to her as he scratches at the side of his cheek, continuing to paint a picture of his youth as best he could. "Snatch marks from the brothel drunks when nobody was lookin', play stabscotch with my pocket knife. I'unno, kid stuff?"

Vienne might look a little disappointed with Bones' lack of interest, but it only dips her chin faintly, makes her smile a bit apologetic for the suggestion. But it's a smile that fades as he goes about listing the things he did as a kid, until her mouth is small under blinking eyes. "I don't think I've ever done any of those things," she admits, brow creasing as she tries to imagine what 'stabscotch' is. "Well, except for night swimming."

"Well, I don't think it's a big surprise that you and me proooobably didn't get quite the same upbringin eh? Ha!" He pushes himself up from Oswinth's side and scoots a few inches closer to her, reaching towards her book and giving a little motion with his fingers, silently beckoning her to let him see it. "Tell you what, I'll give carvin' a shot and report back next time I see you. And then when I 'eff that up? We'll go night swimmin'"

Vienne's brows pop up when Bones starts to shift, uncertain, but then grinning when she realizes that his aim is for the book. She hands it over. "That's probably very true," she admits of their disparate childhoods. But it's not carving that she really wants. "Painting," she tells him. "I mean, you should try carving too, but I want to see you paint something." But since he's scooted closer, she leans aside against his shoulder. "And we can swim whenever you want. Whether you carve or paint or not. Are you going to read to me?"

Bones takes the book and opens it up to it's first pages, his lips silently moving as he sounds out the words. From the looks of things, he's not the strongest of readers, but the children's stories offer him no serious roadblocks. He's interrupted briefly by her insistence on painting, and with a roll of his eyes he smiles big and relents. "Alright alright, I'll paint you somethin', but I'm tellin you it's gonna be fresh hot garbage on canvas." He's turned to her in time to see her scooting in against his side, the size difference made clear in proximity. Unexpected, but not unwelcome judging by his smile. "Oh shit no." Reading outloud? He knows his weaknesses. "But how about you pick a fave eh? I like gettin' a taste of someone's favorite story."

"That's exactly what I want. Fresh hot garbage on canvas. As long as you try to enjoy yourself and don't worry about what it looks like." And yeah, so it's not his shoulder that Vienne leans on, rather some distance down his arm. But the point is, perhaps, that she leans her shoulder against him, all the better for reading the book in his hands. "I don't know that I have a favorite. I like the Wher and the Dog," she supposes, a classic tale of unlikely friendship. "I suppose that's not much of a surprise," added with a chuckle that's all shudder and no sound. "How about you?"

"Don't really got a favorite..." he ponders as he flips idly through the pages, catching the titles. "In fact, don't really know kid stories so good to be honest." He flips idly through the book, inspecting the titles for a time, until finally realizing how much time is wasted in silence. "Lemme borrow this when you're done with it?" He smirks and snaps it closed, handing it back to the greenrider. "Y'know, when you've got your songs ready. Hehe." With that, he slowly pushes himself up to his feet, stretching long arms up above his head with a small grunt. "I gotta get back to work I'm afraid. Gotta put in double time to free myself up some painting time, ha!" Hands back in pockets now as he drifts back towards the steps. "See you next time Vee!"

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Logs:I'zech's Last Chance

2013-04-11T05:28:21Z

Vienne:

{{ Log
| who = I'zech, Quinlys
| where = Weyrlingmaster's Office, High Reaches Weyr
| what = Hailstorm has passed I'zech off to the weyrlingmasters. Quinlys lays down the law. Ish.
| when = Day 23, Month 6, Turn 31
| gamedate = 2013.04.10
| quote = "Unless, of course, you ''want'' to end up on watchrider duty in the icy wastes somewhere until you're too old and blind to be of any use to anyone?"
| weather =
| categories = General
| mentions = B'ren, Meara
| ooc =
| icons = quinlys lookingdown.jpg, i'zech nailbite.png
| log = Weyrlingmaster's Office, High Reaches Weyr

----

Made private by a thick, insulated door that blocks out most of the noise from the barracks beyond, the Weyrlingmaster's Office is a comfortable, quiet alcove. Instead of an imposing desk, much of the room is taken up by a large round table, with five chairs spaced around its edges. Beneath it is a square rug pieced together with twisted rags that stretches from wall to wall, just leaving room for the long bookshelves and filing cabinets. On the back wall, a tapestry of the Weyr's badge is hung, providing both insulation and decoration.

In one corner sits a small green plant, growing strong despite the lack of sunlight in this windowless room. Beside it rests a tea cart, prepped and ready.

----

It's early in the morning when Olveraeth's request comes, Quinlys' blue reaching out for Rojeth with a certain amount of gentle authority. << You're wanted in the office, >> he says. << In the weyrling office. >> A quiet correction. << Now. >> That B'ren has been at the end of his tether is well-known, but this? This is probably a surprise. The weyrlings are in the middle of harper classes, in the training cavern, but the door to the office - no doubt well remembered from weyrling days - is open. Quinlys is inside, keeping half an eye on the cavern beyond as she works through paperwork; the very picture of weyrlingmasterly authority.

<< Both of us? >> comes Rojeth's quiet seethe, the glug of swamp bubbles, tinged with a bit of the sardonic humor that his Wingleader has been so fond of over these past few months. There's no lingering contact of his mind though, no sense that he's waiting for an answer, just the distant sense of movement that he leaves Olveraeth with before things go silent. As it is early in the morning and this was not an expected call, it would appear that everyone is lucky I'zech bothered to get dressed. He turns up with hair smashed to one side, a bit of sleep in his eyes, boots still untied. A step trudges him into the doorway, forearm leaned to the frame, and he lifts a brow at the woman at the desk. He's here. What does she want? And she might be the very picture of authority if she didn't look so much like a chewy little piece of candy.

It's true: Quinlys is far too cute to look ''properly'' authoritative, though the disapproving look she gives I'zech does its very best. "I'zech. Do you have ''any'' idea how much you need to get on my good side?" There's a definite sense that she enjoys this part of her job: the part where she gets to lord over other people. "Come in, close the door, and sit down. Unless, of course, you ''want'' to end up on watchrider duty in the icy wastes somewhere until you're too old and blind to be of any use to anyone? Let's be clear: right now, I'm the only person standing between you and that."

I'zech looks to the left, to the right. "I wasn't aware you had another side," he answers, too dull for it to be a compliment. At the very best, it's not one with any feeling behind it. But he drags in a breath to rally himself from the lean against the doorway, closes the thing behind him and approaches her desk on the shuffle and thunk of loose-fitting boots. "Am I in trouble, Weyrli-" It was going to be a dark, dry suggestion, except then that whole thing about watchrider duty sinks in. He comes up behind the chair he's supposed to sit in and plants his hands on the back of it, leaning heavily. But at least his eyes are sharper now, so he might be paying attention. "What are you talking about?"

Quinlys' brows raise for that not-compliment; her glance is long, and dubious. She waits to answer until after he's finished talking, regarding him levelly all the while. "B'ren's had jack of you," she says, simply, resorting to less professional language in an effort to make herself understood. "He's asked us to sort you out, and if not... I don't like screwups in my barracks," ''my'' barracks, "but Meara and I, we're willing to give you a chance. From today, you're our assistant. ''Not'' on assistant weyrlingmaster pay, mind. You're on probation. You pull your weight, you make sure you're useful, and you don't end up in the icy wastes. B'ren seems to believe we might be able to turn you into a useful rider; I'd like to prove him right. Wouldn't you?" As motivational speeches go...

Her choice of language has that brow lifting again, or maybe it's as if he's going to pretend he doesn't have a clue about B'ren's feelings. His weight rocks forward and back, flexing his lean on the chair, and I'zech waits for her to finish speaking. After that, his smile is tight, sharp, but a smile nonetheless. "It's what every little boy dreams of." Being turned into a useful rider. "So what do you want me to do?" The question is wary rather than encouraged. Like he can barely bother with the gesture, his head tips back, all unshaven throat as he indicates the door behind him and the weyrlings beyond it. Just what responsiblities does an assistant-weyrlingmaster-on-probation have?

"What skills do you have?" The question is prompt, though Quinlys seems... dubious about this part, as though she honestly has no idea what to suggest, despite her obvious bravado. "I'd ''like'' to keep you from that watchrider position. I would. But you're going to have to work with me. ''Try''. Believe me, I'll be easier on you than Meara will."

She'll make it easy? I'zech hitches half of a dark grin for that, but at least he gives in enough to round the chair and sink into it in a loose sprawl of legs, a hand rubbing over the mussed hair, evening out the dishevelment. "I can do anything a weyrling is supposed to be able to do? Are you looking for more than that?" He's doubtful, but he'll sling out some points in his favor. "I'm a regular prodigy at sitting on a dragon and letting him do the flying. I'm great with kids." He doesn't put any effort into that lie at all. As if summoned by his mention, Rojeth's touch reaches out to Olveraeth, just an eerie, distant wind, a reminder or a warning. I'zech continues on. "Look, you want me to work for you? I'll work for you. You want to save me from sitting on ice until I'm gray? Thanks." It's not the most heartfelt gratitude, but it might look like trying.

Quinlys shrugs, saying, "It would be easier if there were something you felt comfortable ''teaching''. For now... help out where you can, especially if you see someone struggling. Shadow, basically. We'll try and teach you how to... teach, I guess. But don't lie to me." It's a long, meaningful look that time, almost dismissive, except she isn't actually dismissing him. "I'm doing what I can for you, I'zech. ''You'' have to do the rest. Olveraeth returns Rojeth's touch with a a breath of solar wind, the luminosity of a nebula; not a rebuke, but close. You're on probation, too, buster.

I'zech might look just a touch insulted by all this teaching to teach talk. His face scrunches for a beat. "Well, what are the rest of you focusing on? Does everyone else here have some kind of specialty? Butchering carcasses? Fitting straps? I can do all those things." Both hands hanging in his lap, he fixes her with a dull gaze. "I did graduate, Quinlys."

Tartly, "Sure you did. And now you've been kicked out of a Wing. How do I know you haven't forgotten everything we," 'we', even though she hadn't even Impressed when I'zech was a weyrling, "taught you. Besides, there's a difference between knowing how to do something, and knowing how to ''teach'' it. Believe me, there is. But, okay, fine: we'll see how you go."

"I don't know what kind of answer you're looking for," I'zech says, rolling one of those hands to show his palm. "You want me to say what, exactly? I remember how to go between? I remember how to go between." He just sits and looks at her for a moment, eyes a bit hard as he chews the inside of his cheek. "Yeah, we'll see how it goes." He starts to get up, weight pitching forward, but pauses to ask, "When do you want me to start?" Not now, right? Because it's early.

"It'd help if you acknowledge that teaching is new, and that you're going to have to learn some new tricks in order to cope with it," says QUinlys, with a sigh, as she rubs at her forehead. "We have a staff meeting in an hour. Go get yourself presentable, and then come back. You can shadow me for the rest of the day." Beat. "And I'zech? Don't screw this up."

That brow ratchets up again, but I'zech says nothing to her comments on learning new tricks. It's probably better that way. See how he learns? He gives his attire a skeptical look, as if he's not quite sure what the difference is between what he's got on and what would be presentable, but it doesn't seem to worry him too much. "Love the confidence," he drolls with a tug of a smirk to one side. And then he's out of the chair, still moving heavily as if the sleep (or maybe liquor) hasn't yet worn off. When he reaches the door, he turns to look back at her. "Thanks for saving my ass," he supposes he should say, brow wrinkling upward as he checks to see if it's good enough.

"Don't make me regret it," is Quinlys' only answer, though she'll watch him go, gaze steely-eyed and determined.

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I'zech

2013-04-10T18:08:25Z

Vienne:

{{HrwProfile
|picture=izech.jpg
|position=Assistant Weyrlingmaster
|craft=
|birthplace= podunk hold outside of Crom
|mother= Karinka
|father= unknown
|siblings=
|children=
|friends=
|playedby= Adam Levine
|livejournal=}}

== Description ==

He's a generally attractive guy, though it might be hard to say why. His face is long, a lot of nose and cheek, dark hazel eyes on the small side, physique hard and rangy. But he has a good head of dark hair, cut short enough to stand mostly on end, and perhaps the unshaven scruff has a certain appeal, at least when it hasn't had a chance to grow out to more beard-like lengths. There's an overall sense of destructed dishevelment about him, a generally slept-in look about his hair and the snug fitting shirts that never quite manage to cover a body of tattoos, the rough-worn trousers and the dubiously tied boots. Basically, he's just this side of a complete mess.

== WYSK ==

* From somewhere in the Crom region, he was a pretty shady kid.
* Impressed Bronze Rojeth at HRW when he was 18
* Had a brief spell of promise as a weyrling, which fizzled long ago.
* Kind of a jerk now.
* He has a reputation for not treating women very well.
* Currently embarking on being a pretty sketchy Assistant Weyrlingmaster.

== History ==

Ikarzech was born on the outskirts, of Crom logistically and of life in the broader sense, a single mother with no prospects, father unknown, no siblings to speak of. The tiny holding was home to miners predominantly and a few scraggly farms: a depressed existence. Disaffected and disenfranchised from an early age, he was more involved in scrappy fights and petty theft than paying attention to his schooling, the quality of which was underwhelming at best. By fifteen, he decided he'd had enough of this crappy life and headed for Crom proper, where he fell in with more unsavory youths before he was eventually searched by a High Reaches blue.

At 18, he impressed bronze Rojeth, a dragon as dark in outlook as himself, and in all truth, they applied themselves to weyrlinghood with all the dedication of a pair ready to make something of their life. But, little by little, the impetus to try has whittled away, disillusioned by turns of Weyr turmoil. Now they're rather more apt to sit back and watch the world burn, with I'zech apparently intending to drink and sleep his way through the rest of his life, along with whatever other unsavory ways he finds to spend his time.

Recent abysmal displays in Hailstorm Wing have prompted I'zech's Wingleader to beg that Quinlys take him on as an assistant in the hopes that working will the weyrlings will both reconnect him to his better days and to punish him just a bit with the extra work that weyrlings generally require - as well as deliver the tacit warning that if he doesn't shape up, he could be on his way to indefinite watchrider duty somewhere really abominably dull.

== Relationships ==

Since I'zech has been at the Weyr for a while now, and isn't exactly the unremarkable sort, he probably has quite a few 'relationships'. If you'd like to hash out some back-story, I am, how shall we say.... YES PLZ! :D

== RP Logs ==

{{RP Logs | name = {{BASEPAGENAME}} | columns = 3 }}

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

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

{{Icons}}

{{HRW}}

[[category:Characters]]
[[category:Riders]]
[[category:Bronzeriders]]
[[category:Flurry Wing]]
[[category:Cirrus Wing]]
[[category:High Reaches Weyr]]
[[category:Crom Hold]]
[[category:High Reaches Area]]
[[category:Greater Pern]]

I'zech

2013-04-10T17:27:18Z

Vienne:

{{HrwProfile
|picture=izech.jpg
|position=Assistant Weyrlingmaster
|craft=
|birthplace= podunk hold outside of Crom
|mother= Karinka
|father= unknown
|siblings=
|children=
|friends=
|playedby= Adam Levine
|livejournal=}}

== Description ==

He's a generally attractive guy, though it might be hard to say why. His face is long, a lot of nose and cheek, dark hazel eyes on the small side, physique hard and rangy. But he has a good head of dark hair, cut short enough to stand mostly on end, and perhaps the unshaven scruff has a certain appeal, at least when it hasn't had a chance to grow out to more beard-like lengths. There's an overall sense of destructed dishevelment about him, a generally slept-in look about his hair and the snug fitting shirts that never quite manage to cover a body of tattoos, the rough-worn trousers and the dubiously tied boots. Basically, he's just this side of a complete mess.

== WYSK ==

* From somewhere in the Crom region, he was a pretty shady kid.
* Impressed Bronze Rojeth at HRW when he was 18
* Had a brief spell of promise as a weyrling, which fizzled long ago.
* Kind of a jerk now.
* He has a reputation for not treating women very well.
* Currently embarking on being a pretty sketchy Assistant Weyrlingmaster.

== History ==

Ikarzech was born on the outskirts, of Crom logistically and of life in the broader sense, a single mother with no prospects, father unknown, no siblings to speak of. The tiny holding was home to miners predominantly and a few scraggly farms: a depressed existence. Disaffected and disenfranchised from an early age, he was more involved in scrappy fights and petty theft than paying attention to his schooling, the quality of which was underwhelming at best. By fifteen, he decided he'd had enough of this crappy life and headed for Crom proper, where he fell in with more unsavory youths before he was eventually searched by a High Reaches blue.

At 18, he impressed bronze Rojeth, a dragon as dark in outlook as himself, and in all truth, they applied themselves to weyrlinghood with all the dedication of a pair ready to make something of their life. But, little by little, the impetus to try has whittled away, disillusioned by turns of Weyr turmoil. Now they're rather more apt to sit back and watch the world burn, with I'zech apparently intending to drink and sleep his way through the rest of his life, along with whatever other unsavory ways he finds to spend his time.

Recent abysmal displays in Hailstorm Wing have prompted I'zech's Wingleader to beg that Quinlys take him on as an assistant in the hopes that working will the weyrlings will both reconnect him to his better days and to punish him just a bit with the extra work that weyrlings generally require - as well as deliver the tacit warning that if he doesn't shape up, he could be on his way to indefinite watchrider duty somewhere really abominably dull.

== Relationships ==

Since I'zech has been at the Weyr for a while now, and isn't exactly the unremarkable sort, he probably has quite a few 'relationships'. If you'd like to hash out some back-story, I am, how shall we say.... YES PLZ! :D

== RP Logs ==

{{RP Logs | name = {{BASEPAGENAME}} | columns = 3 }}

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

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

{{Icons}}

{{HRW}}

[[category:Characters]]
[[category:High Reaches Weyr]]
[[category:High Reaches Area]]
[[category:Greater Pern]]

File:Izech.jpg

2013-04-10T17:26:33Z

Vienne:

I'zech

2013-04-10T17:06:56Z

Vienne: Created page with "{{HrwProfile |picture= |position=Assistant Weyrlingmaster |craft= |birthplace= podunk hold outside of Crom |mother= Karinka |father= unknown |siblings= |children= |friends= |p..."

{{HrwProfile
|picture=
|position=Assistant Weyrlingmaster
|craft=
|birthplace= podunk hold outside of Crom
|mother= Karinka
|father= unknown
|siblings=
|children=
|friends=
|playedby= Adam Levine
|livejournal=}}

== Description ==

He's a generally attractive guy, though it might be hard to say why. His face is long, a lot of nose and cheek, dark hazel eyes on the small side, physique hard and rangy. But he has a good head of dark hair, cut short enough to stand mostly on end, and perhaps the unshaven scruff has a certain appeal, at least when it hasn't had a chance to grow out to more beard-like lengths. There's an overall sense of destructed dishevelment about him, a generally slept-in look about his hair and the snug fitting shirts that never quite manage to cover a body of tattoos, the rough-worn trousers and the dubiously tied boots. Basically, he's just this side of a complete mess.

== WYSK ==

* From somewhere in the Crom region, he was a pretty shady kid.
* Impressed Bronze Rojeth at HRW when he was 18
* Had a brief spell of promise as a weyrling, which fizzled long ago.
* Kind of a jerk now.
* He has a reputation for not treating women very well.
* Currently embarking on being a pretty sketchy Assistant Weyrlingmaster.

== History ==

Ikarzech was born on the outskirts, of Crom logistically and of life in the broader sense, a single mother with no prospects, father unknown, no siblings to speak of. The tiny holding was home to miners predominantly and a few scraggly farms: a depressed existence. Disaffected and disenfranchised from an early age, he was more involved in scrappy fights and petty theft than paying attention to his schooling, the quality of which was underwhelming at best. By fifteen, he decided he'd had enough of this crappy life and headed for Crom proper, where he fell in with more unsavory youths before he was eventually searched by a High Reaches blue.

At 18, he impressed bronze Rojeth, a dragon as dark in outlook as himself, and in all truth, they applied themselves to weyrlinghood with all the dedication of a pair ready to make something of their life. But, little by little, the impetus to try has whittled away, disillusioned by turns of Weyr turmoil. Now they're rather more apt to sit back and watch the world burn, with I'zech apparently intending to drink and sleep his way through the rest of his life, along with whatever other unsavory ways he finds to spend his time.

Recent abysmal displays in Hailstorm Wing have prompted I'zech's Wingleader to beg that Quinlys take him on as an assistant in the hopes that working will the weyrlings will both reconnect him to his better days and to punish him just a bit with the extra work that weyrlings generally require - as well as deliver the tacit warning that if he doesn't shape up, he could be on his way to indefinite watchrider duty somewhere really abominably dull.

== Relationships ==

Since I'zech has been at the Weyr for a while now, and isn't exactly the unremarkable sort, he probably has quite a few 'relationships'. If you'd like to hash out some back-story, I am, how shall we say.... YES PLZ! :D

== RP Logs ==

{{RP Logs | name = {{BASEPAGENAME}} | columns = 3 }}

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

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

{{Icons}}

{{HRW}}

[[category:Characters]]
[[category:High Reaches Weyr]]
[[category:High Reaches Area]]
[[category:Greater Pern]]

Vienne

2013-03-26T07:46:21Z

Vienne:

{{HrwProfile
|picture=Vienne.jpg
|position= Bluerider
|dragon=Oswinth
|craft=
|birthplace=
|mother=
|father=
|siblings=
|children=
|friends=
|playedby= Anna Kendrick
|livejournal=[http://bluevienne.livejournal.com/ bluevienne]}}

== Description ==

She's a delicate little thing, really: short, thin and fine-boned. There's always a bit of heel on her shoes to feign a bit more height, or at least that's probably the aim. Slim as she is, she could hardly be described as anything other than small. And girly. Her brown hair is often artfully tousled whether it's hanging about her shoulders or swept into an updo, the kind of styling that would befit ribbons if she was so inclined. With a narrow face, small mouth and a slightly toothy smile, her eyes are probably her better feature: wide, doe-eyes, slate-blue. Her attire, be it snuggly sweaters or prim dresses, is rarely anything but feminine. It might not always flatter her frame as much as she'd like -- being short-waisted with a bit of a bust and slender limbs, her figure is a little boxy -- but the quality of her clothing hints at some upscale sensibilities.

== WYSK ==

*...recently transferred from Igen Weyr to High Reaches.

*...was a Harper and still maintains her relationships within the craft.

*...looks more decorative than functional.

*...has a chronically unfit lifemate.

== History ==

The daughter of successful parents, Vienne has always wanted to stand on her own feet, to be her own independent person away from their long shadows. She apprenticed to the Harper Hall, where she was a dedicated student and eventually a promising journeyman, with a leaning toward the more political and philosophical portions of the craft. While on an early posting to Igen Weyr, one thing led to another and she impressed a nerdy little blue named Oswinth. Not exactly thrilled to give up her old life entirely, Vienne was driven to continue developing as a harper despite life as a dragonrider. This might have been just fine if all she'd wanted to do was teach kids their learning songs, but instead it turned out that she ended up reporting some things to the Hall that the Weyr wasn't happy with. And so it might not really be entirely her choice that she's come to High Reaches now. And, really, it was all just a big misunderstanding, but here she is.

== Relationships ==

*[[Aishani]]: I have faith in her. And I owe her answers.
*[[Azaylia]]: I don't know what she's been waiting for.
*[[Barnabas]]: He's all broad strokes and heart. I always feel good when I see him.
*[[H'kon]]: I want to understand. Why won't he let me try?
*[[Jo]]: I don't know what she does, but maybe I don't care. I like how it feels when she's near.
*[[K'del]]: I would help him if I could, if he'd let me.
*[[R'hin]]: Figment. I felt like we started on common ground, but I could never get back to it.
*[[Taikrin]]: She seems to be trying, but how long will order last?
*[[Z'ian]]: He's so complete; there's nothing he needs. But I hope I can help him with Boreal.

== RP Logs ==

{{RP Logs | name = {{BASEPAGENAME}} | columns = 3 }}

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

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

{{Icons}}

{{HRW}}

[[category:Characters]]
[[category:Riders]]
[[category:Blueriders]]
[[category:Boreal_Wing]]
[[category:High Reaches Weyr]]
[[category:High Reaches Area]]
[[category:Greater Pern]]

Vienne

2013-03-25T19:38:52Z

Vienne: /* Relationships */

{{HrwProfile
|picture=Vienne.jpg
|position= Bluerider
|dragon=Oswinth
|craft=
|birthplace=
|mother=
|father=
|siblings=
|children=
|friends=
|playedby= Anna Kendrick
|livejournal=[http://bluevienne.livejournal.com/ bluevienne]}}

== Description ==

She's a delicate little thing, really: short, thin and fine-boned. There's always a bit of heel on her shoes to feign a bit more height, or at least that's probably the aim. Slim as she is, she could hardly be described as anything other than small. And girly. Her brown hair is often artfully tousled whether it's hanging about her shoulders or swept into an updo, the kind of styling that would befit ribbons if she was so inclined. With a narrow face, small mouth and a slightly toothy smile, her eyes are probably her better feature: wide, doe-eyes, slate-blue. Her attire, be it snuggly sweaters or prim dresses, is rarely anything but feminine. It might not always flatter her frame as much as she'd like -- being short-waisted with a bit of a bust and slender limbs, her figure is a little boxy -- but the quality of her clothing hints at some upscale sensibilities.

== WYSK ==

*...recently transferred from Igen Weyr to High Reaches.

*...was a Harper and still maintains her relationships within the craft.

*...looks more decorative than functional.

*...has a chronically unfit lifemate.

== History ==

The daughter of successful parents, Vienne has always wanted to stand on her own feet, to be her own independent person away from their long shadows. She apprenticed to the Harper Hall, where she was a dedicated student and eventually a promising journeyman, with a leaning toward the more political and philosophical portions of the craft. While on an early posting to Igen Weyr, one thing led to another and she impressed a nerdy little blue named Oswinth. Not exactly thrilled to give up her old life entirely, Vienne was driven to continue developing as a harper despite life as a dragonrider. This might have been just fine if all she'd wanted to do was teach kids their learning songs, but instead it turned out that she ended up reporting some things to the Hall that the Weyr wasn't happy with. And so it might not really be entirely her choice that she's come to High Reaches now. And, really, it was all just a big misunderstanding, but here she is.

== Relationships ==

*[[Aishani]]: I have faith in her. And I owe her answers.
*[[Azaylia]]: I don't know what she's been waiting for.
*[[Barnabas]]: He's all broad strokes and heart. I always feel good when I see him.
*[[H'kon]]: I want to understand. Why won't he let me try?
*[[Jo]]: I don't know what she does, but maybe I don't care. I like how it feels when she's near.
*[[K'del]]: I would help him if I could, if he'd let me.
*[[R'hin]]: Figment. I felt like we started on common ground, but I could never get back to it.
*[[Taikrin]]: She seems to be trying, but how long will order last?
*[[Z'ian]]: He's so complete; there's nothing he needs. But I hope I can help him with Boreal.

== RP Logs ==

{{RP Logs | name = {{BASEPAGENAME}} | columns = 3 }}

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

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

{{Icons}}

{{HRW}}

[[category:Characters]]
[[category:Riders]]
[[category:Blueriders]]
[[category:Snowdrift_Wing]]
[[category:High Reaches Weyr]]
[[category:High Reaches Area]]
[[category:Greater Pern]]

Logs:Stuck In The Middle

2013-03-22T01:35:02Z

Vienne:

{{ Log
| who = K'del, Vienne
| where = Lights in Darkness Weyr, High Reaches Weyr
| what = Vienne drops in to see K'del. He's... not really sure if he should talk to her anymore. Because he sucks.
| when = Day 19, Month 4, Turn 31
| gamedate = 2013.03.21
| quote = "She let I'kris be sent to his death, but ''I'm'' a monster for having her thief of a father executed?"
| weather =
| categories = Divided Leadership, Re-Return of the Vijays
| mentions = Aishani, I'kris
| ooc =
| icons = k'del sad.jpg, vienne arms.png
| log = Lights in Darkness Weyr, High Reaches Weyr

----

A heavy, brocade curtain separates the ledge from the weyr within, which opens up into a long, wide wallow and a walkway beside it. There's easily enough room for a bronze in here; the ceiling is high enough that sound tends to echo. Down the wall beside the walkway, small circles appear to float within the dim light like miniature moons; a high panel of them that's perhaps four or five times as long as a man is tall. They end abruptly as the wall curves around and opens out into the rest of the weyr.

It's a good sized weyr, and laid out nicely with a fine collection of solid, expensive furniture. A niche off to one side offers built-in shelving and a desk set out beneath it, while much of the rest of the space has been taken up by a couch and several chairs, laid out in front of the hearth. It's reflective, that hearth, made up of squares tiled on point, many of which look very new indeed. To one side of that is a dark opening that might be another niche, or perhaps a passageway.

A tunnel leads off from that dark opening - narrow, if still tall. It turns a corner and then opens out into an expansive room set against the other side of the hearth. Most of /this/ space is taken up by a bed that has clearly been made to fit the space exactly, although there's still room to step around to another niche - this one with a plugged basin above and a drain below. There are more of those moons here, too: moons that glow with light from the room beyond.

----

In the time since Bri--''Aishani'''s announcement, K'del's been a relatively visible figure, and not one prone to outbursts or moments of madness (thankfully). In fact, more than a few people seem willing to overlook all of that in order to remember the K'del who was involved in 'solving' the Vijay problem way back when. On this particular cool, damp afternoon, however, the one-time Weyrleader is at home, using the breeze to air out bed linens and clothes, all strung from haphazard ropes out on the ledge. He's barefoot, despite the cool stone underfoot, and seems... largely content. Cadejoth, in contrast, is nowhere to be seen: out flying, somewhere, no doubt, so helpfully leaving the ledge for his rider.

K'del has been around, so has Vienne, and though they've surely bumped into each other now and then, the bluerider has left the interaction to simple things: small smiles, pleasant greetings, and glances that say she'll catch up with him sometime. That time has come. With Cadejoth out and K'del on the ledge, Oswinth calls out a heads-up warning as he aims to land, thankfully managing to do so without getting tangled in laundry lines. He takes stock of his limbs, making sure everything is still in order and meanwhile, Vienne is slow to hop down from his shoulder, like she isn't sure what to expect from the bronzerider. But her expression is at least hopeful when she asks, "Busy?"

It's windy enough already that Oswinth's wings (and his landing in general) don't have any particular impact on the laundry lines, though K'del does reach for the knot that ties them to the pole contraption, just to make sure-- it holds, thankfully. Having reassured himself of that, he turns, giving Vienne a look that is difficult to completely place, though it's not unfriendly. His nod speaks to resignation, somehow, even though it clearly isn't answering her question, since he waves a hand towards the passage indoors. "Not so busy I can't spare some time. How are you, Vienne?"

His reservation must not be entirely unexpected, as Vienne is hardly baffled by his reluctance to offer a warm greeting. But then she was not among those to publicly walk out after the big announcement and her lunch dates with Brieli-Aishani were hardly in secret. She draws in a deep breath before climbing down to the stone and leaving Oswinth with a quick pet to his shoulder as if one of them needs reassurance. "I'm alright," she answers casually, even if there's definitely some tension in the air. But pretending that everything is normal doesn't seem to have much appeal today. As the small woman follows K'del inside, her hands together like an obedient child and her heeled boots noisy compared to his barefeet, she asks quietly, "Do you think I'm your enemy now?"

"Enemy?" He sounds surprised by that, glancing over his shoulder to study her expression. "No." It's followed by an exhale, a long one that is not far off a sigh, as he turns his head back, moving to perch on the couch, feet drawn up to the edge of it, his arms resting loosely upon his raised knees. "But you'll understand if I'm cautious, given givens. It's not that everyone must be on a side, one or the other, and everyone else is an enemy. Nothing's so black-and-white." The 'but' goes unspoken, but perhaps it's visible in his expression.

Vienne follows, choosing to stand in front of K'del, whose head is now so much more level with her own. There's little in her posture to suggest she expects to be invited to a seat, but her hands start to unbutton her tan coat anyway. "You don't trust me and you feel uncomfortable," she says with a quiet note of regret. "I don't feel there's anything I can say. If I'd done something, I could apologize for it." And she lets her own silent 'but' fill the space that follows. "You seem to be doing well," she remarks with a hitch to one side of her mouth as her eyes scan over the perched man.

"No," he corrects, though it's presumably for the first set of statements, and not the last. K'del's chin lifts, his blue eyes regarding Vienne levelly. "It's not that. You haven't done anything, and you're perfectly allowed to be ''her'' friend, if you so wish." He sounds as though he's trying very hard to be generous, and not bitter, though his 'her' shows very distinct dismissal and even... pity? "She's a broken person. She needs friends, too. It's not you I don't trust; it's her. She'll use anyone she can to get to me, and that makes me wary." He even sounds apologetic. "I'm fine. Doing fine."

"I didn't know, K'del," Vienne says then, her glance casting off around the room, like it will stumble on a solution among his things. "I didn't know when I tried to suggest she talk to you. I didn't know before she made her announcement." It comes out rather spontaneously, particularly given its source, and she looks back at his level gaze as his comments sink in more fully. She lets out a silent, helpless kind of laugh. "If you so wish," she parrots at him. "You want to say it's okay for me to be friends with her, but you don't mean it. You want to say there aren't black and white sides, but there are, for you. Because you can't trust anyone who would associate with her." She shakes her head, letting her eyes fall toward the ground, mouth pinched small. "I'm perfectly allowed to be ''her'' friend..." 'But not yours' is palpable even if she doesn't say it.

K'del's head shakes, a protest beginning to launch itself from his expression, from his mouth, from every suddenly sharp line of his body-- though it falters, a moment later. "Don't believe you knew," he said. "Never thought that. Can you get it, though? ''Why'' this is so hard? She hates me for protecting my people. She hates me because I punished her family for doing the wrong thing. So I was, what, supposed to just let them keep doing it? Rob us blind? I--" His feet slide back towards the floor, though he doesn't move to stand. "I'm sorry. Know it's not your fault. Know it's not fair of me to-- just makes me so angry. I pity her, you know that? Because she's wasted her life on this. And yes, it bothers me that people don't see a problem with her. With what she's done, what she's doing. She let I'kris be sent to his death, but ''I'm'' a monster for having her thief of a father executed?"

"I do get it," Vienne answers with a nod, the dip of her chin never quite lifting up again. "It just makes me... sad." She takes a breath to steel herself against the feeling, however not-steely she might end up looking afterwards as the exhale drops her shoulders in a defeated slump. "I don't know what she thinks or why she's done what she has. But if she wants to tell me, I'll listen. It doesn't mean I'll agree with her." A hand comes up to rub her fingertips along an eyebrow as she frowns through her thoughts. "But I understand that you're angry."

Quietly, and with far less intensity than his previous words, K'del says, "''She'' makes me sad. She loses. We all lose. It's such a ''waste''." His expression is more restrained, now, as he studies Vienne's face, his nod a half-tilt, just subtle. "I'm tired," he says. "Tired of being blamed for things that I did for the right reasons. Only ever did my very best for this Weyr, but it's never enough, is it? How ''dare'' I punish a thief. How ''dare'' I take opportunities that benefit my Weyr. How ''dare'' I take steps to get rid of a Weyrwoman who was hurting the Weyr I love." None of that has anything to do with Vienne, and he seems conscious of it, abruptly shaking his head to push the thoughts away. "I'm sorry this puts you in the middle. I just... I ''can't''. I'm sorry. I don't hate her. I feel ''sorry'' for her. But she hates me, and that means I need to be careful."

"She hasn't really spoken about you in the way that... that you say she feels." But Vienne is quick to shake her head, lest he jump to conclusions. "Which isn't to say that I don't believe you. I just don't have any evidence. Maybe you're right. Maybe it has all been a waste. Maybe it has all been hate and darkness. But I'd rather..." She closes her mouth over what she'd rather do, eyes hunting the floor again, his bare feet in her periphery. Her weight shifts so that one boot is free to rub the toe across the floor. "You know I don't blame you for any of that. I don't have any blame to place on anyone." But what he says is true, she's in the middle, no matter what anyone would prefer. She lifts her glance to him, a tenative attempt to meet his eye. "I try to be careful. I wouldn't want to see her hurt you."

K'del, too, seems more interested in staring at the floor than at Vienne, or anything else. It's not even his bare toes he's focused on: just bare stone, worn by the ages. Perhaps he senses Vienne's lifted gaze, though, because his follows suit, his blue eyes meeting hers. He nods, just once. "Always knew she didn't like me for some reason," he says, quietly. "Never knew why that was, until now. And... it's not like I completely blame her? Know I'd find it hard to tolerate the person who had my father killed, whatever-- but it's the extent of it. The purpose. I'm sorry, Vienne. I ''know'' you don't want to see me hurt. I do. I'm trying. Rather be your friend than not. I'll try. It's just... too soon, now. To know what to think, maybe. How to feel. Except that I intend to take this Weyr back." Surprise. "And ''that'' you can tell her."

"I don't know what her purpose is. I don't know what her aim is. I've only spoken to her once since..." The announcement. "She seemed different, but I don't know what that means, either." And there Vienne's brow furrows faintly, a sigh leaking out as she tips her head to the side to give K'del a meaningful look, like she might be able to will him to understand. "Don't you see, I'd rather know." But she doesn't really seem to hold out much hope that the bronzerider is going to be coming around any time soon. So she swallows the impulse down and wets her lips. "I'm not telling her anything. And I resent that. I don't deserve it." She rolls her shoulders in her jacket like she can shake off the injury of his words. For a moment, it looks like her hands are going to go about buttoning her coat up again, but instead she just stuffs them in her pockets.

"I'm--" Fuck. K'del looks appalled, clearly at his own words. "I'm sorry. Fuck, that was wrong of me." It's obvious he doesn't really understand the rest of it, that he's so wrapped up in his own perspective it's hard to step out of it, to look at it from another. Ultimately, he shakes his head. "Give me time, Vienne. I'm still trying to get my head around how things have changed. That's all."

"Everyone is," Vienne tells him, apparently accepting his apology enough that the words are gentle again. She even manages a small smile for him, sad still, but a smile nonetheless. "Take all the time you need. You know where to find me, whenever you're ready." She let's that smile gain a little strength, and then she turns toward the ledge.

K'del's smile is barely there, though it's obvious he's ''trying'' to encourage it into himself. His nod is a little firmer, made as he rises-- even if he doesn't move to follow her towards the ledge. "Thanks, Vienne," he says, quietly. "I'll try."

{{#ifexist: Logs_talk:{{BASEPAGENAME}} | <hr><hr><br><h2>Comments</h2>{{Logs_talk:{{BASEPAGENAME}}}} |<hr><hr>}}

}}

<comments />

Logs:Gone Boom

2013-03-08T12:02:11Z

Vienne:

{{ Log
| who = K'del, Vienne
| where = Secluded Beach, Ista Weyr
| what = After the brawl, Vienne whisks K'del away. They talk
| when = Day 5, Month 3, Turn 31
| gamedate = 2013.03.07
| quote = "Maybe it's just that the more time that passes, the more past there is, and there are other things to think about. Like segues to the future."
| weather =
| categories = Divided Leadership, The Assassination of Iolene By The Coward I'kris
| mentions = H'kon
| ooc =
| icons = k'del sad.jpg, vienne arms.png
| log = Secluded Beach, Ista Weyr

----

Surrounded by dense jungle is an empty beach that provides just enough space for two or three dragons to land. Velvety black sands are swept relentlessly by waves, stark white foam sliding seaward after the receding waters. Ista's main beach lies somewhere to the north, but it's impossible to see from such a secluded cranny on the coastline. The jutting fingers of the Weyr are still visible beyond the dense jungle canopy, but there is the illusion that here and now there is no one else on all of Pern.

----

So at some point, in the infirmary, one mildly battered little bluerider caught sight of one tall, overwrought bronzerider on his way to be seen by the healers, even if his sickness isn't something they can fix. And though she eventually hobbled out to meet H'kon, the brownrider was sent on his way with due thanks and Vienne lingered afterwards, popping uneasily to her feet when K'del reappeared. She said nothing at first but took his hand to lead him away and, once they were no longer surrounded by so many eyes, convinced him to get away from the Weyr, to go somewhere far far away and breathe. Dragons were rounded up and Oswinth shared with Cadejoth a particular beach on Ista's shores. Now there, it's just as well that Vienne's jacket is probably still sitting in the living cavern, because the weather at Ista is perfect, a warm sunny morning with the ocean lapping and the breeze wafting gently. When Vienne climbs down from Oswinth's shoulder, it's with some difficulty, but eventually she stands in the sand, utterly out of place with her snow boots, and looks to see how K'del is managing.

There isn't much the healers can do with K'del, and, indeed, it's likely that Healer Emerin doesn't have much idea of what to do with the bronzerider placed in her hands. He's so easily led after that: to Cadejoth, to Ista, and now down from his rider's neck to the black sands and the water beyond. He's probably already poured part of his heart out at that poor healer, but that doesn't seem to stop him-- now, as he glances at Vienne, meeting her gaze with a rueful smile, he's easily able to say, "Didn't actually mean for any of that to happen. Just… saw him, and there I went. Boom. Some leader I am." He won't hold her gaze for long: he's come without his jacket, but he still has boots to remove, and heavy socks beneath. "Thought I was doing so well, too."

Vienne moves beside him, to take her own careful seat in the sand and go about pulling her boots off. The one is easy, the other is done with much more attention and her ankle is bandaged up. But at least the healers didn't send her out on crutches or anything, so it can't be too bad. "I know," she tells him quietly. "You just weren't ready to... see him. Or to feel all of that and be able to do anything else." She slips a little smile sideways at him. "You did kind of 'boom'." She takes a heavy breath and pulls her sweater overhead, ruffling her hair. The undershirt beneath is much more fitting for the current climate. "How are you now?" she wonders over at him.

"More calm," is K'del's admission, made through lips that have twisted into something quietly rueful. "Should've stayed away from the caverns. Made sure I'd avoid him. Making a scene-- it wasn't my intention. Ever. Maybe I ''am'' overreacting, but… can't look at him without seeing her, and feeling all that pain, all over again." He makes that last admission without glancing at her, kicking his last sock away. After that, he heads for the water's edge, rolling up his trousers so that he can stand in the surf. "Guess I should lay low for a while, huh?"

Vienne is quiet as he talks, folding her sweater and attempting to lay it over the top of her boots so that it won't be entirely full of sand, in theory. She has no comment for his pain and when he moves off to stand in the water, she's slow to follow, taking a few long moments to watch him with his feet in the swirl of the surf. It's with a grimace he likely doesn't see that rubs her hands over her thighs, bolstering herself for whatever comes next. And the first thing is to push herself back up so she can step-hop after him. She doesn't step into the water, but lingers where the sand is dry. "K'del," she says evenly. "Look at me."

It takes a few moments, but finally, K'del turns, looking at Vienne with pale brows that have lifted towards his hairline, a question marked upon his expression. "I'm looking," he says. "What is it? Tell it to me straight."

Her eyes drop down, pointedly, toward her bandaged foot. "Look," she tells him. Nevermind the fact that there's a bruise creeping out at her temple. "I know you're hurting and I know you're a mess. But if you're calm now, I want you to step away from the edge and see where you are now." There's more she'd like to say, but she doesn't. It just brims on her carefully closed mouth as she stares at him, firm eyes even if there's still sympathy on her face. "And this..." Vienne's hands gesture simply to the beach, the jungle behind it, the sky overhead. "Is where I'm from."

It's easier to say, dully, "You're Istan," than it is to properly comprehend the rest of what Vienne has to say, though there's no missing the way K'del looks, so guiltily, at that bandaged foot, and the bruise on her temple. Abruptly, he drops into a crouch, letting the waves crash over her lower body, though he doesn't break his glance in her direction. "Screwed up," he says. "I screwed up. Lost control. I was so ''angry'', and you got hurt, and I hurt Z'ian, and--" He breaks off.

"Yes," Vienne confirms, taking some scant comfort in the fact that all her years of harper training have left her able to impart at least that much information to a fully grown man of questionable mental capacity. And though she would really rather not go dragging her fresh, tidy bandage through the sea water, nor soak the cuffs of her pants, she inches fowards onto the wet sand. "Yeah, you did," she tells him quietly. "And what?"

K'del doesn't seem to care about getting wet: the waves ripple against his knees, and higher, and he barely seems to notice, except that his hands float atop the water on either side of him, enjoying the quiet coolness of the gentle waves. "And it didn't exactly achieve anything," he says, finishing his earlier thought, blue eyes watching her emotionlessly. "Just made everything worse. Right when I thought I was turning a corner. But you all tried to help me, anyway." There's a question in his glance, one that doesn't quite make it to his mouth.

"We don't want to see you hurting," Vienne goes ahead and speaks for his various friends as well as herself. "We don't want to see you make it any worse than it has to be." She takes a breath, uncertain, her eyes steady on his despite the glint of water dancing around his hands. "You hit a bump. It doesn't mean you can't keep going. It doesn't mean you can't move forward." And quieter, "If you still want to."

K'del takes his time before answering, closing his eyes so that he can concentrate on feeling the water against his hands, against his legs, against his feet. "I want to," he says, simply, once he finally seems able to put words together once more. "Don't want to be like this. I hate it, Vienne. I miss just being ''myself''. And then, a moment later, "I'm sorry."

Vienne didn't want to do it, but the poor little bluerider finally gives in and steps forward into the water to crouch in front of him. Only it's very difficult to crouch when one of your legs is all banged up and her hands brace herself on the submerged sand while she hunkers down with that bum leg out to the side a bit. "Tell me who you were. Do you remember what you were like? What would the old you say?"

"You didn't need to do that," is the first thing K'del says after that, wincing, and looking somehow more regretful for the position Vienne has put herself in, than for everything else. Perhaps it's just that it's more immediate, more visceral, right now in this present moment. He sighs, then, glancing away from her and towards Cadejoth, who has hunkered low in the sand, watching. "The old me got upset, too, but he knew how to channel it, better. He talked to people, the people he cared about, and then he let it go, so he could do his job. Once upon a time, the old me swore he'd never fall in love; couldn't see the point. But he did it twice, anyway." He exhales through his nose, then turns his gaze back towards Vienne. "Everything was easier when I could define myself by my job, you know? ''Had'' to be strong, because the Weyr needed me to be."

No, she doesn't need to, but now she has. Too late. At the fist good splash, though, she's trying to get up again, using K'del's shoulder for balance as she levers herself to stand. "I do know," she says in the end. "I know what it was like for me - what it's been like. To have something that I thought defined who I was. And it's been five years and I still feel like I'm in limbo. I'm a harper, I'm not a harper. I'm a harper, I'm not a harper. But I'm more comfortable there now. In between. I won't ever walk the tables again, but I can still try to be the person I wanted to be. And somedays I feel like it's possible and other days I feel like I've failed everyone." Her eyes glance down the beach, though there's nothing in either direction but sand and ocean.

K'del's shoulder is at least a firm, stable thing to lean on, and his gaze is equally so: he watches her move, mouth twisting in a sympathetic, apologetic kind of way. "So it gets easier," he says, following a low sigh. "Guess that's good to know. You'd think I'd-- always figured I'd lose it, sooner or later. Figured I would after the first time; Iovniath'd never be caught by Cadejoth again. But she was. And now… all those turns, and it just began to feel natural. Most of the last turn is a blur, until all of this, and now… I'm still learning how to be ''me''. What 'me' is, now, if it isn't Weyrleader. We shouldn't let ourselves be defined by what we do, but we… do. Why ''did'' you accept search?"

"It does, I think. I hope," Vienne admits with a wan, voiceless laugh. "All I know is that when I feel like a harper, I feel better. Maybe you can't be the Weyrleader, but maybe you'll have one less thing to kick yourself about if you feel like the Weyrleader in you would be pleased. And at least, well, you never know what will happen." Oh, but then that question. Vienne has an answer for that. "I didn't," she says simply, her hand reaching out for his, perhaps a prompt to stand. "They asked and I refused. And Oswinth got me anyway. There are some things you can't control. Dragons..." Well, the pick whom they pick, don't they.

K'del hesitates, but somewhere through Vienne's recitation, he starts to nod, as though he can actually see, and grasp, what she's trying to tell him. It's enough that he can give her his full attention when she answers his question; enough that he can show surprise on his face, and then the faint suggestion of understanding, awkward and unmoderated. "Didn't think that happened all that often," he says, marvelling at the very idea of it. "No wonder you had a hard time. Guess-- I guess Oswinth was just that determined to have you. Which is… nice somehow, isn't it? Would you like it, if you could do more harpering? Be a craft-rider, more officially? Just… do more, I guess?" His eyes graze her hand, but instead of reaching for it, he draws himself higher, standing, but mostly out of reach, water lapping at his ankles, and higher as every wave comes in.

"I guess it doesn't. I don't know. I don't know how many people are asked and refused. Why would the eggs care? Dragons said they wanted me, I guess I was in the pool whether I agreed or not." She glances back to Oswinth, letting K'del get himself to his feet as she takes a step back to give him space. When she looks back, it's with a rueful little smile. "It didn't feel that way. He didn't feel... deteremined. It was more like... a plea I couldn't help but answer?" But that's probably not the comment K'del intended for her to expand on. For his question, a craft-rider, she lets out a heavy breath. "I don't know, honestly. People... question my loyalty enough as it is. And I don't know that I really want to spend my time teaching. I was willing once, but now..."

"Don't tell any Candidates that," says K'del, with an abrupt - and apparently genuine - smile. "They might run a mile. Means there's no changing your mind." ''He'' doesn't seem bothered, though. Instead, he bends, running his fingers through the salty water, then splashing some over his hair, largely avoiding his face. "He needed you. And you… answered." It's quiet, so quiet. Now, he takes a few steps forward, his heavy trousers clinging to his ankles as he wades out of the water. "Things change, I guess. Whether we intend them to or not. We just have to be… honest with ourselves about that. Yes?"

"Well, you saw what happened when I talked to the candidates..." Vienne says with her eyes wide for emphasis and her smile growing quickly. "I thought I painted a reasonably positive picture, all things considered." And of course, one rider to another, she knows she doesn't have to explain how she feels about her lifemate, but as K'del mumurs his quiet words, she glances toward the blue again, who watches her rather closely. "Things change," she agrees, following K'del from the water. "I don't know if it's a matter of honesty but... I think you can either learn to deal with it, focus on what's good, or you can fight it and stay miserable about it. I won't say that the first part of weyrlinghood went particularly well." Everyone takes time to adjust, or something like that.

K'del huffs out a breath that might be distantly related to a laugh - very distantly. "Not sure any of us can explain it, not properly. Not in a way that they'd actually understand. Not sure they want to hear anything but the good things. Which isn't to say that Cadejoth wasn't… instant win." And yet his expression, as he remembers, is conflicted; eventually, he has to shake his head, let go of that thought. "Mine didn't, either. Weyrlinghood. But we got there. Beginning of month thirteen, that's when we graduated. Month six? Weyrleader. Not much time to just ''be'' a rider, you know?" His bare feet pad onto the sand, gathering a coating of dark grit, one he doesn't pay any attention to.

"You said," she remembers, recalling his description of the bronze. "He was annoyingly lovable when you wanted to be cool." It quirks a grin on Vienne's lips. "And then you were Weyrleader." Now it's her turn to think about that, not just his youth in stepping up, but how little time he had before it happened. "So you're new to this," she distills, the grin coming back as she limps along with her bandaged foot collecting all kinds of silty Istan sand. "Being a rider, being no one. Except never really being no one because the whole damn world knows your name." Her teeth catch her lip. "It's hard to be both at once -- to feel like a Weyrleader and feel like no one. It messes with your head." It's not quite an assumption about him, not entirely, but rather as if she's had some similiar experience of her own.

This time, K'del's grin is broader; more amused. "Right," he agrees. Some of the smile fades, as he considers the rest of what she's said, but only so that he looks thoughtful, not upset. "Right. It's-- but I guess it was strange for you, too. You were a Journeyman, weren't you? So you went from being a respected adult in your craft, to being--" He breaks off, stopping where he is on the sand to glance at her. "It is hard. Everyone expects me to be something in particular, and half the Weyr still seems to think I let them down by walking out when I did, and so many of the others expect me to walk in and fix things, and it's just hard. When I'm trying to work out who it is I am now." He pauses, taking in a salty, sea-air breath. "But I'll get there."

This time, when her teeth catch her lip, it's a little less like a thoughtful nibble and more like an apology. She doesn't deny his assumption about her life as a Journeyman, but neither does she confirm it. "I felt like I let people down when I entered the craft. Maybe I didn't, but I felt... like I was expected to be something. And I wanted to make my own expectation. And then I felt like I let the Hall down when I impressed. I felt like I let a lot of people down." She hesitates there, then explains, "I don't like to talk about because I don't feel like it's respectful to Oswinth. He didn't deserve... the start we had." She looks at her lifemate now though, who is looking back at her with a little something cautious in the way he holds his head. And Vienne is quick to shake her own, to toss off those pieces of her life. "You don't have to know who you are now. Your life has changed. You get to take some time to feel it. But you have to look forward, too." She smiles aside at him and then lets her gaze drift around to the idyllic bit of beach, just appreciating it.

"People's expectations, real or imagined, are hard to deal with," says K'del, whose gaze follows Vienne's towards Oswinth, acknowledging the blue with a vague tilt of his head. "But you obviously got through it." When his gaze returns, it's more level all over again, except for the way he nods. "Forward. I want to look forward. Towards-- the next beach, the next curve. Whatever else is out there. I ''am'' trying." He pauses, just for a moment or two, then offers the bluerider the crook of his arm. "Walk with me? Glad you suggested coming here. Think I-- needed it."

"I don't know. Is anyone ever completely through with their past? Or do they just learn to spend less time with it at the front of their mind?" There's a bit of theory in the way Vienne talks now, less personal, less about him or about her. "Maybe it's just that the more time that passes, the more past there is, and there are other things to think about. Like segues to the future." The idea, or maybe just the way it's come out, has her letting out a short laugh and the bluerider slides her arm into K'del's. "I probably shouldn't go too far," she reminds him, sticking the bandaged foot out. But he wants to go forward, so she's surely not going to refuse. At least she can lean on him.

"Not far," he promises. "Caused you enough pain, today, I think." But he's happy to be leaned on, for the short distance that follows, during which time - well, there's certainly more musing to be had.

{{#ifexist: Logs_talk:{{BASEPAGENAME}} | <hr><hr><br><h2>Comments</h2>{{Logs_talk:{{BASEPAGENAME}}}} |<hr><hr>}}

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Logs:The Great Breakfast Brawl

2013-03-08T07:15:07Z

Vienne:

{{ Log
| who = Alida, Brieli, Ceawlin, H'kon, Kaeden, K'del, Tiziano, Vienne, Z'ian
| where = Living Caverns / Western Bowl, High Reaches Weyr
| what = K'del runs into H'kon. Unsurprisingly, it doesn't go well.
| when = Day 5, Month 3, Turn 31
| gamedate = 2013.03.07
| quote = "You ''helped'' him. You ''fucking helped him'', and you ''knew''"
| weather =
| categories = Divided Leadership, The Assassination of Iolene By The Coward I'kris
| mentions = Iolene, I'kris
| ooc =
| icons = brieli bitchface.gif, ceawlin.jpg, h'kon_stoney.jpeg, kaeden main.jpg, k'del unhappy.jpg, vienne uh.jpg, z'ian14 zian14.png
| log = Living Cavern, High Reaches Weyr

----

Stalactites hang high above this enormous cavern like a jagged chandelier or an inversion of the Spires themselves, but shadows cling to them instead of light. Below lie great tables arranged in rows, each large enough to serve a fighting wing, while in the nooks and alcoves around the cavern's edge sit more sensibly-sized tables, from six- and eight-seaters down to intimate spots for just a couple of diners. The only really open space is around the kitchen entrance, smelling of food and rarely quiet, and by the nearby serving tables with their long buffet of the day's offerings.

Tapestries on the smooth walls -- some faded and others newly woven -- only slightly mute the sea of sound when a meal is in full swing, but they add cheerfulness augmented by the glowlight from wall sconces and the centerpieces of each table. Still, shadows always creep along the ceiling and into the mouths of the exits -- the myriad small hallways at one end of the cavern and, at the other, the twisting tunnel to the bowl near an array of coathooks and and hatracks -- and late at night, when the glows are allowed to dim, the chamber can seem very dark indeed.

----

There's strength in numbers, which might be why, despite the increasing number of ''looks'' he's been getting from various dragonriders in the past week, H'kon has at least forced himself to Avalanche's table following their morning drills. But now, as some gather for a later breakfast, the table begins to break up. H'kon is among those leaving, an empty mug in hand. The queue for klah is eyed dubiously, a mental debate goes on, standing at the edge of his table, and finally, he moves for the end, keeping his shoulders squared, but his eyes gaze floating as he moves.

Ceawlin is tucked away in a corner, being a harper; for once unobtrusive and not really drawing attention to himself beyond the subtle, soft notes of play in the background. Low-toned, bouncy tune that's not too fast and not too slow for the caverns atmosphere. Pale head is bowed, concentration on the instrument and not on much of anything else right this moment.

It's probably inevitable that, despite K'del's apparent intention to only smear H'kon behind his back, eventually the two riders would run in to each other. Actually, it's probably more surprising that it's taken this long-- a whole ''week'' since the whole debacle began. The bronzerider is on his way in to the caverns, alone, and though his eventual destination doesn't seem to be the klah queue, the sweep of his gaze ''does'' eventually pass there. He stops, right there in the middle of the caverns, expression turning abruptly from 'impassive' to 'very nearly murderously angry'.

Kaeden has been sitting just as quietly beside Ceawlin, casually writing on a roll of parchment. His attention wanders often to the rest of the cavern, however, so he soon gently nudges his fellow candidate, more of a tap with his elbow, really, his eyes focused on K'del.

As usual, Brieli takes her breakfast, and takes her time over it in the living cavern. There's not much of an Aurora wing table, given there's all of two goldriders in the wing, so she sits alone with her mug and her mostly-empty plate, dark sharp gaze crowd-watching for just such a reason. When she spots K'del and follows his gaze, she lifts her mug slowly to cover any expression she might let slip.

Vienne has been eating, and though there might be another Snowdrift rider at her table, it's hardly a collective wing-dining experience. Rather, it's a variety of people she's been sitting with, chatting casually. She's put away breakfast with some speed only to stop rather abruptly without finishing. It's likely, over the course of the meal, that she's been among those who glance in H'kon's direction, though hardly the source of pointed ''looks''. Which also means that, as K'del passes through and stops so purposefully, the small bluerider pushes her plate away and starts to get up.

Z'ian's pushed himself through another breakfast with a group of people that aren't exactly his biggest fans, but this morning has seemed particularly less tense at Boreal's table than it's been in recent sevens. As the group breaks up, the bronzerider gets rid of his dishes and slips away from the group. Before he goes, he returns to the serving line to get another cup of klah. While waiting in que for his refill, he's allowed the luxury of leaning aginst the counter and surveying the crowd. It's by chance that he spots K'del amongst the mass of humanity, his eyebrows drawing and following his gaze to H'kon.

H'kon has drawn up behind a young woman in the line, some resident he doesn't know. She gets just a quick nod when she turns to him. The one who falls in line behind him, too, and there it stops, only his immediate neighbours acknowledged. But even H'kon will start to feel more prickles on his neck than have been the norm, even with the whole gold flight debacle, and all the rest. It sharpens up those green eyes, has him gripping his mug a bit tighter. Has him looking in the direction that so many others are looking. K'del. H'kon lifts his chin faintly, not really a brownrider nod.

Only once does the music stumble; that moment when Ceawlin is nudged and attention is grabbed by the coming storm. "Mmmm," quietly murmured to his corner-companion here, and thus the nosy harper's attention is caught on brown- and bronzeriders. Cold blue eyes glance once to the goldrider, perhaps to gauge the ''Weyrwoman's'' reaction. For now, it's all the apprentice can do to keep the music playing at the same pace and in the same soft sound as before. "Storm's comin'." Muttered in aside to Kaeden.

"'''''You'''''." K'del is loud enough that even those who might not have noticed him, just yet, probably have now: loud enough that a few people jump in fright. The former Weyrleader is not exactly known for explosive outbursts in the living caverns (or, indeed, anywhere), but there's no hesitation in this, now. He doesn't really seem to be aware of anyone else, as if the caverns have emptied out in his mind, leaving just him and the (murderous, traitorous) brownrider - not that stops him from yelling. "Going to come and explain it all away for me? 'Oh, it wasn't me, I don't know how it got there, I had nothing to do with it?'"

"Batten down the hatches and hold on," Kaeden agrees, looking almost ''excited'' to see what comes next. Parchment is left to roll, pen gets cleaned and stored, then he leans forward, small, capped vial of ink in his hands, fiddled idly between calloused fingers. He also gives Brieli a very quick study, but there's no question where the action is right now.

Any reaction from the Weyrwoman (Acting though she may be) is hidden behind the sip she takes from her mug, but Brieli's dark gaze is drawn irrevocably to the disaster about to occur, and unlike certain blue-riding former Harpers that like to go adjusting and fixing, she seems to feel no need whatsoever to get up and try and stop it. If she even could. Well, ''Iesaryth'' might, but she doesn't seem to be dragging anyone into the deep just yet. Maybe she figures it's bound to happen anyway? Maybe she's just enjoying it? But for now? She's just a spectator, along with everyone else.

Z'ian is ahead of H'kon on that line, his mug just about to get refilled. But he's becoming gradually more distracted by the increase of tension in the cavern. Uncomfortable, he merely nods quickly and politely to the girl behind the line who helps him with his drink. The yelling from K'del does it for him and he drops back, letting the rest of the people who are moving along to get their klah go past him. The Wingleader hangs back by the brownrider, not exactly jumping between the two to stop it but merely standing by as an obvious prescence. Maybe he figures at least some of this has to play out before an intervention should happen. His glance flickers to Brieli across the room and he slides his mug down onto an empty spot of the serving line.

H'kon's face pulls flat, lips a hard line, eyes fully focused now. Peripheral vision is the only guide as he makes his way a bit away from the line, from the bystanders, toward that area where the crowds are scattering out of the way, like so many dried leaves swept away by a leaping dragon's wings. He seems - probably is - oblivious to Z'ian's movements. "I do not know of what you speak," comes low, a usual speaking volume sounding all kinds of quiet compared to K'del's yelling.

Just what does a miniature bluerider think she can do in this situation? Vienne surely doesn't seem certain. There's concern making her mouth small and her eyes wide as they dart about, looking for, hoping for, some interfering hand to address the situation. But her glance finds few people doing anything other than staring. It doesn't take long for quick steps to put her behind K'del, though she hesitates to do anything further than hope the bronzerider has finished saying his piece and that will be all, as unlikely as that seems. Her eyes dart sideways toward Brieli, just a wordless question, and she spies Z'ian on the other side of H'kon with something a bit more imploring on her face.

Dragon> To all High Reaches dragons, Arekoth is alert, the slightest glow pushing to the Weyr's dragons, too light to have any real colour, though there's certainly an anticipatory coldness to the brown's rare wide-spread imagery. Only Iesaryth might get a little more, a hint of purple centred nearer the sands, where the brown's wings rustle on his shoulders.

Count on the stormcrow to show up when shit is getting tense...or worse. Into the cavern pads Alida, looking a little dusty and dirty from being in the middle of cleaning up hearths and such. A pail of dead charcoal depends from one hand, a large pair of cleaner and scooper in the other mitt...and a determined look settled upon the candidate's brow. When the yelling and scowling beyond her is heard and witnessed... well, the young woman doesn't avoid it at all. Instead, she moves in unhurried fashion over to the hearth, and starts banking the fire enough so that she can remove excess coals to the side, in order for them to cool.

The yelling is really not necessary, now, not when he's already got the attention of pretty much the entire room - and H'kon in particular - but K'del can't seem to stop himself. "Bullshit you don't," he yells, spittle leaving his mouth with as much force as the words. "Azaylia found Iolene's ''pendant'' on your ledge. On ''your'' fucking ledge. You fucking-- I ''trusted'' you." He's too angry for the tears that have been so frequently his, of late; too angry to do anything but stare daggers at the brownrider, and utterly ignore everyone else.

Quiet snickering might be coming from Ceawlin's corner, but further commentary is halted to watch what unfolds. Slowly, the harper's strumming comes to its natural close at precisely the moment K'del's accusations are flung. So now, he watches, instrument cradled in his arms. Oh goodie. Drama. Something to write home about!

Kaeden's dark eyes take on a sharper, more intent cast as H'kon turns to face K'del. He gives Ceawlin a quick look, gently taps his ink vial on the table, then slowly gets to his feet. The better to see or move, and move he does, though slowly, angling through the stilling crowd toward Brieli's table. Just because.

Dragon> To all High Reaches dragons, Cadejoth blocks out Arekoth's glow, building up layer upon layer of protective chain: chains, metallic chains, to keep his rider safe. The ends rattle and twist, clattering against bones in a staccato warning bell.

Z'ian's gaze continuously moves around the thinning crowd, spying Vienne coming up behind K'del. He gives a nod towards her imploring look. Some of his wing remains behind at their table, watching the former Weyrleader with wide eyes. The bronzerider lifts one hand up casually and a few of the more loyal (and larger) Boreal riders slip to their feet, approaching the two men carefully. But for now everyone stays out of the way of both. For his part, he sticks close to the brownrider, not behind but in front of him. "''K'del''." It's loud enough to hopefully get his attention, a firm voice that's ''not'' playing around. "Stop this."

With a little sigh, Brieli sets down her mug, lips pursed. All the glances her way seem to have moved the young goldrider to at least rise from her seat slowly, though K'del's words have her freeze momentarily in the act, have her staring at H'kon for a long, long moment. She can't even return Vienne's glance, process that Z'ian's stepped in, or there's a candidate on the way. ''Click''. Something's occurred to her, that much is unusually transparent with the arch of fine brows - and then they come together as she straightens, one hand at the small of her back, gaze flickering between brownrider and bronzerider. What to do.

Vienne shoots a cold, remonstrative look toward that snickering corner. Not funny. And when she turns back to see Z'ian stepping up, there's at least a touch of relief in her eyes. She darts a pointed glance for him, a faint tip of her head toward H'kon, and even though she likely knows K'del is locked in his bubble of rage, she lifts a hand toward his back, a light touch that aspires to break him out of his single-mindedness. Her voice isn't nearly so commanding as Z'ian's, but for her part she says quietly, "K'del. Not here."

Now *this* is interesting! And since Alida's rather used to drama of the irate sort, well, she simply continues tending to the hearth in quiet fashion...the oddest little bit of a dark smile playing across her lips, a bit of a feral glint in those clear green eyes. Ohhh, how her ears listen, and how that gaze flicks about now and again to keep things in perspective.

Those remaining members of Avalanche are not idle either. Well, not all of them, though surely their loyalties are pressed when it's ''K'del'', of all people, facing off against the rider still to be numbered among their membership. H'kon doesn't much seem to mark them. He lifts his chin the more, stands as straight as he can, though it does little to have him see over a man so tall as Z'ian. It's the block provided by Boreal's wingleader that might be he cause of his projecting his voice a bit more. "I had and have nothing of Iolene. I keep nothing on my ledge." With a bit more of a grating tone, "I would not make any attempt against any weyrwoman's safety."

Ceawlin is all innocent looks once Vienne's remonstrative looks are directed their way. However, he then shares a look with Kaeden, eyebrows arching. "S'about to get good," he tells the dockworker-candidate in a low murmur meant for Kaed's ears alone. At least there's no snickering anymore, right?

Dragon> There's a sudden surge, a wave that comes up and over the Weyr with the terrifying power of a tsunami, but it's ''held'' back for now, and a saltwater trickle sneaks through Cadejoth's defenses, while bubbly seafoam attempts to soothe Arekoth. But the strength is still there, and Iesaryth will accept no argument from either dragon: << Tell them to take it somewhere else. ''Not there''. >> She shows the council room, the guest weyr, a rapid succession of images, just not all the staring faces that her rider is surely seeing. (Iesaryth to all High Reaches dragons)

Dragon> The foam serves as minor amplification, a frothy purple before Arekoth's aurora subsides in favour of hard words. << There's ''nothing'' to be taken, >> is clearly more directed at Cadejoth, nearly threatening. Let that rattle around in his chains. (Arekoth to all High Reaches dragons)

Dragon> << Off the sands until you control your rider, Arekoth. Now! >> Iesaryth is not even dealing with his mouth today, thanks. (Iesaryth to all High Reaches dragons)

There's a hand on his back, and more voice than one reminding him of where he is, who he is, ''what'' this is-- but K'del is in that bubble of pure rage, and it's all too much. His hands are in fists, now, and it's just too bad that Z'ian is in his way, because it's as though he's being fuelled by some external energy source, acting on instinct to throw himself at that bronzerider to try and get past, and put a (righteous) fist into H'kon's person. "Then ''why did you have her pendant''," he yells--cries--''screams''. It's only after he's shoved himself at Z'ian that his body goes abruptly stiff, some new force acting upon his momentum. And, okay: ''now'' there are tears. "You ''helped'' him. You ''fucking helped him'', and you ''knew''."

Kaeden has left the table behind that he'd been sharing with Ceawlin, and now settles in a pocket of other onlookers where his modest height allows him a decent view without being too much of a block to anyone behind him. He rests his hands behind him and leans back against a chair, nothing but curiosity in his expression at the moment, head tilted very slightly as if trying to catch every word. Curiosity is quickly replaced by puzzlement, however. He does not exactly know who all the He's and She's are in this dialogue.

Dragon> Half the weyr - more! - might hear Cadejoth's more physical bellow: the one he makes from so high above the Weyr, looking down from the rim over what he still considers to be ''his''. (Cadejoth to all High Reaches dragons)

Dragon> It's only atmospheric crackle - no light - to signal Arekoth's taking to wing, a burst of excitement, as if that command from Iesaryth was a permission he'd been ''waiting'' on, the whole time. His shriek answers the bronze's bellow, but any upward motion is no more than that call-out. And then it's a dart over the bowl, to wait outside the cavern's entrance, barely able to keep his feet grounded once he's landed, wings active still, shuffling, restless. (Arekoth to all High Reaches dragons)

Z'ian was likely more or less prepared for this to happen. Because when K'del surges at him to try and get at H'kon behind him, the wingleader wraps his arms around the body of his friend and squeezes tightly. The other man still has free arms so if H'kon doesn't get out of the range of fire, well. Z'ian is doing what he can here, okay? K'del's no twig. If he's strong enough, he's paused the other bronzerider in his advance on the Avalanche rider. And if there's any luck for him today he'll be able to push him back some. "''Remember'' yourself, K'del. For fucks sake." That comes out low through gritted teeth into the other man's ear.

Oh, moving is not good. When K'del steps forward, Vienne's hand reflexively tries to snag his jacket, as if her ineffective strength has any hope of holding him back. Also, thanks, all you lovely strong wingriders, for standing around and letting the smallest woman in the room attempt this job. "K'del, please," she begs him, though it's unlikely anyone can hear her over the bronzerider's screams. She's dragged forward a step, rather than managing to do anything to stop K'del, but when Z'ian gets himself so firmly in the way, she releases her grip to try to dart around toward H'kon.

Aww yeah...this is *living*! This is one of the ultimates in real, in living fully, in the moment...even if it's rage. Alida is one of those people, if she was born into very different circumstance, who would've made a near-perfect Marine, or warrior. Every thew in her form is tensed in subtle fashion, ready to send the young woman into whatever action is wanted, needed, dictated. And yet, she appears oh-so-calm at the hearth, still scraping, shoveling...and watching.

It's never as much fun as Brieli wants it to be when there's tears. It's there in the twist of her mouth, the way she lifts slender fingers to her temple as there's a bellow outside, a dragon furious and pained. Something is likely going on mentally with all the riders at this point, and maybe it's something of her own lifemate that pushes her into action, her long legs quick to close the distance between her table and the altercation... though something in K'del's reaction makes her stop by Kaeden's group of onlookers and pick him out. "Help Z'ian get him out of here, would you?" There's not much of a pause for an answer, as she's headed for H'kon as well, with a significant glance for Vienne. "Brownrider." H'kon, obviously. "Get out of here."

Dragon> To all High Reaches dragons, Cadejoth is not going anywhere. You want to make something of it, Arekoth? You come ''here''. The bronze is clearly ''trying'' to follow Iesaryth's instruction, unable to fight back against a queen's command... but his rider is another thing altogether. Another bellow follows.

Tiziano is given the Look when he invades Ceawlin's space. Maybe the harper apprentice is going to bite it off. "Altercation," he whisper-comments, chin-nodding to K'del, H'kon, and the rest. "Just watch. Accusations are flying." Then he motions for fellow Candidate to shush and watch. Waaaaaaatch.

Boreal's bronzerider provides H'kon time enough to take a quick step back, almost light on his feet, while that mug comes out to be held at his side, as if a weapon, old hand-to-hand training coming back for a moment before the brownrider's reminded himself of... well, himself. The mug lowers. "Had I known I would have acted to protect ''even'' Iolene," has regained its comparative quiet. His insistence that, "I have not betrayed my Weyr, ''nor'' you," is mostly lost when one of Boreal's wingriders, going to help Z'ian, gets a shouted, "Hands off!" from one of Avalanche's. He's going in, and Z'ian, Vienne, H'kon? If they get hit, well, collateral damage.

Z'ian may have K'del about the middle, but those arms ''are'' free, and rage fuels his strength to a level that would normally be impossible. ''Unfortunately'', this sudden influx of riders into the fray makes actually reaching H'kon impossible, and without a target to reach for, K'del goes abruptly very limp, likely to drop to his knees unless Z'ian keeps him standing. Unfortunately for H'kon, the brawl that's more or less unfolding is not so easily fixed: punches are beginning to fly. And if K'del's lucky, someone ''else'' will get H'kon for him, because wouldn't he look so much better with a second black eye?

Kaeden doesn't stop to question Brieli's command, quickly moving to follow her toward the group, if a good step behind. His puny white knot doesn't generally get tangled with riders' knots like this, after all. He may have heard the bellow from the bowl, but unlike the riders around him, Kaed has no inner voice influencing him but his own, so when yet ''more'' riders get into it, the candidate can only react by following Brieli's original order. He moves next to Z'ian and the suddenly limp K'del, ready to grab the latter, though the newly flying fists give him pause as he glances from one face to the next. Candidate is out of his league, in a hurry.

With the punches starting to fly, Alida surges up from the hearth, her eyes glittering, her lips thinned, the candidate's features tensed into lines of utter concentration. Dropping her cleaning apparatus to the floor, the woman steps like a tunnelsnake over towards Brieli, and raps off to her in a voice both flat and yet eager, "Weyrwoman; point me where you need help with them. I can handle it."

"Oooooo," Tiziano's mouth even makes an 'O' with his mouth as he says it. Eyes zipping to the situation going down to Ceawlin and back again. The candidate to back to his feet, having sat for only a few moments. Onto his tip toes he goes, trying to watch everything going down. It's an exclamation of surprise as fists start flying. "Shards! Riders are fighting!" He throws a look back over to the other candidate. "You see, you see? They're throwing punches!" As more riders seem to get involved, the teenager does the smart thing and stays where he is. "Shoot, I think Kaeden is going in to fight too. Do we help him, Ceawlin?" Hands go instantly to Tiziano's own face, peeking out between his fingers. Waiting to see what happens.

Ceawlin lives by the motto, 'He who runs away, lives to fight another day.' So he's not going to be jumping up anytime soon, and in fact, Alida's sudden action gets a cold look incredulity. The girl's got balls. Tiziano's like the bouncing jack-in-a-box next to him, earning a sharp look of irritation, "Yes, yes, I can see." Despite being wedged in a corner and short. But hey, that's what standing on a chair is for. "You can, if you want. I'm staying right /here/." Where he can observe and keep his pretty face away from fists! "But don't hang back on /my/ account."

Z'ian has a ''really'' difficult time keeping K'del back when he gets that kick of strength and energy into his blood. And of all the people throwing punches around them suddenly, the person that lands a solid crack to the side of his face somehow? K'del. It's an inarticulate sound that comes from deep within the bronzerider's throat and it looks like he might just want to shake the other man just then. Luckily, Kaeden shows up at that moment. "Help me get him out. Out to the bowl." He tells the candidate through his teeth, a livid red mark already beginning to form on the side of his jaw. He stops K'del from sinking completely but the extra help isn't going to hurt.

The brush of an arm surging past is enough to knock Vienne off balance. Kaeden thinks he's out of his league? Trying being a midget of a girl. The tangle of extra bodies all reaching in and pulling at one another has her caught in the middle and, whatever intention she had in trying to reach H'kon, now what chance she has to glance at him is just pleading for help. She takes a good elbow to the side of the head and her arms come up to try to shield any further blows as she's jostled about. Needless to say, Vienne does not have much in the way of fightin' skills.

"Wait-" is the most H'kon can get out as riders start to rush in. Then it's attempts at dodging, shoving back, keeping balance. "Vienne," is an attempt to help his would-be friend... just before his height proves to put his face right about at the height of one of his own wingmate's flailing elbows. Right in the nose. It's only ''then'' that Arekoth lets out his high shriek of a roar, while his rider attempts to back out with only a vague grab for Vienne as he backpedals.

Oh, for fuck's sake. ''Really''? Brieli is nearly in range of the whole argument when it becomes a brawl, and her expression is clear - the first, then a faintly regretful moment. Maybe she should have said something. That is, until a wayward fist has her dodging ''back'' more quickly and nimbly than she might be thought capable of, though perhaps only Alida is in the position to notice it, watch the goldrider jump back. Looking at the girl dubiously, guard or no, hand at the small of her back again, "I won't explain to your holder why one of my riders broke your arm, before the hatching, no less. But... the brownrider, the bluerider." H'kon and Vienne aren't doing so well, they shouldn't mind a candidate helping out, right? Right?! After a pause, "We'll see after that. The dragons..." Hopefully. Gaze unfocused, that's where her attention's gone.

The woman's got *training*, really. But yes, Alida does have quite a set on her, and she's more-than-willing to utilize both. To Brieli's words of worrying her Holder, Alida clips off a little darkly, "Doesn't matter..." the young woman then padding over on cat-light feet to Vienne and H'kon, and positioning herself like a wall of whoopass in front of them. Protecting like a loyal german shepard. Faranth help anyone who purposely or even accidentally tries to go through her. The candidate stands ready on the balls of her booted feet, arms akimbo, her whole posture readied, alert.

K'del may not even be entirely aware of what he's done to Z'ian; honestly, he seems barely aware of either Kaeden or the other bronzerider. Being limp doesn't seem to have stopped his rage, though: they can probably get him out of there relatively easily, but he won't go quietly. "''Murderer''," he says, not quite yelling anymore, but intense and earnest. He ''believes''. "''Murderer!''"

Dragon> The wave that's been held back until now is ''released'' with the forces of thousands of tons of seawater, washing over the Weyr and dragging them below, ''leaning'' on them with the underwater weight she rarely uses, underscored by distant drums. Iesaryth is so, so sorry to punish the dragons for their riders misbehavior, but sometimes it's just the quickest way between point a and point b. Point b being, all their riders NOT FIGHTING ANYMORE THANKS BACK TO YOUR CORNERS SHOW'S OVER. She's not happy. (Iesaryth to all High Reaches dragons)

Kaeden has a low, quick "Right" in reply to Z'ian as he finishes a grab for K'del. Maybe between the two of them, they can get the ex-Weyrleader aimed for the bowl. He raises his arm suddenly to block a backswing that intersects his forearm rather than his chin, and when he has a chance to look over K'del toward Z'ian, there just might be more white in his eyes than usual. "Sooner rather than later, right?" Kaed says just before wincing at K'del's repeated accusations. With a bit more repositioning, he gets a grip on the rider's waist.

"Nah, nah, I... err... I'll stay back here and... um. Protect you! Yeah. That's right. I got your back, buddy!" Tiziano totally ruffles Ceawlin's hair all quick like, before looking back on the action. "You're my best friend, after all!" Whether he LIKES IT OR NOT. "If'n Kaeden gets hurt, let's totally tell him we had his back." Even though they don't. "And he just didn't see us in the chaos." Self preservation instincts. Tiziano has them. He winces for those in the melee as fists and elbows meet faces.

Dragon> Iesaryth's seawater deluges over Cadejoth's chains, squashing them flat. The bronze goes quite still: he's no longer prancing so high above the bowl, but laying low there, his low keen one of frustration, but no longer anger - his anger is ebbing away with the tide. So mote it be. (Cadejoth to all High Reaches dragons)

Tiziano is sooooooo lucky that Ceawlin's gotten himself distracted for a moment, for that hair ruffle would be DEATH otherwise. What distracted the harper? ''Murderer''. Interesting. Tiz's self preservation instincts totally earn him two points back up from his 100 point fall in Ceawlin's esteem with the hair ruffle. "Sounds like a plan." Stan. Anyway, distracted boy is distracted!

"Damn it." Z'ian's hand comes up and goes neatly over K'del's mouth. That's quite enough murder talk for one breakfast today, thank you very much. "Yes, sooner than later. Much sooner." With the help of the younger man, they'll begin hauling the inconsolable, rageful bronzerider out of the living cavern and to the bowl. A few Avalanche and Boreal riders join along, keeping them relatively out of the fray except for the few that attempt to stop them out of a misguided sense of loyalty. Without real direct interference, they should make it.

With H'kon's vague grab catching Vienne around the wrist, his backward scurry does the oh-so-helpful task of lurching her forward and rather than nimbly follow him out of the fray, she loses her footing. With her hands snagging desperately at his arm, she only gets stepped on a little, someone's boot coming down on her foot and someone else's sidestep knocking her hard in the leg before she can get her other foot under herself and shove herself toward the brownrider. At which point, a glance over her shoulder has her grateful for the barrier of Alida, even if there's no chance for her to show it.

H'kon's low centre of gravity is probably the only reason he manages to keep his footing at all once Vienne's fallen into him, though it's hardly a graceful thing. Skidding, shuffling, he manages to keep hold of her and back them away from the fray. Alida's bodily barricade does, surely, help. More so, maybe, the draconic influence that has slowed the brawl so quickly as it started, Iesaryth's reach managing its way to the other dragons, and through them, their riders. H'kon still won't let go of Vienne until he's certain they're out of range. He's pulling for the bowl, where Arekoth waits, just slightly farther away from the entrance than he was a moment ago.

K'del's words are effectively muffled by Z'ian's hand, and to ''that'' end, it's not so difficult to get him safely out there without further disruption. Surprisingly, he doesn't even seem to be aware that H'kon is also making for the bowl-- once outside, the cold air seems to more or less calm him, leaving him only a shivering wreck, doubled over, all snot and tears and gasping breaths. Show's over. The damage... well. That's already done.

Every second of this scuffle is a pinpoint of martial joy for Alida, the guard focused and balanced on her own knife's edge...a strange little hint of an odd smile just ghosting her lips, her eyes cool and watchful. Glancing around quickly, she notices her charges moving off to seperate themselves, and the young woman retreats with them in careful backings of springy feet, making sure their exit is covered from a frontal assault.

Once she's sure the combatants have left the arena, so to speak, Brieli has a few choice words for everyone who felt the great need to jump into a situation that required no further help - but beyond that, the damage is indeed done, as the kitchen staff hurries to clean up all that went awry near the serving tables during the fight so things are still prepared for lunch, and a whole lot of people suddenly feel the need to linger over breakfast, or move on to their next duties with a quickness. It'll be all over the caverns in less than twenty minutes.

Dragon> To all High Reaches dragons, Arekoth's atmosphere is flooded; all left underneath is a knot of tension that the queen's pressure won't relieve him of. He gives some space before the bowl, and studiously does not look to Cadejoth. But even Iesaryth's influence won't keep him from issuing a low reminder, as he sees Cadejoth's coming from the caverns, of << We are of High Reaches. >> And all that implies.

Dragon> There's no reply from Cadejoth, though he's certainly keeping a close watch on the bowl. Just in case. You never know if you can trust these browns. (Cadejoth to all High Reaches dragons)

----

Western Bowl, High Reaches Weyr

----

The bowl's vast dirt floor extends in a rough oval from west to east, only sparse clumps of grass surviving between the crisscrossed pathways of daily traffic. To the northwest stand massive gates to the world beyond, allowing people, livestock, and tithes to pass beneath some of the seven jagged spires that stand sentinel over that area of the bowl. In late afternoons, their spindly, fingerlike shadows stretch over that end of the bowl all the way to the living cavern's hulking brass doors in the far north.

Eastward, the bowl sprawls on toward the lake, sloping slightly downward to allow runoff from rain and snowmelt, but to the south it's caged by more cliffs of dark, rough-cut granite. Rocks poke up from the ground here, a few large boulders and many smaller outcroppings worn smooth in spots by time and use. A few ground weyr entrances dot the wall, the most frequented ledge set up like a patio while the largest ledge services the Weyrleaders' complex, directly beside the huge entrance to the hatching sands. A more human-sized entrance, left of that, leads to the galleries.

Wind, rain, and snow combine to make for miserable, sleety weather today.

----

The sudden difference from living cavern to bowl is felt on several levels. The most immediate is the pelting of sleety snow and wind, making Kaeden give a full body ''wince''. As K'del calms, the candidate lets his grip loosen, though he still keeps one hand on the rider as he looks questioningly to Z'ian, waiting for whatever comes next. His attention then goes back to the hunched over rider, sympathy and bewilderment battling for priority. He raises a hand to wipe precipitation off his face and looks around the bowl, only then noticing they weren't the only ones to make an exit.

This would be a lot more bearable if Z'ian had been allowed the chance to put his jacket back on. But that's lost somewhere in the shuffle of the breakfast brawl, with any luck someone picked it up for him. The crack to his face from K'del has picked up some color already and he takes his hand off of the bronzerider's mouth so he can rub at it. His expression is impassive when it's not looking damn sorry for the man hunched over on the ground. He lets his friend go of the bear hug, but he's still keeping one hand on his shoulder. As people stream out of the living cavern, he gives Kaeden a quick shake of his head. "Thanks. Stay for a few minutes." His eyes scan the people. Absently, "What's your name?"

Vienne is not particularly good at making H'kon's escape any quicker, having picked up a bit of a limp. While her eyes dart anxiously around -- whether just to see where everyone has ended up or in fear of more elbows swinging at her head -- she stays cleaved to H'kon, using him for balance as her unsteady feet stumble along after him. As they make their way outside, she takes a deep breath of the cold wet winter air, blinking the mixed percipitation from her eyes without really registering it. Surely she can't be blamed for trembling a little. A sideway glance at the pile of men that is Kaeden, Z'ian and K'del makes her grip on the brownrider tighten.

The bearers of K'del, and their charge, had a head start, and even without Vienne, chances are H'kon would be in no rush to catch up. He gives a hard look when he recognises the two bronzeriders (Kaeden is less familiar to him), but it stays on them only a moment. "Arekoth," is the first thing spoken, a checking tone that has the brown, whose wings have yet to still, held at bay. His arm is firmly Vienne's, and he only notices it after a good while of speaking to his lifemate. "Are you hurt?" Probably the first he's noticed of her limp, too.

K'del crouches, pressing one bare hand to the snow, seemingly oblivious to the cold except for the way he shivers-- and that might well be adreneline. Now that he has his mouth back again, he's started talking, but there's no more yelling. "He had her pendant," he says, low-toned. "Iolene's. The one I gave her. Azaylia found it on his ledge. He ''had'' to have known. She had it the day before she died. There's no reason for him to have it unless he was involved. He's getting away with murder. He's ''getting away with it''." That he promptly throws up on the ground right after saying all that is-- well. It just is. At least it makes sure he doesn't glance up, doesn't see Arekoth or H'kon.

The candidate with the bronzeriders is quick to nod his assent to Z'ian as he watches the riders and fellow candidate who have also made their ways outside. "Kaeden," he answers quietly before looking from Z'ian to K'del once more. When the latter starts to speak, the candidate crouches down to listen, balancing on the balls of his feet despite the slick snow now covering the bowl. He has nothing to say to the rider, but to his credit, he doesn't move when K'del loses his breakfast.

"Sorry for the circumstances. Z'ian." Makeshift introductions done, he's catching sight of H'kon across the way with Vienne. That he notices the limp the bluerider is sporting is obvious in the way he presses his lips together. It's just then that the other bronzerider is beginning to talk again, so he ends up crouching on the ground next to him. His arm ends up around his shoulder and some of K'del's vomit ends up on his boots. He rolls his eyes up to the sky before dropping them again. "No." It's not unkind, but it's firm. "You don't know that for sure. She may have found it there but it doesn't mean ''he'' left it there." It might be useless to try and reason with him now, but he tries anyway. "Someone ''else'' could have dropped it there to be found. To cast guilt away. To put it on H'kon. ''Think.''" Please. The underlying tone is ''please''.

Vienne's eyes are stuck on K'del, so she might not notice H'kon's delay while he speaks with his lifemate. The bluerider just stares at the muttering, vomitting man even as she twists to huddle against H'kon for protection from the snowy, rainy sleet if not also the ghosts of violent bodies. It takes a moment for his question to sink in, for her eyes to tear away from K'del, crouched in the snow, and she blinks at her similarly short companion as if she's suddenly surprised that she's not looking all the way up like she normally does. "No," she breathes out, even though there's a bit of bruising bleeding out from her hairline onto her cheek, even if other people have noticed her limp on the way out. "Are you?" Hurt? But her gaze is drawn back to the bronzerider. "He can't help it." It's some sort of apology or explanation on K'del's behalf.

H'kon reaches the back of a bare hand up to his nose, blinking almost in surprise at not finding blood there. He gives a sniff, nonetheless, before he nods. "I am- fine." The last comes with a pointed look to his dragon. Arekoth withdraws further, and even, after a time, stops staring at K'del. Even though he really, really wants to. "It will be what it will be," is all sorts of gloomy. His jaw squares, and he looks broodily toward the ground, pointedly not to K'del. And tries to direct their path a bit wide of that whole group.

Nobody currently here is more dispassionate than Alida, her place of utter self-control and calm amidst a stormy sea reached, held. Cool greens notice K'del's tossing his cookies, Kaeden's measured response to Z'ian, Z'ian's words of the pendant. A small nod of agreement with the bronzerider transitions into another hawkish look all about by the candidate as the bronzer pleads with his buddy, 'lida hearing Vienne, perhaps even scenting just the faintest hint of the metallic smell of blood about her. Not a single word emerges from the guard, her input not needed at this point. Only her calling exists right now, the urge - no, the *need* - to defend with every iota of her being. With H'kon's movement comes her own, a smooth retreat in that larger arc taken by the brownrider echoed by the woman.

K'del spits out some extra vomit, as if to try and clear the taste out of his mouth, before he answers Z'ian. "No," he says, equally firm, and sounding serious, and surprisingly calm... and somehow, desperately sad. "They searched his weyr, before. I'kris couldn't have put it there afterwards, and he's the only other one who could have had it. Nothing else makes sense." There's a long pause, before he adds, without glancing up at either of his companions, "Wanted to hurt him. Never wanted something so much." It's not his fault he glances up right then, catching sight of H'kon for the first time. His gaze narrows - but at least he doesn't move.

Kaeden can only watch and listen, as there's very little input he could possibly offer. When K'del starts to speak again, Kaeden eases back up to his feet. And maybe edges a centimeter away from that puke puddle. He swallows hard, a deep frown on his face, then he finally speaks up, dark eyes focused on... possibly the two riders' knots. "When you don't have all the pieces to a puzzle, your head fills them in. Just... something to think about," he finishes, if a little lamely.

"No." That pleading is still there as Z'ian tries to puncture through the veil of grief. To the sense that he's hoping is still there. "And what, K'del? He's been walking around ''with'' it? Why? Does that make sense, does that sound like H'kon?" He shakes his head slowly, swallowing as he glances up to track the other group. "Why couldn't it be someone else not involved in her death that dropped it there ''just'' to fuck with you? Look what finding it did to you." He exhales long and slow at the other rider's last and tightens his grip around his friend's shoulder. It's not to restrict him, he just understands. And he releases him, for better or worse. Kaeden is speaking and Z'ian looks up at him, considering. His nod is slow, agreeable. "Think about it."

H'kon's gloomy words have Vienne blinking back at him again, this time her eyes taking a clearer study of his face, sympathy in her gaze as she hunts for signs of damage, physical or otherwise. She draws in another deep breath and its released in a soft murmur that no doubts hopes to drown out some of the accusations that are oozing out of K'del, despite how quiet her words might be. "I'm so sorry. I can't..." But whatever she can't do, she doesn't say. Once he starts to nudge them further away, she's limping again, then wincing as she tries not to -- which she does nearly manage. "You should get out of here."

This time Alida does seek to be noticed, but not intrusively. H'kon and Vienne both get silently questioning glances: 'do you need my services any further?'

"And you should get to the infirmary," H'kon answers her, having had time, by now, to have inspected her limping - or attempts at not doing so - somewhat further. A flattened look is sent to K'del, with little attention paid to his escort. H'kon is frowning again by the time he's focused once more on the bluerider. "I can at least see you there," comes in a monotone. That candidate only gets a look when she makes herself more known. And Alida gets a shake of his head, at lesat.

K'del just shakes his head, over and over again, though he never takes his eyes off H'kon, and doesn't so much as blink when he meets the brownrider's gaze, however briefly. Swallowing back bile, he promises, "Won't try and hit him again. Won't do anything. But I ''know''." Apparently, right now, that's enough for the bronzerider, who finally breaks his gaze from H'kon, glancing from Z'ian to Kaeden, then back again. "Thank you." Beat. "Didn't mean to hit you, Z'ian. I should--" He lifts his hand from the freezing ground, tucking it beneath one armpit, shivering. "Go."

"You ''know'' there's a new piece," Kaeden insists. Hey, if K'del doesn't want to be called "sir", it's easier not to treat him like a "sir", too. He lets the comment stand alone, though, having no really idea what the other pieces might be. Instead, his attention goes back to Z'ian, who gets a, "Sir?" before he quickly glances at Alida, H'kon, and Vienne. Unable to entirely decipher what might be going on with them from this distance, though, he continues a beat later, "Still need me to stay? Otherwise, might still be some clean-up to be done," Kaed finishes, pointing a thumb back toward the living cavern.

Z'ian takes a breath and then just lets it go. Falling silent now, he remains crouched there besides him as he works on getting to his feet. K'del knows what he knows or thinks that he knows anyway, it won't be solved right now. As for that developing mark on his face, the bronzerider just shrugs his shoulders. "Don't worry about it. Anytime." Despite the lack of smiling, there's a certain sense of grim humor beneath the words. "Later?" is directed at K'del. Probably alluding to a conversation to be held later. He doesn't stop him from going. Glancing up again at the candidate, "No, I think we're alright here. Thanks for everything, Kaeden."

It's not until H'kon looks to Alida that Vienne seems to actually realize she's had a distant protector all this time. She glances over her shoulder at the candidate, bidding her a quiet, "Thank you," for her part in ensuring their safe retreat. And as her eyes skim back toward K'del, the hitch in her step has nothing to do with the limp. Another shiver catches her, as Z'ian isn't the only to leave a jacket behind. Her shoulders hunched against the sleet, she submits to H'kon's urging and gives him a sorry little nod. Infirmary it is. "It's not bad," she tries to insist, plodding one boot after the other, but she'll allow him to lead her anyway, and take advantage of what help he can offer.

A formal bob of Alida's head greets H'kon's shake of his own, the woman then shifting her gaze to Vienne, as Brieli's former words made the bluerider part of the package deal. Apparently the candidate takes her work very seriously, indeed: only with their own purposeful 'okays' will the young woman cease her duties. Those, and her own critical assessment of the situation, of course. "Welcome..." is murmured off to Vienne's thanks, the woman sketching a quick salute to the pair before turning her rather dirty self around...and honestly taking in the whole scene around her for a long moment. Of course, with the reatreat of adrenaline comes the feeling of the cold and snow all about her, and the palest-blonde woman gives a sudden shiver. Still, she's cautious, and turns greens to post-barfing K'del and the other two guys, raised brows again silently inquiring if they want any help.

K'del gives Kaeden a long, studious glance when he speaks again, but there's nonetheless no indication that he's really comprehending what the candidate is trying to say. In the end, he shakes his head again, rising unsteadily towards his feet. "Later," he confirms to Z'ian, wearily, running cold hands through his hair. "Later." Both of his helpers get one last glance, and then he turns to leave-- heading off towards the caverns, albeit in a different direction to Vienne and H'kon. Thankfully. In doing so, he quite misses Alida's glance-- clearly, his thoughts are still elsewhere.

It's on the tip of Kaeden's tongue to say something like, ''Nice meeting you,'' but this doesn't seem the right situation for that, so he closes his mouth again and just nods to Z'ian. He's caught by a sudden shiver, as standing and crouching in windy and sleet and snow isn't exactly good for one's body heat. Icy water is again wiped from his face before he takes a step back, still careful of the vomit getting watery on the ground. "I'll go get a mop," he states in a low voice before adding a quieter, "Good luck," that could be meant for either of them. As he turns, he catches Alida watching them, and sends her an inquiring nod toward the caverns to see if she wants to come along. Then, companion or no, he wraps his arms around himself and starts for the entrance.

It is cold and the side of Z'ian's face hurts. He rubs his hands on the sides of his arms and slowly gets to his feet again, wiping the vomit on his boots off into the snow. Kaeden's given a curious glance for wanting to mop up the stuff that's there on the bowl floor, but whose he to argue and stop him? His eyes track after K'del's departure with a sober expression. Alida passes him and he gives the young woman a quick shake of his head, eventually finding his way back to the living cavern himself. Hopefully his jacket didn't get swiped.

It's with K'del's retreat and Z'ian's negative on her offer than Alida nods to Kaeden, and trails him back inside. Best to get back to work immediately, given how chilled she is. This puts her almost side-by-side with Z'ian, who's offered the rare 'treat' of her voice mumbling something low to him.

Hey, who wants to leave vomit where it could be tracked into the caverns? Kaeden's just falling back on old habits, really. Ever seen passengers debark a ship after a storm? Ugly. "Always something new around this place, huh?" Kaed asks Alida before disappearing back inside. "And we actually want to ''stay''. Feels a little crazy." If there is further dialogue after that, it's lost when they leave the bowl behind.

A dark chuff of humor presages Alida's spare, "No shit..." reply to Kaeden as they trail back inside where it's WARM.

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Logs:Superfluous Conversation

2013-03-04T01:26:56Z

Vienne: Created page with "{{ Log | who = H'kon, Vienne | where = The Snowasis, High Reaches Weyr | what = Vienne gets just enough liquid courage to establish that H'kon still doesn't dislike her. | whe..."

{{ Log
| who = H'kon, Vienne
| where = The Snowasis, High Reaches Weyr
| what = Vienne gets just enough liquid courage to establish that H'kon still doesn't dislike her.
| when = Day 18, Month 2, Turn 31
| gamedate = 2013.03.02
| quote = Speak to me then, as you can, without doing your wing a disservice.
| weather =
| categories =
| mentions =
| ooc =
| icons = h'kon.jpeg, vienne uh.jpg
| log =
Somewhere in this Weyr there are hopeful little candidates getting shown a moderately good time, in theory at least. But here at the Snowasis, there are plenty of people showing themselves a good time. A cluster of wingriders over there, some smiths yacking it up at a table, various other people milling about with drinks and conversation ready to share. And sitting at the bar, looking rather prim in comparison to any number of tonight's patrons, is one little bluerider, her jacket folded across her lap, her ankles crossed and her heeled boot caught on a rung of her stool. The drink in front of her is half gone, something golden with ice and a stirring stick, so probably not straight-anything. She has a polite smile now and then when someone comes by to collect a drink, but for the most part she appears to be entirely on her own.

But for the length of time that has passed since his last entrance into the Snowasis, and maybe the few more greys in his beard and slightly larger bags under his eyes for it, H'kon's entry is not much different than any other one. He wears his jacket and only undoes it at the top, he nods only to those who call out to him (and they are few and far between), and he makes his way directly to the bar. Maybe it's a new bartender or something, that he cannot simply nod upon being spotted and wait for his bottle, a bulk buy, to come to him. The 'one moment' gesture from the hand leaves him standing. Leaves him grimacing. Leaves him near Vienne, though he's shown little sign of noticing it yet, head kept down.

Vienne is just lifting her glass, just taking a sip, when she realizes that H'kon is standing next to her, and that little double take is enough that she might just... miss her mouth a little bit. All in all, though, it's kind of a welcome distraction, since then she can hurriedly put her wet glass back down and go dabbing at her mouth with her knuckle, eyeballing the drops on her sweater. "Can I get a napkin?" she asks the too-busy bartender who holds a finger up for her as well. The glance she slips sideways toward the brownrider is furtive, more like she hopes he doesn't take this moment to notice her than like she expects any help from him. Besides, he doesn't appear to have any napkins on hand.

It's not the request for the napkin that gets H'kon's attention, no. It's that bartender raising a finger in his general direction. And not responding when H'kon gives an over-emphasised nod. He knows. And not looking to him. It's maybe that last, more than anything, that has the brownrider turning to look to the place beside him, and thus finding, with or without her will, "Vienne." His look to her is not furtive, though it ''is'' short-lived. And then he's back to looking behind the bar, not yet impatient, but certainly... waiting.

She rummages through her coat pockets, but there's no handkerchief to be found and so Vienne can only dab a light finger at the drops on her chest, frowning, but at least possibly unnoticed. Until... He's seen her. The bluerider looks over at him with wide, uncertain eyes, which only makes it all the more obvious to her when he so pointedly turns his attention forward again. "H'kon," she tries as an equal greeting, not sounding terribly confident about it. Her fingers are sticky now and though she has nothing to clean them with, she does try rubbing it away. A few good moments of silence pass, enough that it might just seem like the bartender has forgotten them both, and then Vienne speaks up again. "What do you want from people?" A little sudden? Probably. A little prying? Well, maybe there's a flush in her cheeks to explain it. "You sit there and I feel like you're disappointed in everyone. Or maybe not disappointed because you don't expect anything else anymore. Do you wish everyone just... knew? So you wouldn't have to say anything? Or do you just want people to leave you alone because they wouldn't understand anyway?" She shakes her head, though, not expecting an answer, and she takes light mouthful of her drink only to realize that her glass is still wet and her hands are dirty again. "Shit."

"Hm?" comes first, Vienne's entry into conversation (beyond greeting) catching H'kon, at least, by surprise. The brownrider pulls back some as she carries on, eyebrows lifting faintly, at first, and then dropping down, protective, as still she talks. "Vi-" and that is where the 'shit' comes. When the bartender does arrive, it's with a napkin, and not his bottle of special-ordered liquor. The bartender is afraid. The bartender leaves it near H'kon, and H'kon, with barely a glance to the thing, slides it the short way over the counter to her. Even when that delay is done, the best he can come up with is, "I am not certain how you mean."

Vienne doesn't look at H'kon. She just tries to get the liquor off her fingers and frowns sharply as it ends up all over her hands. There's nowhere for it to go until the bartender and the brownrider work together to slide that napkin into her view. "Thank you," she murmurs, snatching it up and hurriedly trying to rub the booze off before it can dry. She dabs at her chest too, though those drops have already settled in and disappeared. "I don't know," she answers, sounding flustered and keeping her head down.. "I don't know what I mean either. I don't know what you expect or what I'm doing wrong. I was supposed to sit and I didn't." Which probably makes very little sense, but again, she doesn't really seem to expect any answer. And now she's trying to clean up her glass, wiping the sides meticulously and blotting the little ring that formed beneath it.

H'kon presses the fingers of both hands down against the bar's edge, bracing himself as he turns a careful look toward the bluerider. "I cannot think of anything you've done wrong," is more carefully quiet than gently so. Eyes want to watch the care she's giving that glass, but he keeps his focus after only the slightest blip in that direction. "I do not mean to be making any demands upon you." And with his brow knitting the more, "I don't believe it's my place to do so."

Vienne slips a little look his way, reluctant to make much more than the most fleeting of eye contact. "Well, I don't want to make any demands on ''you''," she counters, babying the glass's bottom, setting it down only to lift it up again for a little sip that makes virtually no progress at emptying the cup. "I don't want to make you uncomfortable or... I don't know. And why should you want to talk to me anyway? I'm no one. You don't know me. But how are you supposed to know me if I don't talk to you?" She shakes her head again and wipes the bar even though there's nothing left to clean up. Finally, she leans her elbow onto the counter and tips her head to regard the man beside her, eyes calm but still glassy and maybe just a touch imploring. She chews at her lip for a second before asking, "Why are simple things so complicated?"

H'kon takes it all in in relative silence, hands still clamped to the bar, brow still furrowed. The slight shift of his head, before he manages to rein himself in, to keep watching the distraught bluerider alongside him, is the only indication of any inkling that his bottle of liquor - or his order in general, if not known - might have been overlooked in the heat of the moment by the bar staff. But first problems first. In a carefully measured tone, "I don't know what you would have me say." With the beginnings of a sigh, the slightest droop to his shoulders, "I had thought we spoke a great deal."

There's a faint catch in Vienne's throat, like an impulse to speak that doesn't really go anywhere. He might hold his gaze steady on her, but the bluerider's eyes do meander a bit, from him to the bar, him to the bartender, him to the people passing by beyond his shoulder. Her teeth work at her lip all the while as she considers everything he's said. It boils down to one point that makes her brow furrow dubiously. "But did you like it?" That great deal of speaking that they supposedly did.

H'kon's turn has come to be fully uncomfortable, to let that discomfort turn his eyes away from Vienne - she's not looking anyway - and to the bartender. From whom he receives another 'one moment' finger, as if the man had forgotten him already. That makes his teeth grit, and leaves him turning back to the woman alongside him. "I do not to speak to a good many things. And there is much of which I would not speak." He's managed a fully troubled look by the time he does look back to the bluerider. "This is important to you."

She is looking, she just can't manage to hold her gaze so resolutely steady as he does. But is it really any surprise that Vienne's flavor of awkward silence and stilted conversation would be so very different from H'kon's? While he glowers in his way at the bartender, Vienne's small mouth opens and closes without anything coming out. She does spare a frown for the barkeep, so for at least a moment he has two rather small people making unhappy faces at him. But finally she decides to say quietly, "I'm not asking you to speak about a good many things." Her brow furrows there rather sharply, it might be a good impression of the brownrider if she was trying to do such a thing. "I'm not asking you to speak at all." She pushes the drink away from her and leaves the balled-up napkin beside it. "I guess I'm just asking if I should speak to you. And you can... nod or shake your head." There. Options for a response that require no talking. Meanwhile, rather carefully, she goes about trying to get herself off the stool, though it seems suddenly like the ground is further away than she would like.

With the onus of talking off of him, H'kon finds it easier to keep watching the woman. One hand lifts from the table when she seems to have reached an end, lifts, palm upwards. "If you like. Though," and he dips his head quickly, "I will understand if you feel it unwise. Considering how events have turned." The hand that had been taking the place of some sort of half-open expression now drops a bit lower, as he realises the bluerider's dilemma with the stool, ready to offer support. "Is all well?"

With one hand braced on the bar and the other holding her jacket, much of Vienne's focus seems to be on stretching one foot down as far as it will go, like she might will the floor to come up and meet her halfway. "I would." Like. She manages to get that much out before she's compelled to explain about her current trouble. "I don't drink much. I thought I'd try. Everyone... I don't know. It was silly." Without really thinking about it, she takes H'kon's half-lifted hand, as if that's what it was there for, using him to steady herself as she finally gets her boots on the floor. "The stools are tall." It sounds like an apology.

"Ah." H'kon's arm is strong and steady, giving only minutely, after which he's sorted out the weight he means to take in helping the bluerider down. "They are," the man agrees with a gruff nod. It's about there that the bartender ''finally'' gets to him, and his attention is off of Vienne once more. A few quick words, describing the sort of drink, the label to look for. With the bartender off on his mission, the brownrider looks back to Vienne, giving a short, "You'll excuse me," before he tries to reclaim his hand. Whiskey doesn't pay for itself, and pockets can be tricky.

Vienne stands there, rather mute and blinking, her mouth pinched faintly as the bartender finally does show up and her attention is readily distracted by the interaction between him and her kindly supporter. It does take H'kon's request for her to realize that she's still using his hand for balance and then she lets go quite quickly and her eyes drop to the jacket over her arm. She starts to pull it on while H'kon fishes for his marks. "So we're good?" she asks, wiggling her shoulders to get the wool coat to lay straight, her hair still tucked inside the collar.

H'kon knows the price of these bottles by rote; monetary details are dealt with insofar as they are stacked neatly (too neatly) on the countertop. It leaves him free to take the bottle when it's deposited (with alarming efficiency) before him. The other hand stays at his side, but held away from his body slightly, at the ready if the little bluerider should tip, fall, or otherwise get closer to the floor than already she is. "I had not thought we were ever... bad." There's a distasteful frown for the way those words come out. "Are we?"

She seems steady enough for now, though Vienne hasn't actually attempted to take a step yet. "I didn't know," she explains for her part, whether they were good or bad before. She slips a hand behind her neck to free her hair and there is a little wobble in her balance, though perhaps nothing to suggest she can't walk. "We're good now, though. If you want." She's not really looking at him, but rather giving her attention to fastening the buttons of her jacket -- probably more attention than they need. She glances up at him again just in case there's a reaction to see.

H'kon's forehead lines shift, and he's left looking at Vienne, puzzled more than anything. "Speak to me then," he decides at the end, "as you can, without doing your wing a disservice." With puzzlement turning more toward concern, and that hand still ready, "Will Oswinth see you safe to your ledge?" His other hand tightens its grip on that bottle. "Or is that not where you mean to go?"

The shy smile that shows up on Vienne's face is short-lived, hardly having a chance to seem pleased at this perceived progress before H'kon reminds her of pressures her wing might put on her. "I prefer not to have someone else decide whom I can or can't speak to," she says, drawing in a long, deep breath. She does glance around, so perhaps, no matter what she prefers, she would like to be aware of whether or not her wingmates are in the vicinity, but since she was drinking on her own, it's safe to say theirs aren't the faces that make up the Snowasis crowd tonight. "Would you... see me to the bowl?" she wonders, tucking her lips away for a beat afterwards. "The steps are snowy." Presumably Oswinth can take it from there.

"As you will," is agreement this time around. H'kon makes as if to take the lead, though after the first step he's looking to his side, checking if the bluerider is keeping step with him or not. He might try to speed the process along - he's been out of his weyr much too long already, by his internal clock - but, if it comes to it, the brownrider can be patient enough to ensure Vienne moves more or less with him on their way from the Snowasis.

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Logs:Long Winters

2013-03-01T17:52:42Z

Vienne:

{{ Log
| who = Jo, Vienne
| where = Garden Patio Ledge, High Reaches Weyr
| what = Vienne runs into Jo out on the cold ledge. She's convincing Jo that she's doing fine in this long winter.
| when = Day 12, Month 2, Turn 31
| gamedate = 2013.03.01
| quote = "I'm not golden. I don't know what it is."
| weather =
| categories = General
| mentions =
| ooc =
| icons = jo clean.jpg, vienne arms.png
| log = It’s an early evening on the patio ledge, the area pretty populated with those that are opting out of the bar or are gearing up to go in. There’s no telling which category Jo is in since she’s at one of the tables, busy jotting down something on a sheet of hide with all of her riding leathers still on and her gloves. Her gear is beside her on the bench, and she when she finishes up, she could be seen folding the sheet into quarters after tucking the writing stylus above one ear. If a Glacier wingrider passes her by to head into Snowasis and greets her, she’s giving them simply acknowledging nod.

There are indeed a number of people coming and going, and so, given how busy Jo is with her writing -- how she's still wearing all of her leathers and sitting out here in the cold, which probably hints at a certain amount of impatience to complete that task -- it's entirely likely she has no idea whether Vienne is of the coming or going category. And the small woman is hardly all that noticeable among so many of High Reaches' more striking individuals. So maybe it's not impossible she could manage to evade Jo's attention long enough to wind up behind her, to settle a familiar hand on that leather-clad shoulder as the Glacier rider goes about folding up her sheet. The faint rub of Vienne small fingers probably isn't all that easily felt through the flying jacket. "Hi."

With Jo being so observant no matter what she’s doing, when Vienne wanders near and has those fingers on her shoulder, it’s noticed. She tucks that folded hide away inside her jacket once she unfastens it, and it’s a quick smile in response to her as she says, “Hey there, yerself.” Leaning back on her bench now that whatever task she was working on was done, she pulls out a flask, screws open the lid and takes a drink before she wordless lifts it in Vienne’s direction. “Headin’ in or comin’ from somewhere?” she asks now in indication of the bar, taking in her clothes as if that’s going to lend an answer to her.

The hand drifts away as Vienne twists to face the other bluerider, leaning her hip against the table. "Maybe headed in," she answers without commitment, just a shrug of one shoulder. "For a bit." She eyes that flask a second before accepting it, though doing so makes her smile turn awkward and bashful. But she takes a little sip, hardly enough to really be any kind of proper taste, and hands it back. "You?" As for what she's wearing, it's her usual tan wool coat and snow boots, though she does have on her new suede trousers. Vienne has certainly seen what looks to be a letter, but she doesn't ask about it.

With Vienne taking hardly a sip from the flask, Jo delivers a short chuckle and a “One of these days I’m goin’ to endeavor to get ya liquored up. See how yer boy out there likes the buzz feelin’. S'one of Tac’s favorite feelin’s in the world.” She takes the flask back then, gesturing with it for her to sit as she answers the question with a breezy, “Nah, not tonight. Got enough strong drink up in my weyr to host my own bar, so…” So. She gives a little shrug to that. She regards her for a long moment though, taking in the lean of her hip like she’s wont to do before she adds in, “Ya been alright, darlin’?”

Vienne lets out a snort of a laugh, though she does try to straighten her smile out afterwards. "You think he doesn't know? That I haven't had too much to drink in all the time he and I have been together?" She wets her lips, possibly tasting more of the liquor there than she did with her teensy sip. "So what are you doing?" There's a 'so'. Vienne supplies it readily. However, there's something in Jo's question that gives the smaller bluerider pause. A long pause. As if it were a difficult invasion and not the kind of thing you just answer yes to and move along. "Yeah," she does get around to saying, with a faint nod and a press of her lips.

“Have ya?” Jo prompts on her drinking history, a brow lifting as she brings that flask to her lips. “I notice ya don’ in Snowasis, and yet ya had that fine tastin’ bottle up in yer weyr the last time I was there. So, I think ya drink, but not to the point to get fucked up.” Maybe she wants Vienne to prove her wrong, but, the corruptible bluerider only puts such a challenge in both gaze and the curve of her lips. Then, to Vienne’s curiosity, she takes a loon both left and right of her before she answers, “Was getting’ a breather out here. Lettin’ Tac spend some time with Vrianth before we decide on the night’s activities.” The way that sounds, those activities will surely be all kinds of wildness. That last, though, does earn her the same pause, eyes narrowing slightly before she prompts, “Really?”

"Generally I try to avoid situations where things are fucked up," Vienne points out as she sinks down onto the neighboring bench, perched on its edge as usual. She tucks her hands in her pockets, shoulder momentarily hunched against the chilly air. She does, at least, seem to be getting a smidge heartier with regard to the cold. "Vrianth," she repeats. "I thought he was almost going to chase her. Part of him wanted to." She presses her lips together there, hesitant to say anymore, and when Jo mentions her evening plans, Vienne smiles widely, drawing in a nice long breath as if she's ready to step away and leave her to her evening's adventures. It's not a smile that lasts all that long, though it fades more slowly on her lip than on her eyes. "Don't, Jo."

“I can tell,” Jo is easy to quip right back, amused on the first. It’s the next though – about Vrianth’s flight – that gets more of her attention, the woman blinking once at it before she asks, “He….doesn’?” Chase, that is, seeming to find that of interest. She takes another drink before setting it down now, and when the slight woman closes up on her, her piercing gaze falling on those lips first before those eyes, “Don’ – what?” she seems to not help but ask, rising to that little challenge of curiosity. “Ask about how ya are? When it’s obvious that there’s somethin’….?” And her look turns a shade pointed.

There's a little shake of Vienne's head, a few loose curls shifting about her shoulders. "He doesn't often, no. Only once in a while. It's not something he's... comfortable with." She must know that probably sounds a touch unusual, and so she flashes a quick apologetic smile that she doesn't explain more. But really it's the way Jo looks at her now that makes Vienne's chin drop. "Don't... I don't know. I ''am'' fine. There's... nothing wrong." She takes a deep breath again, her head shaking as it comes up, as she settles her posture. "Oswinth is well. I'm comfortable. There's nothing I need." She seems honestly unable to explain anything further than that, her shoulders shrugging rather helplessly. It only half a laugh that escapes her. "You just have this way of asking."

“Comfortable.” Jo seems to taste that word, since it’s the only response given in light of the revelation pertaining to Oswinth. Yes, by the bemused furrow of her brows at her, it’s obvious the reveal only has generated more questions. Questions that seem to stall upon the apologetic smile Vienne sends her way, perhaps sensing that one was a sensitive enough subject not to be broached out in public. Vienne’s next, while reassuring it seems to her, something in it has her countering at ease with, “Nothin’ ya need.” It’s almost a prompt, even, the bluerider seeming to find that turn of words curious. Then, the easygoing smile lopsided in a disarming way, “Vi, I’m just askin’ about ya. That’s all. Almost seemed like yer not, but…if yer all golden, yer golden.” She’s not one to linger on things, so she moves on and resumes her affair with her flask.

Well this is all going swimmingly. Topic after topic that seems to be taken off the table almost as soon it comes up. Vienne might be ready to answer the subtle prompt, it's there in the faint movement of her lips, but that easy smile is indeed disarming and the small bluerider tucks her response away before it ever gets a voice. Which only serves to make her more reluctant to say anything further. "I'm golden, Jo. Golden." And for a second, it might just seem like the calm former-harper actually leaks a touch of irritation. And just as quickly as it's out, she's shaking her head again, "I'm sorry." It caught her off guard, that little slip and now, inching her knees primly together, she takes a second to recompose herself. "I'm not golden. I don't know what it is. I don't know if it's just the winter or reaching a point where I'm settled but it's still not quite home or if it's Oswinth..." Or any number of other things she doesn't explain. She might be about to say something further, but she thinks better of it and just pinches her mouth small, a brow lifted to ask Jo if that response is more to her liking.

Jo watches the myriad of expressions cross Vienne’s face, letting the silence continue to linger between them – prompting with only silence since words didn’t work. When she says she’s fine again, the convict rider briefly inclines her head to that and seems willing to drop it despite the detected the irritation. But then the other’s changing her mind. To the spill of words, there’s further silence from her for a moment before she inhales, then lets out the air. “Okay.” She says the one word first, some of her easy amusement fading in place of neutrality. “Ya feel off or somethin’. Ain’ nothin’ wrong with that. I imagine ya still adjustin’ to this place,” and she gestures lazily with her free hand, indicating the Weyr. “The Reaches ain’ Igen. Even took me awhile to get used to this place, and I didn’t have that far to move like ya did.” Brow lifting then, “Oswinth havin’ trouble since movin’ here?” she asks now, taking a fortifying drink from her flask before she tilts it Vienne’s way in case she wanted some more.

With a little frown for herself, a contrite twist of her brows, an overall attempt to bolster her mood and a smidge of a self-effacing smile just dying to break through, Vienne reaches for that flask. The whole thing is really somewhat pitiful and she seems entirely aware of it. And this time, she does knock back a good shot's worth, wincing a touch for the flavor. "We felt better after getting away," she tries to explain without passing the flask back. "And we went back again, just to sleep. A few times." Which she sounds a little less thrilled to admit. "But I understand now when they talk about long winters. It's not just the passage of time. There's... a slowness to it."

Vienne taking a healthy dose from the flask seems to reassure Jo more than words itself, if slightly satisfied smile is any indication. “''That'',” she says, nodding towards the flask the former Igenite holds, “is what makes ya golden, darlin’. Don’ have to worry about a thing. Gets ya past the long winters,” she refers to her response, not even reaching for her flask back. “Helps ya not notice it’s long at all.” Hands running over the knee of her crossed legs before her, “Ya shouldn’ go back,” she says quietly, glancing her way. “Not yer home anymore. The winters are shit here, but, it’ll pass. Gotta find things to do, to not let it get to ya is all.” Which could be why she’s away more than normal, it an odd thing to even see the convict rider here, at this early time of night.

Vienne looks decidedly unconvinced, but she'll get another mouthful down before she passes the flask back to its owner. "Plenty of people seem to agree," she remarks, even if she doesn't count herself among them. Which she also realizes that is not the kindest expression to wear with someone who is doing the favor of sharing their liquor. "Sorry," she's quick to tack on again, looking troubled now that she's had to say it more than once. "We don't go back to Igen. It's just.. a beach. I don't know that I could sleep on his couch. Maybe if I had more blankets." Now she rolls her shoulders and gives into the sharp shiver she's been fighting off. But she nods agreeably. "It will pass. I'm sure. I'm fine for the most part." She shrugs again and this time turns a helpless smile on the easy bluerider.

Not daunted by any offense to the first, “Wouldn’t be traders and vintners out there gettin’ paid just fine if not,” Jo seems to lightly tease on the matter, taking the flask back. She’s silent through all of Vienne’s next – in saying that she’s fine – the beach reference getting that ‘ahh’ look with a lifted chin from her since she remembers it from conversations past. “Sounds like ya need to raid the stores,” she responds then with a nod towards the inner caverns. “They got thick enough ones that’s more to yer likin’. If yer needin’ the finer stuff, I know a few folks that could help with that, for a price.” Pause. “Good, if yer good. Didn’ mean to make it a whole awkward topic, though.” Well, she’s bold enough to put it out there at least, this time with one her casual smiles before she takes one finaly drink before closing the flask up.

Vienne sniffs deeply, which might be more about the cold than anything else, but she refuses the suggestion about buying nicer blankets. "No, I can't afford it. It just seems easier to go somewhere warm and comfortable to sleep rather than move my bedding around and risk freezing to death anyway. It was just a few nights. We're okay. I'm okay. Thank you, though." She smiles rather sweetly, but there's something a touch sharper in her eye as she looks over the leather clad woman who is so entirely casual. "It wasn't you," she insists. "I'm just not feeling entirely like myself." And it's with a sorry laugh that she asks, "How have you been, Jo?" Surely that's a safer subject.

Not sure what to say to the very first, all Jo does is acknowledge it with a nod and not much else. Sliding the flask back where it belongs on her person, she seems to finally move on, the slight narrowed eyes the only indication of her concern to all Vienne says. The question gets a ‘huff’ sound from the bluerider, and she runs a hand through her wild hair to draw it from her face before she answers with, “Besides getting’ a little cut up from the greenflight, I’m good. Ya know, the usual busyness,” and she briefly wiggles a hand in gesture of that. “Gotta convince Tac to even leave Vrianth’s ledge these days if I’m to get ''anything'' done.” She rolls her eyes to that, but she still seems to have that grin lingering to mean she wasn’t as annoyed as she says. “Just means I’ve got more time ‘round here than I like, until his overt protectiveness wears off.”

"You got cut up?" Whatever Vienne might have heard about the flight, she didn't hear those details and with Jo so well wrapped in leather, there isn't much evidence, even if her blue eyes do slide over the other woman as if she could some sign of injury. Maybe rumors about the flight were sensational enough to be spread around, but if so, she missed them. "How long is he usually like that? Attached?" Of course, given what she's said earlier, it's probably not something she has much experience with herself. However, it does seems to keep coming up and so Vienne probes. "Where do you go? What..." Does she do? But it's hard enough to ask the first invasive question, so the second doesn't really make it.

“There was broken glass on the floor,” is all Jo supplies on the bloody aftermath of that, her gaze almost mischievous. “And, he’s like that for awhile. Depends on the green, really. One time he was goin’ on for a couple of months, total, before he came back to himself. Reckon Oswinth hasn’ won one, those times he does chase?” As to that last, that even gets more of her secretive little smirk as she fastens up her black jacket and answers back, “Depends on the night, darlin’. Could be somewhere here in the Reaches, somewhere warmer….someone’s weyr…” adds with the rise and fall of her brows, not in the least bit ashamed of her illicit night activities. “Which, speakin’ of,” and she’s up from the bench, straightening herself out with long fingers as she looks over to Vienne. “Tac’s finally ready to go. I better head on out before my wingmates try to drag me in there into a game of cards they’ll lose,” and she nods towards the entrance of the Snowasis.

Vienne's frown is one of sympathy, but it has a hard time staying that way when Jo is looking rather mischievous and it starts to buckle around the edges like a grin is attempting to take hold. What it ends up as is a shy smile, her eyes a little downcast and she nods to the question about Oswinth's chasing history, as if not saying it aloud will spare the blue from knowing that she's confirmed the suspicion. "I remind him that I didn't want to share him anyway." And since she smirks a bit, he can go ahead and overhear that, wherever he is. Of course, Jo's explanation of her whereabout is exactly as expected and Vienne takes a moment to rub her hands together between her knees while she listens to the easy, and likely entirely truthful, evasions. But then it's time for Jo to get back to her lively plans and Vienne nods, lifting her posture in preparing to stand. "Thank you for the drink. And good luck with your cuts, with Tacuseth." She even manages something a little cheeky at the end there for the other bluerider's troubles with her twitterpated lifemate. "Enjoy your night."

With that comment of not wanting to share her dragon, Jo is giving Vienne that not-so blatantly odd look, perhaps knowing that she’s missing a part of the story there. It doesn’t last though, it fading into something more thoughtful for the slight woman before she steps away from the bench and nods on the drink with a little smirk on her lips. To the last, “Enjoy yer night as well, Vi,” before she’s off, already with her gaze unfocused as she reaches out to her wily blue.

{{#ifexist: Logs_talk:{{BASEPAGENAME}} | <hr><hr><br><h2>Comments</h2>{{Logs_talk:{{BASEPAGENAME}}}} |<hr><hr>}}

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Logs:Darts and Ladders

2013-02-28T08:56:41Z

Vienne:

{{ Log
| who = Vienne, Z'ian, Xhaeon
| where = Snowasis, High Reaches Weyr
| what = Vienne and Z'ian flirt about ladders and llamas, Xhaeon executes the effective cock block.
| when = Day 9, month 2, turn 31
| gamedate = 2013.02.28
| quote = I guess you'll just have to find out the next time I offer to show you how to play darts.
| weather = Foggy
| categories =
| mentions =
| ooc =
| icons = xhaeon cleancut.png, vienne laughing.jpg, z'ian hand2.png
| log =

Snowasis, High Reaches Weyr(#555RJ)
The Snowasis is rarely quiet, and even then, the high-ceilinged former weyr is kept from echoing by the fantastical booths tucked into its convoluted perimeter. The secluded seating spaces have been shaped from the truncated stalagmites that escaped the smoothing of the main floor, and are both softened and separated by colorful hangings that are thick and opaque enough to make each corner its own private nook.

Some of the smaller stalactites still roam the ceiling, their jagged teeth tracing a bumpy, inverted spine to the hearth. There, a thick rug with a low klah table and comfortable armchairs and couches sit, their upholstery and cushions changed sporadically to match the season: bright, light colors in the summer, fresh greens and yellows in the spring, warm autumnals in fall, and clear, rich hues for winter. Small tables litter the rest of the cavern, enough to fit up to four people each, while stools stand along the smooth wooden bar behind which is the passthrough window to the kitchen. Glass-paneled cabinetry behind the bar provides a clear view of the available liquors, the many colors reflecting the soft light of glows tucked into strategic niches around the cavern.

----

You can't work all day long. Especially once it's not daytime anymore. So Z'ian isn't and he's here at the Snowasis, hanging around. The newly minted Wingleader is actually wearing the knot, but probably only because hasn't gotten the chance to take it off yet. Meanwhile he can be seen making the attempt to be social with the Boreal riders for most of the time he's there until taking the opportunity to break away and head towards the bar, getting a refill on his drink. He looks more well rested today than compared to other days, so perhaps he's getting into the swing of things.

For someone who tends to visit the Snowasis more often during the afternoon, when the bar has a more leisurely feel to it, the evening hours is a nice change, when everyone has thrown off their work of the day and comes out to unwind with a drink in their hand. It can't necessarily be said that Vienne has much to unwind from, or that anyone at High Reaches has seen her come unwound, but tonight she does have a drink in her hand as she sits at the bar, jacket folded over her lap and her legs primly crossed. Thus far, her interactions has been limited to an easy smile here, a little wave there, as people move about to collect their drinks and head off again. She seems not to expect much more when Z'ian steps up to the bar. She flashes him a friendly grin, eyes taking note of the knot he's still sporting. It bring a little something wry to her greeting, "Wingleader."

While he waits for the bartender to refill his glass, the bronzerider doesn't even bat an eye when Vienne greets him. If it weren't for her familiar voice or maybe catching her out of the corner of his eye, it's possible Z'ian wouldn't react to the greeting at all. But he does notice her, one way or the other. And while his reaction is delayed it's not lacking in friendliness, no shortage in the wattage behind the typical smile. "Hey. I don't usually see you around here at night." He glances quickly over his shoulder, it doesn't look like his new crew of wingriders are missing him terribly yet. When the seat next to her opens up, he moves over and claims it.

It couldn't be the first time Vienne was overlooked -- probably quite literally given her stature and all. She's about to let her glance meander off again, pale golden glass of something brought to her lips, when Z'ian oblivion turns into that charming smile he has. It catches her eye and stops her mid-sip so that she has to chuckle quietly and dab her mouth with a knuckle. "I come out sometimes," she claims. "Though apparently not enough." His glance pulls her eyes backward, over her shoulder toward the waiting Boreal riders who are not, at the moment, looking impatient to have their leader back. "Making new friends?" she wonders in a way that might sound a little bit more like 'how is it going?'. As he moves to sit beside her, she turns in her seat, legs tucked in neatly to avoid crowding him but a position all the better for answering his shiny smile with an engaged, if toothy, one.

"Oh, really? When was the last time you climbed down the ladder from your weyr in the dark of night?" Z'ian asks, smiling crookedly as the bartender hands over his refilled drink. He draws it in towards himself and lifts the glass to his mouth, looking over the rim off it for her answer. "Mhmm." That's the simple answer to her question. "One rider at a time. Eventually if I work my wiles carefully and with enough finesse, they'll give in." He flashes her a conspiratoral smile for that serious but not so entirely serious response. "Are you meeting someone here or do you just hang around and people watch?"

"Are you making fun of my ladder?" Vienne grins at him quite impishly. "It's actually a lot easier when I'm not wearing heels. For which, I suppose, I have you to thank." She lifts her glass to him for that gratitude, a momentary 'serious' expression passing over her features as she tips her head. And after that she can sip her drink properly - it has a little stirring stick, so it's a bit of a two-handed endeavor as she holds that stick out of the way. For his inquiry, the small bluerider shakes her head. "No, not meeting..." Anyone. "I guess I am just people watching tonight. Maybe I'm hoping that if I work my wiles carefully and with enough finesse, I'll make some new friends." Cheeky, cheeky smile.

Vienne does not quite manage to pull off an entirely somber expression for his account of climbing a ladder from his weyr, but she does pinch her mouth quite small, eyes wide and innocent, an attentive expression as he talks. And she does have a dry, "Well, yes, for getting down," falling would be faster. "I have learned that ladders can also be useful for getting up. Though I'd imagine that might take even longer." Of course, when all that is done, she cracks another wide smile, because the whole thing terribly, if amusingly, silly. Then, with a bright laugh, "Liberating?" Grinning and dubious, "Liberating us from what?" But he mention's his wing and so she looks back over her shoulder again, considering it, even if she doesn't answer right away.

"Maybe if we invested the time to develop a good pully system? I could zip straight up there!" Z'ian makes an impressive upwards swing motion with one hand to represent this. He manages to not splash his drink everywhere too. "Liberating you from your weyrs, liberating you from absolute boredom, social restraints. Anything you need to be liberated from, come to me. I'll figure it out. I'm an expert." It comes out just about as serious as the making a pully system and climbing a mile long ladder down to the bowl floor, for what's it worth. Bravado, but not without a serious dosage of humor to go along with it. The wingriders behind them get a casual glance but not much more attention, more or less keeping an eye on them while he chats Vienne up.

"Maybe if we lived somewhere without so much snow and ice," Vienne says, putting on her best sorry smile, apologizing for bursting the pully bubble, though even that expression is hard to maintain when he's flapping around the way he is and she can't help but laugh. Like she has to show him how a person maintains a touch of composure, she takes another dainty sip of her drink. "Well, it sounds delightful," Vienne says of his liberation schemes, a brow arching at him as a wry curve twists her smile. "Have you done a lot of this? Liberating blueriding women? What kind of liberation do you suspect I need?" She stirs her little stick, chasing a few rough hunks of ice around the glass.

"Right. Snow and ice. Damn winter. If only there was something we could do to globally raise the temperature of the entire planet to get rid of that whole seasons problem. I'm sure some smart person will think of it." Z'ian ceases to flap around and takes a long swallow from his glass, letting the bottom of it touch the top of the bar. "You know, delightful is not the word that I would use to describe it." He starts, allowing that smile to curve dangerously. The bronzerider is clearly enjoying having made her laugh, enough that he doesn't give those Boreal riders another glance for awhile. His elbow makes contact with the counter and he leans his chin into his palm. "Plenty of liberating blueriding women. Hmmmm... Let me think." He delivers Vienne a look too intense to be considered serious, much too full of that fliratious teasing still. "I already liberated you from your weyr by helping you find boots. So, what's left? You look pretty well adjusted now... but... Maybe I should help you break away from the confines of this bar? You know, go a few feet over that way and play a couple of games of darts."

"Or we could just trade Weyrs. Surely one of less snowy Weyrs is tired of all their sunshine and warm breezes and would love to swap with us." Vienne can come up with ridiculous propositions too, and she's enjoying the game of it. There might even be a little something shy in the response of her smile to his dangerous one. Not, however, so shy as to resist prompting him for more. "What would you call it then?" She forgets all about his wingmates, too, and when Z'ian props himself on the bar, she mimics him exactly, a mirror image with her little elbow on the counter and her fingers half-covering the little laugh that slips out. And her foot swings. "Mm, maybe," she says for the game of darks, letting her glance flick in that direction. There are people playing already, but that might not be the reason she isn't convinced. "What else have you got?" This time when she drinks, she just tucks the stick to one side and lets it poke her in the cheek. It's the only way to do it one-handed with her chin in her palm.

"Sure, lets go talk to Southern. I'm sure they wouldn't mind swapping the redfruit trees for some spitting llamas. I think that's a totally fair trade, right?" The bronzerider flashes a crooked grin for that before he brings that glass to his mouth again, not such a long pull from it this time. "Now, these aren't ''my'' words." He begins, lifting one finger in warning. "But I've been told my techniques range anywhere from you know, naughty, mischievous and a good time to you're-awful-don't-talk-to-me-again. But I don't get that last one too often anymore. With age comes... finesse?" A throw back to that word from earler in their conversation. And with everything there's a hint of easy-going amusement laced throughout. His gazes flickers towards the darts before coming back to her, smile turning sly. "To break you away from the bar... or more? What do ''you'' think that you need from me to get me to pull you away from your little drink with a straw in it?" He returns, reaching forward and plucking the straw out of the glass. Holding it between index and forefinger, he lifts one eyebrow curiously. Challenging.

"You know, I'm not sure I've tasted llama," Vienne returns, unable to let that particular comparison slip by without comment. And when he holds up his finger, the little bluerider nods into her palm, she's listening and warned. But she does quickly become skeptical, narrowing her eyes. "You're-awful-don't-talk-to-me-again. Were you prone to cheesy lines or were you just too forward, do you think? Back in your youthful days without finesse." Though her smile remains as her teeth find her lip, there's something a little distant in her gaze, other thoughts rolling around, perhaps less related to the current conversation than her grin would imply. But the sly turn of his smile brings her back. She opens her mouth to answer, though she's clearly still trying to formulate one when he steals her stick, and that has her laughing again. "I don't know. You're the expert, remember? I guess it depends on what you think you're pulling me towards." She shakes her head a little, chin ground in her hand before she lifts her posture again. "You're in a very good mood tonight," she observes, unable to avoid just a touch of curiosity, though maybe she's just wondering what's to become of her stirring stick, since her eyes follow it.

"Oh. It's closer to herdbeast than you'd imagine. You'd think llama would be gamey, but it's not." Z'ian answers easily, apparently... familiar with what that would taste like. But he's one of those people who are actually from here, so maybe it's not so terribly shocking. He laughs then and ducks his head, hiding behind the glass for a moment or two. "I think it was probably a combination of both? I thought I was pretty amazing. Some women agreed, others didn't. That's how it goes sometimes." He shrugs his shoulders easily, smiling broadly when she laughs again. Twisting the stick around between his fingers, "I was going to pull you towards a totally friendly, innocent game of darts." So. Totally. Innocent. "Maybe show you some pointers, but. You don't seem so interested." He taps that straw against his mouth, drawing his eyebrows together thoughtfully. The dangerous teasing smile makes a return, "I'm hideous, right? You can tell me. I can take it." Or not so thoughtfully given the train of their conversation so far. "You have to be in good mood sometimes. Or else you end up insane or a miserable grouch with no prospects because you're too busy being miserable." His drink finds its way to the bar top again and he once more puts his chin to his palm, the stick between the fingers of that hand.

The bar is moderately lively tonight, people enjoying their end-of-the-day drinks, chatting and laughing and playing darts. There's a group of Boreal riders amusing themselves at one table, though their new wingleader has landed at the bar with a pint-sized bluerider. There's a lot of smiling going on and flirtatious body language. It would appear, however, that Z'ian's familiarity with llama meat is not enough to make Vienne gape at him. Instead, when he talks about how amazing he once thought he was, Vienne tucks her lips between her teeth, though it does nothing to hide the fact that she's grinning. It looks as if she would like to say something, there's a comment in her expression even if she doesn't get to voice it before he's talking about darts again. "Yes, you definitely have the look of a man who is thinking about dart," she teases lightly, eyes watching how her stirring stick ends up between his fingers. "You wouldn't mind if I thought you were hideous? Do you mean physically or as a human being? Maybe it doesn't matter. You wouldn't mind either way." She gives him a little turn of her head, the flash of an impish smile and a brow arched, all of which coalesce into a slightly more canny look than might be expected.

Late, it is, but not late enough that curfew is in effect for candidates. Speaking of, one long-legged Smith has done arrived, planting himself next to Z'ian since the closest available stool happens to be there. "Did you really just say that he was hideous?" Xhaeon questions from his peering about the wingleader's shoulder. An eyebrow rises at Vienne in question, hand raised to flag down the bartender.

Well, that's a relief. He'd have to stop talking to her if she found his tastes in llama meat to be revolting. He's back to tapping the stirring stick from her drink against his mouth again, grin pulling to the side playfully when she bites on her lip. "What?" He asks, catching the expression of her about to say something and then not saying anything at all. "I do? I'm glad that you agree. I could show you the perfect form to throw." That mischiveous smile has returned and what comes is pitched low and is absolutely suggestive, "You're the perfect height for me to demonstrate that out with you too." Z'ian doesn't notice Xhaeon's arrival behind him and is about to answer that question on how hideous he may or may not be when the candidate pipes up. One of his eyebrows is lifted in return, though it's directed at Vienne in front of him. For now. For now. Until the slow turn around to eyeball the younger man. "Hey."

Okay, so Vienne's eyes do widen when he somehow makes that comment about her height so very suggestive, but it's an impressed widening, not a scandalized one. She's enjoying it. The impish smile cracks into another toothy grin, perhaps a bit more bashful, but not so much as to bring any color to her cheeks. It does have her looking toward the darts again. Maybe she's reconsidering her earlier refusal? With that glance, she probably does see Xhaeon showing up behind Z'ian, but all her attention is on the bronzerider and it might just look like she's about to return his suggestive comment with one of her own, leaning in a little as she does, wearing that coy smile, but the candidate's comment provides a total distraction. She blinks up at him, the smile still haplessly hanging from her mouth. It takes her a beat to snap out of the imaginary land of flirtations and process what he's asked. "No," she laughs brightly. "No, he thinks that I do. And I think... it doesn't matter to him what I think." She lifts her brows at Z'ian, adding a little weight to her glance before she asks teasingly of the interloper, "Is he your type?"

Does Xhaeon find it awkward, invading Z'ian's personal space? Not evidently. What? He's not weyrborn - Smith familiarity as it is, he doesn't assign much to it. (Even ''Z'ian'' isn't pretty enough for Xhaeon, kthx.) "Hey." It's in response to Z'ian: then a belated, "Sir," tacked on after. Z'ian's ... knot has grown since the last time. Vienne's responding, then, and he squints after the Harper-gone-rider. "Ma'am," is his reply, belated in the same manner as his previous 'sir'. The candidate makes a show of leaning back and considering Z'ian - for a long moment - before shaking his head. "Not quite. He's got some things I'd rather not enjoy, and lacking some things that I do, I would imagine. Unless you're hiding something under that shirt and," here he struggles to remain straight-faced, "--in your pants," beat, "Sir?"

Reconsider! Reconsider! Probably totally not going to happen with the candidate having joined their conversation. Z'ian remains a good sport about it though, once he's got that eyebrow smoothed out again and the easy expression firmly rooted into place again. He leans into Vienne's space and drops the straw back into her drink, smile hopelessly amused by this point. "I hope that I'm not. He's a little too butch for me, check out that jaw. I like to be the man in my relationships." For that struggle to remain straight-faced, the newly appointed wingleader aims to just destroy it. With all this not caring about personal space going on, it seems fitting that he'd lean so close to Xhaeon and tug down at the neckline on his shirt. "Did you want to check?"

It only takes that casual lean from Xhaeon for Vienne to know that all she's going to have to do here is sit back and enjoy the show. Which she does, setting her elbow on the bar again and lifting her glass to take a nice mouthful of what she has left. "Vienne," she offers for the candidate as she cracks a little piece of ice in her teeth; ma'am seems a bit formal for the setting and she ''has'' finished off most of her drink. "He might not be a particularly feminine sort," the bluerider supposes, eyeing Xhaeon's jaw with a lofty lift of her chin and a glint in her eye promising it's all in play. "But I don't know that means you couldn't still be the man." She gives the bronzerider a challenging little smile. Of course, then there's the obligatory offer that Z'ian makes to peer into his clothes and Vienne rolls her eyes. She also removes the replaced stick from her glass, leaving it on the counter.

Xhaeon plays along, because what else is he going to do? He makes a show of leaning into Z'ian, peering down the other's shirt. "Nope, doesn't do anything for me," stated baldly enough. "Sorry." He'll even aim a pat for Z'ian's far shoulder. "Now, her on the other hand..." Thankfully for all parties involved, he's talking about the barkeep who's just come on-staff, cleavage on quite glorious display - and not Vienne. She does come bustling over, and Xhaeon orders a klah with a nip of whiskey. It's only after that he realizes that they were talking about ''him''. "Wait, wait, you don't think I'm pretty?" That's to Vienne, since evidently particularly feminine = unpretty?

"Are you kidding me? He's bigger than me too. His neck is like a fucking herdbeast's. I don't think I want to take my chances with that. I've got some dignity. And a reputation." Which would apparently be destroyed by engaging in certain activities with the younger man. Regardless, it doesn't stop him from hanging in there and letting Xhaeon stare down his shirt. Patting his clothing back into place he shoots Vienne an uplifted eyebrow, "Thankfully I'm not his type." It's playful and he takes up his drink again, draining it down to the dregs. His eyes find their way back to the bluerider again, "Wow. I'm hidieous and now he's not pretty." The bronzerider shakes his head, mock disappointment in play.

Now Vienne might not exactly mind that her person has not been so lewdly objectified, but nor does she miss the fact that it's the barkeep's exposed bust and not her own sweatered one that is worthy of notice. And so when Xhaeone turns to her all concerned that he's been slighted, the bluerider snorts out a bright laugh and arches a brow at him. "Really?" But the truth is, she's not so bothered by his neglect that she'll hold it against him. "You're perfectly handsome. Were you hoping for pretty? Perhaps she can give you some pointers on stuffing your shirt." Just in case he doesn't get it, she flicks her eyes toward the walking boobs. "What reputation is that, exactly?" For Z'ian, her gaze lingers a moment longer on his face, some real consideration behind her lightly lobbed question, though it's interrupted so she can soothe the younger man with, "You neck is just fine." However it's with her attention the bronzerider's emptied glass that has her wetting her lips and she lifts her glance to his, smiling a private, knowing smile. "I must be a hard woman to please."

Xhaeon does look a little affronted. "Like a /herdbeast/? At least a runnerbeast has some kind of grace to it." At least Vienne thinks his neck is fine. He doesn't comment about what guys with big necks are known for, either, thank Faranth. "Maybe she likes women," he muses to Z'ian. Is he talking abotu the barkeep or th-- no wait, that's definitely about Vienne. "Stuffi..." His laughter is deep but clear(ly amused). Then he's distracted by the busty barkeep again (carry on).

The bronzerider is reaching into a pocket now and pulling out the marks to pay for his drink, he glances between younger man and bluerider with an amused expression. He glances at the bartender while they're at it as well, just for fun. Vienne's remarks gets a chuckle of laughter from him as he finishes the count, putting the extra away and playing with the ones in his hand. "Oh, wouldn't you like to know. I guess you'll just have to find out the next time I offer to show you how to play darts." Z'ian smiles teasingly as he pushes the glass across the bar. He's not up and out of his seat just yet, but it's apparent that's about to happen sometime soon. Her last comment has him arching an eyebrow at her, curious. "Yeah? Nothing wrong with a woman that's hard to please." Innuendo? Possibly? Probably. No really. The musing he receives from Xhaeon is met with a long look. He narrows his eyes and studies the candidate closely, "Do you get laid a lot? Just curious."

Maybe she likes women? Vienne flashes an innocent smile, glancing upward as if she doesn't know the answer to such things. But then, she's not overly distracted by the cleavage like some people are, so perhaps the answer isn't so mysterious. Besides, she's chewing her lip again as Z'ian goes about finally paying for his drink and sliding his glass away. "I think reputations are discussed more than displayed, aren't they? So really, you're suggesting I ask around." There's a faint shake of her head and her hand comes up to smooth her hair behind her ear. Something that's transpired is starting to make her look shy again, keeping her glance low for a few beats, until Mr Innuendo makes his reappearance; then Vienne lifts a look to him that says, with a wry smile and a skeptical eye, that she knows better. It segues nicely when he tosses his question at Xhaeon. "Are you sure you aren't hitting on him?" Of course, she does look to the candidate to see his answer.

"Fairly frequently, yes, sir. By women." Xhaeon's return to Z'ian is pretty straight-faced, that last part tacked on more for Vienne's sake than the bronzerider's. "I kind of think he fancies me, don't you think? It's a little strange." Sotto-voiced to Vienne, that is; and then his whiskey'd klah has arrived, and he pays the barkeep, salutes the two riders, and wanders towards a different corner of the Snowasis to wreck havok and sow chaos, because he's bacchanalian like that.

Z'ian lets the marks fall out of his hand onto the counter and he takes his time arranging them in size order. When the candidate answers his question, there's a slight snort of disbelief. "I find myself just a little skeptical. But then, I guess it takes all types." There's glance given towards the well stacked bartender that waits impatiently for him to stop playing with his money. Obligingly he slides it across the counter and leans back in his seat. There's little response given to the idea that he's hitting on Xhaeon, just an uplift of his eyebrows that he directs at Vienne. "I was kind of like that." There you go, a real life example of who he used to be ten turns ago. Or so. "I like to prove my reputation by example. But if you'd like to ask around to find out, you're more than welcome to do so."

Vienne's fingers come up, pinched together in response to Xhaeon's question, eyes narrrowed for his benefit. All of it says, 'little bit'. But she flashes the candidate a smile as he saunters off, one glance spared for his whole person now that it's not hidden behind the bronzerider. If she thinks anything of the view, she keeps it to herself. And her attention does turn back to Z'ian readily enough. He seems a bit quieter now and so while she continues to tease him, "Younger?" it's light and paired with a warm smile, just a touch sheepish. "I don't need to ask around," she tells him. "I think I've seen enough." And just in case that sounds like some sort of blow-off, her teeth catch her lip again and she admits, "You're not hideous."

"Much younger." Z'ian replies, mouth curving into a broad smile. He pushes his chair back from the bar finally, likely because he's done being a paying customer for now and he's taking up valuable real estate. His eyebrow arches as he finds the floor with his feet and regards her speculatively, "Have you now?" The bronzerider begins to lean his forearms into the back of the chair, prepared to take his time with leaving. But it's the sound of his name being called from the other side of the bar that gets his attention. "Hey! Z'ian! C'sar bet me money that I could drive a nail through his thumb and he wouldn't feel it, you have to check this out!" That person sounds like they're really, really drunk. And the new wingleader looks, quite possibly a little disturbed. He narrows his eyes again and exhales, but not before shooting Vienne an apologetic smile. "Well. That's a relief. Maybe next time?" She understands right? Nails. Thumbs. Money for pain. He pushes off of that chair with a sigh and disappears into the crowd to take care of whatever disaster is brewing.

{{#ifexist: Logs_talk:{{BASEPAGENAME}} | <hr><hr><br><h2>Comments</h2>{{Logs_talk:{{BASEPAGENAME}}}} |<hr><hr>}}

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Logs:Darts and Ladders

2013-02-28T08:56:11Z

Vienne:

Logs:Darts and Ladders

2013-02-28T07:05:14Z

Vienne:

{{ Log
| who = Vienne, Z'ian, Xhaeon
| where = Snowasis, High Reaches Weyr
| what = Vienne and Z'ian flirt about ladders and llamas, Xhaeon executes the effective cock block.
| when = Day 9, month 2, turn 31
| gamedate = 2013.02.28
| quote = I guess you'll just have to find out the next time I offer to show you how to play darts.
| weather = Foggy
| categories =
| mentions =
| ooc =
| icons = xhaeon cleancut.png, vienne laughing.jpg, z'ian hand2.png
| log =

Snowasis, High Reaches Weyr(#555RJ)
The Snowasis is rarely quiet, and even then, the high-ceilinged former weyr is kept from echoing by the fantastical booths tucked into its convoluted perimeter. The secluded seating spaces have been shaped from the truncated stalagmites that escaped the smoothing of the main floor, and are both softened and separated by colorful hangings that are thick and opaque enough to make each corner its own private nook.

Some of the smaller stalactites still roam the ceiling, their jagged teeth tracing a bumpy, inverted spine to the hearth. There, a thick rug with a low klah table and comfortable armchairs and couches sit, their upholstery and cushions changed sporadically to match the season: bright, light colors in the summer, fresh greens and yellows in the spring, warm autumnals in fall, and clear, rich hues for winter. Small tables litter the rest of the cavern, enough to fit up to four people each, while stools stand along the smooth wooden bar behind which is the passthrough window to the kitchen. Glass-paneled cabinetry behind the bar provides a clear view of the available liquors, the many colors reflecting the soft light of glows tucked into strategic niches around the cavern.

----

For someone who tends to visit the Snowasis more often during the afternoon, when the bar has a more leisurely feel to it, the evening hours is a nice change, when everyone has thrown off their work of the day and comes out to unwind with a drink in their hand. It can't necessarily be said that Vienne has much to unwind from, or that anyone at High Reaches has seen her come unwound, but tonight she does have a drink in her hand as she sits at the bar, jacket folded over her lap and her legs primly crossed. Thus far, her interactions has been limited to an easy smile here, a little wave there, as people move about to collect their drinks and head off again. She seems not to expect much more when Z'ian steps up to the bar. She flashes him a friendly grin, eyes taking note of the knot he's still sporting. It bring a little something wry to her greeting, "Wingleader."

While he waits for the bartender to refill his glass, the bronzerider doesn't even bat an eye when Vienne greets him. If it weren't for her familiar voice or maybe catching her out of the corner of his eye, it's possible Z'ian wouldn't react to the greeting at all. But he does notice her, one way or the other. And while his reaction is delayed it's not lacking in friendliness, no shortage in the wattage behind the typical smile. "Hey. I don't usually see you around here at night." He glances quickly over his shoulder, it doesn't look like his new crew of wingriders are missing him terribly yet. When the seat next to her opens up, he moves over and claims it.

It couldn't be the first time Vienne was overlooked -- probably quite literally given her stature and all. She's about to let her glance meander off again, pale golden glass of something brought to her lips, when Z'ian oblivion turns into that charming smile he has. It catches her eye and stops her mid-sip so that she has to chuckle quietly and dab her mouth with a knuckle. "I come out sometimes," she claims. "Though apparently not enough." His glance pulls her eyes backward, over her shoulder toward the waiting Boreal riders who are not, at the moment, looking impatient to have their leader back. "Making new friends?" she wonders in a way that might sound a little bit more like 'how is it going?'. As he moves to sit beside her, she turns in her seat, legs tucked in neatly to avoid crowding him but a position all the better for answering his shiny smile with an engaged, if toothy, one.

"Oh, really? When was the last time you climbed down the ladder from your weyr in the dark of night?" Z'ian asks, smiling crookedly as the bartender hands over his refilled drink. He draws it in towards himself and lifts the glass to his mouth, looking over the rim off it for her answer. "Mhmm." That's the simple answer to her question. "One rider at a time. Eventually if I work my wiles carefully and with enough finesse, they'll give in." He flashes her a conspiratoral smile for that serious but not so entirely serious response. "Are you meeting someone here or do you just hang around and people watch?"

"Are you making fun of my ladder?" Vienne grins at him quite impishly. "It's actually a lot easier when I'm not wearing heels. For which, I suppose, I have you to thank." She lifts her glass to him for that gratitude, a momentary 'serious' expression passing over her features as she tips her head. And after that she can sip her drink properly - it has a little stirring stick, so it's a bit of a two-handed endeavor as she holds that stick out of the way. For his inquiry, the small bluerider shakes her head. "No, not meeting..." Anyone. "I guess I am just people watching tonight. Maybe I'm hoping that if I work my wiles carefully and with enough finesse, I'll make some new friends." Cheeky, cheeky smile.

Vienne does not quite manage to pull off an entirely somber expression for his account of climbing a ladder from his weyr, but she does pinch her mouth quite small, eyes wide and innocent, an attentive expression as he talks. And she does have a dry, "Well, yes, for getting down," falling would be faster. "I have learned that ladders can also be useful for getting up. Though I'd imagine that might take even longer." Of course, when all that is done, she cracks another wide smile, because the whole thing terribly, if amusingly, silly. Then, with a bright laugh, "Liberating?" Grinning and dubious, "Liberating us from what?" But he mention's his wing and so she looks back over her shoulder again, considering it, even if she doesn't answer right away.

"Maybe if we invested the time to develop a good pully system? I could zip straight up there!" Z'ian makes an impressive upwards swing motion with one hand to represent this. He manages to not splash his drink everywhere too. "Liberating you from your weyrs, liberating you from absolute boredom, social restraints. Anything you need to be liberated from, come to me. I'll figure it out. I'm an expert." It comes out just about as serious as the making a pully system and climbing a mile long ladder down to the bowl floor, for what's it worth. Bravado, but not without a serious dosage of humor to go along with it. The wingriders behind them get a casual glance but not much more attention, more or less keeping an eye on them while he chats Vienne up.

"Maybe if we lived somewhere without so much snow and ice," Vienne says, putting on her best sorry smile, apologizing for bursting the pully bubble, though even that expression is hard to maintain when he's flapping around the way he is and she can't help but laugh. Like she has to show him how a person maintains a touch of composure, she takes another dainty sip of her drink. "Well, it sounds delightful," Vienne says of his liberation schemes, a brow arching at him as a wry curve twists her smile. "Have you done a lot of this? Liberating blueriding women? What kind of liberation do you suspect I need?" She stirs her little stick, chasing a few rough hunks of ice around the glass.

"Right. Snow and ice. Damn winter. If only there was something we could do to globally raise the temperature of the entire planet to get rid of that whole seasons problem. I'm sure some smart person will think of it." Z'ian ceases to flap around and takes a long swallow from his glass, letting the bottom of it touch the top of the bar. "You know, delightful is not the word that I would use to describe it." He starts, allowing that smile to curve dangerously. The bronzerider is clearly enjoying having made her laugh, enough that he doesn't give those Boreal riders another glance for awhile. His elbow makes contact with the counter and he leans his chin into his palm. "Plenty of liberating blueriding women. Hmmmm... Let me think." He delivers Vienne a look too intense to be considered serious, much too full of that fliratious teasing still. "I already liberated you from your weyr by helping you find boots. So, what's left? You look pretty well adjusted now... but... Maybe I should help you break away from the confines of this bar? You know, go a few feet over that way and play a couple of games of darts."

"Or we could just trade Weyrs. Surely one of less snowy Weyrs is tired of all their sunshine and warm breezes and would love to swap with us." Vienne can come up with ridiculous propositions too, and she's enjoying the game of it. There might even be a little something shy in the response of her smile to his dangerous one. Not, however, so shy as to resist prompting him for more. "What would you call it then?" She forgets all about his wingmates, too, and when Z'ian props himself on the bar, she mimics him exactly, a mirror image with her little elbow on the counter and her fingers half-covering the little laugh that slips out. And her foot swings. "Mm, maybe," she says for the game of darks, letting her glance flick in that direction. There are people playing already, but that might not be the reason she isn't convinced. "What else have you got?" This time when she drinks, she just tucks the stick to one side and lets it poke her in the cheek. It's the only way to do it one-handed with her chin in her palm.

"Sure, lets go talk to Southern. I'm sure they wouldn't mind swapping the redfruit trees for some spitting llamas. I think that's a totally fair trade, right?" The bronzerider flashes a crooked grin for that before he brings that glass to his mouth again, not such a long pull from it this time. "Now, these aren't ''my'' words." He begins, lifting one finger in warning. "But I've been told my techniques range anywhere from you know, naughty, mischievous and a good time to you're-awful-don't-talk-to-me-again. But I don't get that last one too often anymore. With age comes... finesse?" A throw back to that word from earler in their conversation. And with everything there's a hint of easy-going amusement laced throughout. His gazes flickers towards the darts before coming back to her, smile turning sly. "To break you away from the bar... or more? What do ''you'' think that you need from me to get me to pull you away from your little drink with a straw in it?" He returns, reaching forward and plucking the straw out of the glass. Holding it between index and forefinger, he lifts one eyebrow curiously. Challenging.

"You know, I'm not sure I've tasted llama," Vienne returns, unable to let that particular comparison slip by without comment. And when he holds up his finger, the little bluerider nods into her palm, she's listening and warned. But she does quickly become skeptical, narrowing her eyes. "You're-awful-don't-talk-to-me-again. Were you prone to cheesy lines or were you just too forward, do you think? Back in your youthful days without finesse." Though her smile remains as her teeth find her lip, there's something a little distant in her gaze, other thoughts rolling around, perhaps less related to the current conversation than her grin would imply. But the sly turn of his smile brings her back. She opens her mouth to answer, though she's clearly still trying to formulate one when he steals her stick, and that has her laughing again. "I don't know. You're the expert, remember? I guess it depends on what you think you're pulling me towards." She shakes her head a little, chin ground in her hand before she lifts her posture again. "You're in a very good mood tonight," she observes, unable to avoid just a touch of curiosity, though maybe she's just wondering what's to become of her stirring stick, since her eyes follow it.

"Oh. It's closer to herdbeast than you'd imagine. You'd think llama would be gamey, but it's not." Z'ian answers easily, apparently... familiar with what that would taste like. But he's one of those people who are actually from here, so maybe it's not so terribly shocking. He laughs then and ducks his head, hiding behind the glass for a moment or two. "I think it was probably a combination of both? I thought I was pretty amazing. Some women agreed, others didn't. That's how it goes sometimes." He shrugs his shoulders easily, smiling broadly when she laughs again. Twisting the stick around between his fingers, "I was going to pull you towards a totally friendly, innocent game of darts." So. Totally. Innocent. "Maybe show you some pointers, but. You don't seem so interested." He taps that straw against his mouth, drawing his eyebrows together thoughtfully. The dangerous teasing smile makes a return, "I'm hideous, right? You can tell me. I can take it." Or not so thoughtfully given the train of their conversation so far. "You have to be in good mood sometimes. Or else you end up insane or a miserable grouch with no prospects because you're too busy being miserable." His drink finds its way to the bar top again and he once more puts his chin to his palm, the stick between the fingers of that hand.

The bar is moderately lively tonight, people enjoying their end-of-the-day drinks, chatting and laughing and playing darts. There's a group of Boreal riders amusing themselves at one table, though their new wingleader has landed at the bar with a pint-sized bluerider. There's a lot of smiling going on and flirtatious body language. It would appear, however, that Z'ian's familiarity with llama meat is not enough to make Vienne gape at him. Instead, when he talks about how amazing he once thought he was, Vienne tucks her lips between her teeth, though it does nothing to hide the fact that she's grinning. It looks as if she would like to say something, there's a comment in her expression even if she doesn't get to voice it before he's talking about darts again. "Yes, you definitely have the look of a man who is thinking about dart," she teases lightly, eyes watching how her stirring stick ends up between his fingers. "You wouldn't mind if I thought you were hideous? Do you mean physically or as a human being? Maybe it doesn't matter. You wouldn't mind either way." She gives him a little turn of her head, the flash of an impish smile and a brow arched, all of which coalesce into a slightly more canny look than might be expected.

Late, it is, but not late enough that curfew is in effect for candidates. Speaking of, one long-legged Smith has done arrived, planting himself next to Z'ian since the closest available stool happens to be there. "Did you really just say that he was hideous?" Xhaeon questions from his peering about the wingleader's shoulder. An eyebrow rises at Vienne in question, hand raised to flag down the bartender.

Well, that's a relief. He'd have to stop talking to her if she found his tastes in llama meat to be revolting. He's back to tapping the stirring stick from her drink against his mouth again, grin pulling to the side playfully when she bites on her lip. "What?" He asks, catching the expression of her about to say something and then not saying anything at all. "I do? I'm glad that you agree. I could show you the perfect form to throw." That mischiveous smile has returned and what comes is pitched low and is absolutely suggestive, "You're the perfect height for me to demonstrate that out with you too." Z'ian doesn't notice Xhaeon's arrival behind him and is about to answer that question on how hideous he may or may not be when the candidate pipes up. One of his eyebrows is lifted in return, though it's directed at Vienne in front of him. For now. For now. Until the slow turn around to eyeball the younger man. "Hey."

Okay, so Vienne's eyes do widen when he somehow makes that comment about her height so very suggestive, but it's an impressed widening, not a scandalized one. She's enjoying it. The impish smile cracks into another toothy grin, perhaps a bit more bashful, but not so much as to bring any color to her cheeks. It does have her looking toward the darts again. Maybe she's reconsidering her earlier refusal? With that glance, she probably does see Xhaeon showing up behind Z'ian, but all her attention is on the bronzerider and it might just look like she's about to return his suggestive comment with one of her own, leaning in a little as she does, wearing that coy smile, but the candidate's comment provides a total distraction. She blinks up at him, the smile still haplessly hanging from her mouth. It takes her a beat to snap out of the imaginary land of flirtations and process what he's asked. "No," she laughs brightly. "No, he thinks that I do. And I think... it doesn't matter to him what I think." She lifts her brows at Z'ian, adding a little weight to her glance before she asks teasingly of the interloper, "Is he your type?"

Does Xhaeon find it awkward, invading Z'ian's personal space? Not evidently. What? He's not weyrborn - Smith familiarity as it is, he doesn't assign much to it. (Even ''Z'ian'' isn't pretty enough for Xhaeon, kthx.) "Hey." It's in response to Z'ian: then a belated, "Sir," tacked on after. Z'ian's ... knot has grown since the last time. Vienne's responding, then, and he squints after the Harper-gone-rider. "Ma'am," is his reply, belated in the same manner as his previous 'sir'. The candidate makes a show of leaning back and considering Z'ian - for a long moment - before shaking his head. "Not quite. He's got some things I'd rather not enjoy, and lacking some things that I do, I would imagine. Unless you're hiding something under that shirt and," here he struggles to remain straight-faced, "--in your pants," beat, "Sir?"

Reconsider! Reconsider! Probably totally not going to happen with the candidate having joined their conversation. Z'ian remains a good sport about it though, once he's got that eyebrow smoothed out again and the easy expression firmly rooted into place again. He leans into Vienne's space and drops the straw back into her drink, smile hopelessly amused by this point. "I hope that I'm not. He's a little too butch for me, check out that jaw. I like to be the man in my relationships." For that struggle to remain straight-faced, the newly appointed wingleader aims to just destroy it. With all this not caring about personal space going on, it seems fitting that he'd lean so close to Xhaeon and tug down at the neckline on his shirt. "Did you want to check?"

It only takes that casual lean from Xhaeon for Vienne to know that all she's going to have to do here is sit back and enjoy the show. Which she does, setting her elbow on the bar again and lifting her glass to take a nice mouthful of what she has left. "Vienne," she offers for the candidate as she cracks a little piece of ice in her teeth; ma'am seems a bit formal for the setting and she ''has'' finished off most of her drink. "He might not be a particularly feminine sort," the bluerider supposes, eyeing Xhaeon's jaw with a lofty lift of her chin and a glint in her eye promising it's all in play. "But I don't know that means you couldn't still be the man." She gives the bronzerider a challenging little smile. Of course, then there's the obligatory offer that Z'ian makes to peer into his clothes and Vienne rolls her eyes. She also removes the replaced stick from her glass, leaving it on the counter.

Xhaeon plays along, because what else is he going to do? He makes a show of leaning into Z'ian, peering down the other's shirt. "Nope, doesn't do anything for me," stated baldly enough. "Sorry." He'll even aim a pat for Z'ian's far shoulder. "Now, her on the other hand..." Thankfully for all parties involved, he's talking about the barkeep who's just come on-staff, cleavage on quite glorious display - and not Vienne. She does come bustling over, and Xhaeon orders a klah with a nip of whiskey. It's only after that he realizes that they were talking about ''him''. "Wait, wait, you don't think I'm pretty?" That's to Vienne, since evidently particularly feminine = unpretty?

"Are you kidding me? He's bigger than me too. His neck is like a fucking herdbeast's. I don't think I want to take my chances with that. I've got some dignity. And a reputation." Which would apparently be destroyed by engaging in certain activities with the younger man. Regardless, it doesn't stop him from hanging in there and letting Xhaeon stare down his shirt. Patting his clothing back into place he shoots Vienne an uplifted eyebrow, "Thankfully I'm not his type." It's playful and he takes up his drink again, draining it down to the dregs. His eyes find their way back to the bluerider again, "Wow. I'm hidieous and now he's not pretty." The bronzerider shakes his head, mock disappointment in play.

Now Vienne might not exactly mind that her person has not been so lewdly objectified, but nor does she miss the fact that it's the barkeep's exposed bust and not her own sweatered one that is worthy of notice. And so when Xhaeone turns to her all concerned that he's been slighted, the bluerider snorts out a bright laugh and arches a brow at him. "Really?" But the truth is, she's not so bothered by his neglect that she'll hold it against him. "You're perfectly handsome. Were you hoping for pretty? Perhaps she can give you some pointers on stuffing your shirt." Just in case he doesn't get it, she flicks her eyes toward the walking boobs. "What reputation is that, exactly?" For Z'ian, her gaze lingers a moment longer on his face, some real consideration behind her lightly lobbed question, though it's interrupted so she can soothe the younger man with, "You neck is just fine." However it's with her attention the bronzerider's emptied glass that has her wetting her lips and she lifts her glance to his, smiling a private, knowing smile. "I must be a hard woman to please."

Xhaeon does look a little affronted. "Like a /herdbeast/? At least a runnerbeast has some kind of grace to it." At least Vienne thinks his neck is fine. He doesn't comment about what guys with big necks are known for, either, thank Faranth. "Maybe she likes women," he muses to Z'ian. Is he talking abotu the barkeep or th-- no wait, that's definitely about Vienne. "Stuffi..." His laughter is deep but clear(ly amused). Then he's distracted by the busty barkeep again (carry on).

The bronzerider is reaching into a pocket now and pulling out the marks to pay for his drink, he glances between younger man and bluerider with an amused expression. He glances at the bartender while they're at it as well, just for fun. Vienne's remarks gets a chuckle of laughter from him as he finishes the count, putting the extra away and playing with the ones in his hand. "Oh, wouldn't you like to know. I guess you'll just have to find out the next time I offer to show you how to play darts." Z'ian smiles teasingly as he pushes the glass across the bar. He's not up and out of his seat just yet, but it's apparent that's about to happen sometime soon. Her last comment has him arching an eyebrow at her, curious. "Yeah? Nothing wrong with a woman that's hard to please." Innuendo? Possibly? Probably. No really. The musing he receives from Xhaeon is met with a long look. He narrows his eyes and studies the candidate closely, "Do you get laid a lot? Just curious."

Maybe she likes women? Vienne flashes an innocent smile, glancing upward as if she doesn't know the answer to such things. But then, she's not overly distracted by the cleavage like some people are, so perhaps the answer isn't so mysterious. Besides, she's chewing her lip again as Z'ian goes about finally paying for his drink and sliding his glass away. "I think reputations are discussed more than displayed, aren't they? So really, you're suggesting I ask around." There's a faint shake of her head and her hand comes up to smooth her hair behind her ear. Something that's transpired is starting to make her look shy again, keeping her glance low for a few beats, until Mr Innuendo makes his reappearance; then Vienne lifts a look to him that says, with a wry smile and a skeptical eye, that she knows better. It segues nicely when he tosses his question at Xhaeon. "Are you sure you aren't hitting on him?" Of course, she does look to the candidate to see his answer.

"Fairly frequently, yes, sir. By women." Xhaeon's return to Z'ian is pretty straight-faced, that last part tacked on more for Vienne's sake than the bronzerider's. "I kind of think he fancies me, don't you think? It's a little strange." Sotto-voiced to Vienne, that is; and then his whiskey'd klah has arrived, and he pays the barkeep, salutes the two riders, and wanders towards a different corner of the Snowasis to wreck havok and sow chaos, because he's bacchanalian like that.

Z'ian lets the marks fall out of his hand onto the counter and he takes his time arranging them in size order. When the candidate answers his question, there's a slight snort of disbelief. "I find myself just a little skeptical. But then, I guess it takes all types." There's glance given towards the well stacked bartender that waits impatiently for him to stop playing with his money. Obligingly he slides it across the counter and leans back in his seat. There's little response given to the idea that he's hitting on Xhaeon, just an uplift of his eyebrows that he directs at Vienne. "I was kind of like that." There you go, a real life example of who he used to be ten turns ago. Or so. "I like to prove my reputation by example. But if you'd like to ask around to find out, you're more than welcome to do so."

Vienne's fingers come up, pinched together in response to Xhaeon's question, eyes narrrowed for his benefit. All of it says, 'little bit'. But she flashes the candidate a smile as he saunters off, one glance spared for his whole person now that it's not hidden behind the bronzerider. If she thinks anything of the view, she keeps it to herself. And her attention does turn back to Z'ian readily enough. He seems a bit quieter now and so while she continues to tease him, "Younger?" it's light and paired with a warm smile, just a touch sheepish. "I don't need to ask around," she tells him. "I think I've seen enough." And just in case that sounds like some sort of blow-off, her teeth catch her lip again and she admits, "You're not hideous."

"Much younger." Z'ian replies, mouth curving into a broad smile. He pushes his chair back from the bar finally, likely because he's done being a paying customer for now and he's taking up valuable real estate. His eyebrow arches as he finds the floor with his feet and regards her speculatively, "Have you now?" The bronzerider begins to lean his forearms into the back of the chair, prepared to take his time with leaving. But it's the sound of his name being called from the other side of the bar that gets his attention. "Hey! Z'ian! C'sar bet me money that I could drive a nail through his thumb and he wouldn't feel it, you have to check this out!" That person sounds like they're really, really drunk. And the new wingleader looks, quite possibly a little disturbed. He narrows his eyes again and exhales, but not before shooting Vienne an apologetic smile. "Well. That's a relief. Maybe next time?" She understands right? Nails. Thumbs. Money for pain. He pushes off of that chair with a sigh and disappears into the crowd to take care of whatever disaster is brewing.

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Logs:I'm Not Crazy

2013-02-25T07:04:40Z

Vienne:

{{ Log
| who = K'del, Vienne
| where = Galleries, High Reaches Weyr
| what = K'del angsts all over Vienne.
| when = Day 28, Month 1, Turn 31
| gamedate = 2013.02.24
| quote = "I'm just a little unwell."
| weather =
| categories = Divided Leadership
| mentions = Azaylia, Brieli, Taikrin
| ooc =
| icons = k'del ohno.jpg, vienne glance.jpg
| log = Hatching Galleries, High Reaches Weyr

----

Ringing the southwestern side of the hatching sands are ample tiers of carved stone benches, the lowest of which is some six feet off the ground -- just high enough to separate wayward hatchlings from unwary viewers, and vice versa. A metal railing on the outside helps prevent anyone from falling off; it also extends up the stairs that lead the way higher into the galleries. While most of the area is open seating, ropes section off some of the closer tiers when dignitaries are expected; those areas even feature cushions in the Weyr's blue and black.

The higher one climbs, the more apparent the immense scale of the entire cavern becomes. The dragon-sized entrance on the ground is dwarfed by the expansive golden sands that glitter in the light. Everything on them is easily visible from the galleries, whether that's a clutch of eggs and a broody queen, or simply its emptiness and the handful of darker tunnels that lead to more private areas than the bowl. Wherever one sits or looks, however, one thing is constant: the overwhelming, suffocating heat.

----

Vienne isn't generally the sort to hide way during lunch -- too likely to enjoy the people watching, the activity, the warmth, the proximity to all the food -- but today, as most of the Weyr is off gathering their meals, she's staked out a little corner at the back of the galleries, sitting with a bowl of soup and a mug of klah at her side. Both are still steaming, so she's probably only just settled in, which might explain why she's more interested in getting the spoon into her mouth than gazing at the eggs or something. She's hardly alone in the cavern, as there's always a few people with the same ideas about a secluded meal, but everyone is appropriately spaced for the illusion of solitude.

Given the way K'del scans the crowds, as he enters, and even deliberately glances down towards the sands, it's more likely that he's looking for someone than here to see the eggs, per se. Whoever it is he's after does not, however, seem to be in residence; after a few minutes of searching, he seems about to head for the exit, expression set into a hard line-- but then he catches sight of Vienne out of the corner of his eye, and pauses, glancing in her direction.

A new arrival is enough to make Vienne glance up from her soup, and, not expecting K'del to notice her, she watches him, the moments he spends scanning the occupants, looking for whomever it is that he wants to find. As such, when he glances her way, there's eye contact to be made. She might mean to smile, but given all the recent announcements, the press of her lips is a little too tight.

K'del's immediate reaction on seeing Vienne's expression is to turn his gaze away, rather as though he simply doesn't want to engage if that's how this is going to be. Certainly, he doesn't look to be in a terribly ''good'' mood - and who can blame him? A moment later, however, his shoulders square, and he begins climbing the steps towards her. His, "Eggs doing anything fascinating this afternoon?" intends to be conversational, but comes out rather flat.

There's little expectation in Vienne's eyes, so when the bronzerider looks ready to turn away, she lets her attention fall back to her soup, another spoonful, another swallow, one that she hurries to complete when she realizes that instead of leaving, K'del is coming her way. She lifts a knuckle to rub her lips, even though she's hardly a messy eater, and quirks a wan bit of a smile. "I saw one of them being round. It was amazing," is her dry quip for his dull delivery. "Do you want to sit?" She sound dubious, but also looks ready to set her meal aside.

K'del attempts - with only marginal success - to smile at her quip, though he doesn't have the wherewithall to actually respond to it verbally. One hand rests upon the railing that runs down the aisle towards the sand, while the other runs ruefully through his hair. "No, no, it's fine. I-- just wanted to say hi. You seem..." He's obviously struggling for the right descriptor, and instead, studies her expression, as though he can work it out from that alone.

He can study it, but Vienne's expression is uncertain, reluctant to press him to stay, though for his sake instead of her own. She watches the rub of his hand through his hair, the struggle he seems to be dealing with. It might all result in a vaguely awkward beat of silence. "I wouldn't mind the company," she mentions with a noncomittal shrug of one slim shoulder, just in case he's likewise reluctant to invade her quiet mealtime.

"Oh," he says. It's amazing how the events of recent days have changed him, and have changed the ease with which he interacts; he's closed himself off, somehow. And yet-- a moment later, he slides onto the bench not far from her, pressing his hands to his thighs, and staring out over the lower tiers of the galleries, and the sands beyond. "Was hoping Azaylia was around. Intended to see how--" Well. Does he need to finish that sentence? "But she's not here."

Perhaps it isn't so amazing to Vienne. She seems not to be surprised to find the formerly open and loquacious man now uncomfortable and reticent. She sets her soup aside, without any apparent concern over whether it will get cold for this delay, and slides her hands between the press of her knees. "I haven't seen her," she says with a sorry twist at her mouth, a faint shake of her head. Her glance skims out across the room as if the goldrider might have somehow escaped their notice, and when her eyes come back to K'del, they take in his posture, the shape of his shoulder, rather than his face. "Should I ask?" she wonders, catching her lip between her teeth.

Gently, "Do you need to?" K'del turns to glance at her again, now, letting the emotions flood across his face: he's a mess, that much is clear, different emotions - none of them positive ones - warring for supremacy. It looks as though he hasn't been sleeping. "Let's just say that I've had better sevens. Better Turns."

There's no shortage of sympathy in Vienne's quiet expression, but however all those emotions on K'del's face might move a person to look away and allow him some privacy, she meets his eye. "I'm sorry," she tells him softly, honestly. "I tried." And whether it's because she should know better than to think there was anything she could do, or whether it's just that the way things have turned out has baffled her, the little bluerider shakes her head and lets her glance fall back to her tight knees.

There's a long moment of hesitation from K'del, a moment in which he draws in a deep breath, meeting Vienne's gaze squarely until she glances away. "Yeah," he says. "I know." Did he? Does he? It probably doesn't even matter: the words are enough. "Going to keep fighting," he says. "Helping. It's not like everyone's just... accepting this, whatever Brieli says. A person can't just declare themself--" He breaks off, abruptly, suddenly staring intensely into the distance.

"I thought..." Vienne exhales, but instead of finishing, she shakes her head again, shoulders catching up in the motion to twist uncomfortably. But he continues on, makes his promises, and she turns to look at him again, her posture settling into something easier even as K'del's attention is so sharply pulled away. She lets him spend a moment in the distance, though one hand sneaks from between her knees to lay on the bench between them and his trouble etches concern into her brow. "Talk to me?"

K'del's hesitation is very nearly tangible, his eyes briefly sliding towards Vienne, past her hand, and then returning off to the remote distance. He's not looking at anything in particular. "There's things... there's something I could spread around that would hurt Brieli. Destabilise this... thing she's trying to do. But it would hurt more than just her. Hurt the ''Weyr''. Whatever I feel, I can't do that. Can't do a lot of things, seems like. Too many morals. Does that work against me? That I'm not ruthless like that? It's hard to know if I'm making the right decisions, sometimes. Greater good? How do you even tell?"

She can't seem to help the hand; it wants to comfort and can't, so she tucks it under the outside of her thigh where maybe it will manage to stay. But whatever her hand is doing, Vienne's focus is on the bronzerider and the way hesitation breaks into statements that in turn dissipate into questions. "I don't know what's right for anyone," she answers, somehow imbuing it with a sense that a person's morals are their own. "I don't think that ruthlessness always wins out, though. And I don't... I don't know what your goal is." She has questions, too, brimming behind the careful press of her lips.

"I want what's best for m-- ''the'' Weyr," says K'del, as though that statement is really a concrete answer to Vienne's last remark. "I don't think Taikrin and Brieli," he seems to struggle to actually say either name without spitting, "are that. Especially not like ''this''. But," he turns his head, giving Vienne a sad little smile. "I'm not either of them. Not underhanded. Not ruthless. Not going to slash and burn just to win. Because... whatever happens, High Reaches has to keep on going. High Reaches comes before ''my'' desires, and it damn well better come before theirs."

"I think every wants that, one way or another. I know that's hard to hear, that you don't believe it." And Vienne is not particularly pleased to be sharing this sentiment in present company, but she tries anyway. "I'm not saying that anyone's way is the right way, just that I think each person has their own idea of what is right, what is best. What's best for the Weyr as ''they'' see it." Her brow twists again, a quick, confused expression. "I really thought she might talk to you." But that's her own failed expectation, a murmured uncertainty for herself. For K'del, she has to ask, "What do you think is best?"

K'del's slow exhale stutters slightly at that mention - 'talk to you', she says - but recovers. He swallows. "It's not that I don't think they don't want that," he says. "It's that I don't trust them not to have other agendas. Wanting what's best doesn't mean, too, that you're ''capable'' of delivering, or seeing. Not saying I'm perfect, or even that I'm the best choice, necessarily. But I don't think ''this'' is. Not like this. Not... backroom deals, alliances, cutting people out. I won't be a part of that." He's not looking at her again: he's staring, straight ahead, very deliberately. "She did ask me. So maybe this is my fault. But I ''can't''. Not underhandedly. Not like that."

"I don't know what anyone is capable of delivering, even with the best intentions," Vienne agrees. "I'm sure there have been terrible leaders in easy times, who had no trouble at all, and great leaders, who faced disasters they couldn't avoid or solve. There are no gaurantees. But the Weyr has survived." There's nothing flippant in it. If they're diplomatic words, it doesn't seem that her apparent neutrality is affected, but rather a comfortable distance from the whole thing, as though, even now, the questions are philosophical ones rather than events that are actually happening. At least until, staring ahead rather than meeting her gaze, K'del confirms that certain conversations did take place. Then she blinks at him, needing a second to understand what he's said. "She asked you." Not just spoke with him, but asked him. "To be her Weyrleader? Why did you turn it down? What... was underhanded?" If he wants to think it's all his fault, that's up to him. There's no judgment from Vienne, just that persistent sense that surely she must be missing something.

Now he looks at her, and he seems as bewildered as she is. "What ''isn't'' underhanded about coming to someone and offering to make them Weyrleader, when you're not the only possible Weyrwoman, and the other Weyrwoman isn't being consulted? She doesn't get to just make herself Weyrwoman. No," his voice lowers, slightly, "maybe Azaylia's not ready, yet, but at least she has a heart." He sounds frustrated, but not, at least, irritated. "If they'd come to me together and said 'help us fix this', I'd've said yes in an instant. But Brieli just wanted to waltz in and take it, and use me to legitimise herself - and I won't do that." He stops, abruptly, burying his face in his hands. "I don't trust her motivations for offering it to me, Vienne. She's-- there's more to her than what's on the surface, what most people see."

It's clear, from the look on her face, that no matter what she might have known about the offer, there was certainly a lot about the situation she wasn't privy to and now Vienne's mouth opens like she might have something to say. Scratch that, like she might have plenty to say. There's that deep breath that wants to start a whole slew of things, only she thinks better of them and closes her mouth again to puzzle through his words for a moment longer. "You suggested that, talking with Azaylia, and she said no?" Only then K'del has his face in his hands and it turns out not to help at all that she tucked her own hand beneath her leg, because with a swift movement she's shifted down the bench to sit beside him, her hand on his knee like she means to anchor him against the tide of whatever is going on behind his fingers. He seems to need it, something, and it's really all the small bluerider has to offer. "I don't understand. I don't doubt you," so at least she would appear open to the notion that there's something hidden about the self-proclaimed Weyrwoman. "I just don't..." Except maybe she does know. He mentioned there were things he could tell people. Things she presumably has not heard.

"She basically said that anything she did would hurt Azaylia, so, to that end, it didn't matter. ''She'' was sucking it up, and I should too." K'del's words are muffled behind his hands, but even that muffling can't hide how bitter his words are. He pauses, then, sucking in a long, great breath, peering down at her hand through fingers that are drifting slightly further apart. One breath. Two breaths. A third. "You don't see it. No. Of course you don't. I end up looking paranoid and crazy, because..." finally, he draws his hands away, one of them reaching to squeeze Vienne's, gratefully, "Because no one else does." His voice is flat.

Between her silence and the fact that K'del isn't looking, it's impossible to tell what Vienne's reaction to that bitter explanation might be. And in the end, "It wasn't an alliance either of you were comfortable with." It could sound more 'it's all for the best' than it does, but at least it doesn't actually drift too far into 'oh well' territory. Plus, eventually, K'del has gotten a handle on breathing and when he puts his hand on hers, she tucks her fingers around his to squeeze back. "I don't think you're paranoid or crazy," she tells him seriously. "Otherwise I wouldn't have..." Done whatever she did to fascilitate that ill-fated offer. "What is it? What is it I'm not seeing?" She watches their hands, though, rather than his face, just to let him answer without her eyes on him.

"No," agrees K'del. "It wasn't. Didn't think she'd go to--" Taikrin, presumably, but he doesn't finish that thought. Vienne's asking that question, instead, and he, too, keeps his gaze lowered towards their hands - a safer mark than her face, or perhaps even the sands where, who knows, he might even see one of the hated two. "H'kon summed it up well. Brieli seems to think the Weyr owes her something. That's a bad start. But for me... she deliberately told me something to hurt me. Something that... went out of her way to do so, just to hurt me. It's personal, for her. Don't know ''why'', but there's hate there. There's something she's not telling, something that influences the way she deals with the Weyr, and I don't know what it is - but it ''frightens'' me."

It's probably lucky for both of them that there isn't really time for her to remark on what K'del was thinking. "I don't know her well," is all Vienne can say for Brieli's starting point, probably evidence that she hasn't encountered this sense of entitlement personally. She begs forgiveness for that lack with the brief press of her fingers. And as for why the goldrider might hate him, "I don't know either." Around then, she chances a glance at his face, trying not to be intrusive. "But you aren't alone, K'del. Whatever she said, whatever you're afraid of, you aren't alone." She takes a deep breath, still puzzling through all the things he's said, all the things she herself has seen. "So that's why you want to hurt her, because she hurt you." There's a little twitch at her mouth, the tug of a frown. "That's understandable." Maybe not laudible, but understandable.

K'del's surprise is abrupt, and immediately obvious. "Don't want to ''hurt'' her," he says, looking-- horrified? "I ''don't''. It's not that I think she ''can't'' do good things for the Weyr, or that she's incapable, or anything like that. It's not that I want her gone. It's just that I can't trust her." Any relief he had at the rest of what Vienne said is gone, now. He frees his hand from hers, but mostly, it seems so that he can run both of them through his curls, staring out into the distance as he works this all through in his head. "I'm not like that. I'm not ''her''."

Well, she didn't want him to be horrified! Vienne stares back at him with round, worried eyes, her hand curling limply around the empty space where his was. "I'm not saying that. It's just... you said something about... her and not wanting to hurt the Weyr and..." But she must have misunderstood that comment and now she can't recall it verbatim. Her chin ducks low and her lips disappear behind the press of her teeth. But nevermind that. The point is, as she flattens her hand on his knee, a press to shake him out of his latest grip of emotion. "I'm not saying you're the kind of person who hurts people." She withdraws her hand then, shaking her head as she looks away from whatever this mess is.

And there it is: a blush, and sudden, obvious, understanding. "Oh," he says, as much an exhale as it is an actual answer. "That." His voice has gone dull again, and very tired. "No, of course. You're right. Part of me ''wants'' to, of course, but... it's not going to happen. Sorry, Vienne. I--" He attempts a smile, though it's a half-hearted effort at best, even if he does manage to look at her squarely for it. He's wound a little tight, clearly. "Maybe I should-- get some air. Clearly, I'm no good for talking to Azaylia like this. Need to clear my head."

She looks back at him, a little more hesitant now, and this time for her own sake instead of his. "That's all I meant. You get to be human, K'del. You get to feel pain and anger. It doesn't make you a bad person." But she's looking at him now, and he's blushing and his words are coming out in uncertain chunks. Her shoulders slump with defeat to see him like this, wound so tight and miserable. "I didn't help at all," she sighs, looking down at her useless hands in her lap, flexing her fingers. "I just want to hug you and..." But she snorts at herself. "And make it better." And how dumb does that sound. She looks at him again, her smile weak for all the things she can't do. "Let someone help you."

"Doesn't it?" K'del seems unsure, as though one experience after another has taught him that he ''doesn't'' get that privilege, not without being reviled for it. His shoulders slump, following hers down, but this time he reaches out to try and grab her hand, and squeeze it: his turn. "No," he says. "You did help. Some. Maybe I'm just not ready to be helped. I don't know ''how''. But you listened, and you didn't judge, and once again, you gave me stuff to think about. I'm just-- kind of broken, still. Just a little unwell. I'm glad you're here." Beat. "And I ''never'' turn down a good hug."

Vienne is unconvinced, by his assertion that feelings make him a bad man and by the claim that she's been of any use here. But she does smile, if rather shyly, when he takes her fingers again. She keeps her eyes down, on their hand, until, well, until he gives the greenlight, and then she twists to catch him suddenly in a tight hug from her skinny arms. It's not a half-hearted, hey-good-to-see-you hug. Her embrace is tight and honest, even if there isn't much meat to her, and it lingers long enough for her to murmur to him. "I haven't met anyone who isn't a little broken. Don't judge yourself too harshly for it."

If there's any surprise from K'del in the timing and intensity of that hug, it's not obvious: he returns it wholeheartedly, squeezing his silent thanks as he breathes in. Maybe it will seem like he's breathing ''her'' in, as though that's part of the comfort he's taking (and he does seem to be taking comfort: when they withdraw, he seems at least ''slightly'' more at ease). "I'll try," he promises, rueful, but apparently honest. "Truly-- ''thank you'', Vienne. Thank you."

The hug seems to help her, perhaps more than him. With an exhale Vienne can release some of the tension from her shoulders, and as she withdraws, she lifts a hand to his cheek, light fingers laid there for only a moment as she smiles at him, warm, encouraging and maybe just a bit sly for that rueful promise he's made. "There's a good boy," she teases before she recedes back into herself and her hands are stowed safely between her knees again. "You know where to find me if you..." She trails off there and doesn't bother to finish. Nor does she wish him luck or tell him she hopes he feels better. Because she's not stupid. She just gives him a hopefully bolstering kind of smile. Maybe he can feel ''slightly'' more at ease for a few more seconds before it all comes crashing in on him again.

It's probably a good sign that K'del can stick his tongue out in reply to her tease, and, when he puts it away again, smile genuinely, if tiredly, at the bluerider. "Yeah," he says. "I do. And I will. If I need you. Thanks, Vienne." He gives her a nod, then rises up from his seat, takes a deep breath, and begins the trek down towards the exit.

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Logs:Some Perspectives

2013-02-24T18:00:59Z

Vienne:

{{ Log
| who = Jo, Vienne
| where = Vienne's weyr, High Reaches Weyr
| what = After Greenfields, Jo stops by to check out Vienne's commissioned leathers. They also catch up some since turnover.
| when = Day 22, Month 1, Turn 31
| gamedate = 2013.02.23
| quote = "I guess I just felt caught up in it. Invested in what was happening, what could happen. And there's no need for that. It doesn't help me."
| weather =
| categories = Divided Leadership
| mentions = Brieli, Taikrin
| ooc =
| icons = jo civillized.jpg, vienne arms.png
| log = Dragon> There's a buzzing that shortly turns out to be Oswinth, a little reluctant to intrude. << We went. >> To Ertrand's wagon, a blip of visualization just to explain. It's past tense; they're home now. << She'd like yours to come. >> (Oswinth to Tacuseth)

Dragon> To Oswinth, Tacuseth's own is like a burning sensation - the rumble of falling rocks, though, muted. He's amused, but he always is. It's just this - the feeling - for a long moment, without words before the sudden blare of his deep voice is felt. << We are done. I'll get her there. >> Done with what, he doesn't say.

On this snowy evening, Oswinth is a little less coiled up in a miserable cold-hating ball at the back of his couch, and rather he seems to be hanging out, almost on his ledge, watching the activity of the bowl and awaiting the expected visitors like a shy sentinal. Inside, Vienne has the fire blazing, perhaps wastefully built, and the tiny weyr is, as it would be, uncomfortably warm. It's just as it was last time, basically empty, and Vienne herself is padding around in socks, a pale pink sweater and, most importantly, some new suede pants in dove gray.

The proud nicked and scratched blue is flashy in his sudden landing, his rumbled greeting being more of an announcement in its sound once he lands. Jo’s down his side in an instant and busies herself straightening out her leathers before she clicks her tongue at Oswinth in her own greeting and heads into the very warm inner weyr, already in the process of unfastening her jacket to peel off in response to that. Her sauntering gait takes her just within the inner sanctum as the jacket comes off, a fresh darkening bruise revealed on her left shoulder that causes her wince just a bit from the exertion. Still, her gaze falls on Vienne from behind and she’s totally checking out those pants. “I see Ertrand hooked ya up real nice,” is her greeting, tossing that jacket into a chair and letting her hands fall to her hips as she nods. “Told’ja he’s the real deal.”

Oswinth just has a silent tuck of his head for both the arrivals, a distance kept from Tacuseth as if the size of the other blue's personality is enough to make him wary. Vienne has a nervousness about her too, when she turns to face Jo, but it's the excited kind. Her smile is wide and a little breathless, and it looks like she's had some sun recently, with a touch of fresh color in her cheeks. Better sun that High Reaches can offer. She twists in place to show off the new trousers, fully aware that Jo's already been checking them out. "What do you think? Are they right?" But that's all she can get out before that purpling bruise steals all the attention from her pants. "Oh, Jo," she breathes, eyes suddenly round and full of questions.

With Oswinth being so shy, Tacuseth is the friendly enough sort to try and engage him in some kind of weird image game while Jo takes in the sun she can see in Vienne’s cheeks. Always the observer, “Ya been out and about,” she comments now moving towards Vienne’s table to lean up against it. “And ya look ''amazing in those''. I knew he’d do ya right.” She shakes out her slightly damp hair and would continue to extol Ertrand’s abilities until the other spots the bruise on her shoulder. She hitches it up to glance down at it with a frown, then tests it by rolling it a bit with a grimace. She presses her lips together and lifts one hand to show her knuckles, a clear sign she’s recently been in a fight before she remarks, “It’ll be alright. I just got in so I haven’t been to my kit to clean up.” Was that small flecks of blood on her tank? Maybe. “Just a little tussle to clear the head,” is her excuse, perhaps, the Glacier rider lifting fingers to tap at her head. “It’s not as bad as it looks, darlin’.” All bravado, as usual.

Weird games that involve little talking are right up Oswinth's alley, though the concerted effort to draw him out does continue to keep him uncertain. With some of the wind from Vienne's sails, there is a only wry smile for the compliment to her pants, proud even if she's shy about it. But the bruise, the knuckles, "You've been fighting," she remarks, just before Jo can comfirm it was only 'a little tussle'. "Is this when you say I should see the other guy?" she quips, even if there's still a bit of concern in her eye. "You should put some snow on your shoulder." She sinks down to sit on her trunk, her hands skimming over her hips, probably just to feel the fresh suede. She leaves the chair for Jo if she wants it. "Can I offer you anything? Water, tea?" It's probably no surprise there's nothing stronger on that list.

With Tacuseth more than willing to engage in a few wordless games, “Ya should get some more made, different styles. Ya know,” Jo suggests, moving to claim up that chair on wordless offer. She seems right at home with injuries though, so when she confirms Vienne’s words, it with a jaunty “Ya should definitely see the other ones. One of them got right under my block, but I got him back. Just needs some snow,” she agrees with the assessment with a nod. “And some salve I’ve got in my weyr. Like that yer all worried about me, though,” she just can’t help to tease. It’s her nature to. The offer of drink gets one of her wry smiles, the woman answering that with, “Gonna need somethin’ stronger than that. I’m good. Tell me how ya been doin’, Vi. Looks like ya got a nice tan goin’ on.” She’s certainly noticed.

"It doesn't seem like I need to be." Worried. Vienne's smirk is slow and lingering for Jo's tale of blocks and jabs, things of which she knows very little. She tucks her concern away, since her fighter-friend is so casual about the whole event, and when there's a request for something stronger than water, she gets up from her seat, hands feeling her knees this time, to turn and open the trunk. "I've been..." It sounds a little troubled, but she doesn't continue with it. "I'm good. Oswinth and I got away yesterday." And for that her smile is pleased and private. "I'm lucky I didn't burn." Though really, with the heat in this weyr, it's hard to tell if the rosiness in her cheeks is from yesterday's sun or tonight's overbuilt fire. She pulls half a bottle of something brown from her trunk and closes the lid gently. However, that bottle is not just handed over wholesale. She moves away toward the hearth, where a few glasses are kept on the mantle and she can fill one half way. When drinking at Vienne's, one does so with dignity and restraint.

“But I like it all the same,” Jo is easy to counter the first, her smile winsome as she intently watches Vienne get up and move to open her trunk. She’s silent as the other explains their recent travels, legs crossed with the cavalier way of someone with some sort of authority – even though she has none in the Weyr. It’s just the mark of her confidence, however, and the crooked smile she sends is amused as she says, “Shit, and ya didn’ invite ''me''? I could use another day in the sun! Tac could use it with his joint, there. Sounds like it was a day needed, hm?” A slight prompt, her chin dropping down to pin a look on the slight woman for that brief tone of trouble she detects before that. All the while, she watches her movements as that bottle is revealed along with glasses.

Vienne doesn't doubt that Jo enjoys the attention, or so says that knowing smile she slips over her shoulder, the flirtatious curl at the corner of her mouth for the woman who has so casually claimed a throne in the midst of her weyr. And meanwhile, not only does she pour only half a glass, but when she returns, the bottle is tucked away into the trunk again, refills tacitly denied. "We'll go sometime, then," she promises as she stands by Jo's knee and hands the glass over. One sip will prove it's not the cheap stuff. "We needed some time together, some sun, some perspective. I feel like I can't be with him as much here. It's so cold out there, I can't sit with him like I used to."

Jo appears distinctly amused when Vienne puts that bottle away, but she answers on the idea of them going out for sun with a brisk, “We will.” Certain, but then, she’s usually so certain about everything. Dark eyes track the slight woman as she approaches her, legs uncrossing as she leans forward and takes up that offered glass. Briefly raising it in a toast to her, “Perspective?” she prompts on that one before taking a drink, and find it’s of good quality, she’s quick to add, “Good stuff. Ya been holdin’ out on me, darlin’.” A tease, more or less, and since she’s rather robust with her drinking, the rest of the contents in the glass gets downed in one more shot. She hands the empty glass back with an amiable, “Thanks. Needed that.” Pause. “Ya spend a lot of time with him, doncha?” she says now, looking towards the ledge where the two blues are. “Oswinth.” Not uncommon at all, but, it’s clear the convict rider is studying her host tonight.

The look Jo receives for her amusement is rather like a warm, understated remonstrance, shown in Vienne's slow blink and that thoroughly-aware smile. Yes, you'll just have to restrain yourself, you hard-drinking wild woman. There's little reason for her to keep standing there, but the little bluerider does anyway, a few awkward beats made a little less so by the way she eyes that bruise as Jo leans forward. After her teeth start to work at her lip, Vienne sinks back onto the trunk, knees together and hands tucked neatly between them. "I think I've been feeling... weighed down by things, the leadership." There's something sweetly self-effacing in her smile, such a silly girl to be troubled like that. And then, with discussion turned to Oswinth, she glances over her shoulder toward the ledge, even though there's nothing to see of him from here. "I suppose. I don't know that we're any more connected than any other pair." She brings her grin back to Jo, private and shy again. "But it's nice to have time that's just for us, without all the interruptions of day to day life. Maybe that's strange. Do you and Tacuseth..." She lets the question trail off nebulously.

Restrain herself, Jo does, for now. She has the look of one that can do anything on her face, with little ease. While she’s well aware that Vienne still happens to be standing there in her personal space, the only restraint seen from the wily bluerider is those long fingers curling into the armrests of that chair. Watching her move to sit, “And what about it all weighs ya?” she asks on leadership when it’s voiced with a dash of interest, leaning back into the softness of the chair once more. On the matter of rider and dragon, eyeing that shy smile with a casual one of her own. “So yer man and ya spend time, gabbin’ over the sleekest greens, or the cutest asses?” she drawls back in tease, before putting in, “No, it’s not strange. Many get along with their dragons. Tac and me….” she pauses, her gaze taking on the gaze one gets when communicating with said dragon briefly, “…well, we ain’ like ‘’that’’, but we’re close. When we’re out, we get our time. It’s not much, but it’s been enough for us and how we are.”

It's the dragons that Vienne responds to first, attentive eyes watching the way her companion settles back in that chair. Her own posture remains upright, rounded faintly by the demure hiding of her hands. "It sounds right for you," she grins, a faint laugh following because, well, of course it sounds right. "But that's their way, isn't it." She draws in a deeper breath, a sigh that is more about the filling of her chest and drop of deflation afterwards. "I think he was having trouble with the weather, too. We were both just... It was good to get away." And so, perhaps she's a little reluctant to undo all the good of her holiday by dissecting the leadership woes. Her mouth pinches small. "I guess I just felt caught up in it. Invested in what was happening, what could happen. And there's no need for that. It doesn't help me." Her teeth find her lip there, and her brows lift, asking a vague question as a prelude to a more direct one. "How are you with all of it?"

Giving a shrug on her relationship with her blue, “He’s not one that asks for much,” Jo relates, eyes briefly going on the direction of the ledge. “He enjoys chasin’ greens, submergin’ himself in water and diggin’ into my head to get past any blocks I put up. Not really in that order.” All smiles, the woman could be joking. She then turns to the pressing matter of the leadership, there’s an underlying non-chalance there in the way she arranges herself in that chair, asking, “What do ''you'' want to happen?” And then, to her more direct question, there’s a lingering silence before she says, “Ya know, my mind’s been as easy as day since I’ve thrown in my lot.” It’s likely not needed to be said on who she was betting on if Vienne didn’t know. “I always believed the right sort of folks will take up and be what’s needed for this place. It’s just gettin’ past all this interference and keepin’ the masses calm. And, every now and then, I do what I can to help things along. Give my duty to the Weyr where it’s needed.” She sounds ''so'' dedicated to the interests of the Weyr, too.

She cocks a brow for Jo's account of Tacuseth's favorite pastimes. "Like dragon like rider?" The part about digging around seems particularly appropriate when Jo goes asking such a direct question, and a new one as far as Vienne is concerned. "Very little," she claims with a smile. "But I think the longer a resolution is delayed, the harder it will be to find one and the more time there is for loyalties to fracture and become confused." And ultimately, with a shake of her head: "I don't know who the 'right sort of folks' are. One way or another, the Weyr will probably be just fine." So while Jo sounds questionably dedicated to the Weyr's best interest, Vienne sounds like's embracing her distance from the whole circus. Except... there is a little furrow on her brow. "How do you think your lot will fair if all of this goes before the council?"

There’s short laughter at the first, Jo hard-pressed to deny her words. On the topic of resolutions and the right sort of folks, “Taikrin’ll get the winds flowin’ right,” is her opinion, casually given. “Tough girl like her, she’s gonna prove them all wrong. And, she’s got me.” There’s a pause to that question though before the bluerider answers with a blithe, “Don’ matter. Those four ain’ gonna take defeat sittin’ down. I know Taikrin won’. I know Brieli won’.” She seems fairly confident about that, but that’s how she usually is with everything. “Anyway,” she moves on, “it all ain’ nothin’ to get yer panties in a twist over,” in a drawl, her lopsided smile one of teasing intent. “The cards are dealt, and they’ll fall where they may. Just don’ be surprised if either of those four got an ace up their sleeve, just waitin’. Tell me about where ya went to sunbathe. Was it back in Igen? Right after turnover?”

There's little reason to believe that Vienne is convinced by Jo's glowing faith in her wingleader, more that it's that faith itself that makes her smile. "Yes, she's got you," she says in warm agreement. But it really seems just as well when Jo is content to move on and there's a little rub of the small bluerider's hands and knees together, just to release the energy. "No, I don't generally go back to Igen," she admits with a deep breath. "It was just yesterday. There's a little beach we like to visit. It's not really near anything." A slim shoulder rises and falls, but then she tips her head, which loosens a pieces of hair she had to unpin her hands in order to slip behind her ear again. "After turnover?" she wonders, not quite understanding where such a guess would come from.

“To help her clean up,” Jo clarifies on how Taikrin’s got her, perhaps trying to make herself appear all the more important in the scheme of things. Yeah, right. Moving on, “So, ya don’ go back to visit yer folks or anythin’?” she asks on Igen with a little frown. “Huh. Ya know what area this beach is at? Ista? Boll? Further south? Tac and I like to go visitin’ around,” she explains away her nosiness with a quick smile. “I like to draw places, too. New places. Maybe it’s a place we haven’ been to yet.” Eyes fall on that hair, following those fingers smoothing it back before the bemusement has her meeting that gaze. “I haven’ see ya since turnover, dressed as ya were,” she says in clarification, wry. “Was pinpointin’ when ya gone there, more or less.”

Back to Igen? Vienne shakes her head, smile almost apologetic, since her guest wears that frown. "I should, at some point. But I'm not ready." But her smile spreads wider, more sly. "Its our place. You'll have to find your own bit of beach somewhere. Some other new bit of the world to draw. Or we'll find a new beach together when we go." There, that should soften the refusal to give up any more details on her secluded getaway location. Vienne has a light chuckle for the whole thing, even if it's mostly silent, and though that bit of hair has been neatly stowed behind her ear, her fingers still toy with the curl at the end. The combination of that smile, the toying fingers and the drop her lashes makes it quite coy when she says, "Did you like that?" of her turnover costume. "I've been here, mostly. I guess you've been busy."

Looking a bit sympathetic to that first as she nods a few times, “Hate yer folks, too, huh?” Jo seems to take it as that with a knowing look. “Well, I haven’ been back home at all myself, so, ya don’ need to explain it.” Because it ''must'' be for that reason besides the harper bit. To that sly smile and in finding her own beach, there’s easy laughter, her smile infectious as she flaps one hand the slight woman and says, “But how do ya know I haven’ been there already, hmm? Fine, fine. Ya harper types don’ like to give up much of anythin’, huh?” Which she seems to find amusing all the same, as if she can’t take anything seriously. She moves from that towards the turnover party that she was late to, that coy question getting a wry, “I did. Truly in disguise. Made me wonder what was underneathe.” So much for her own disguise. “And yeah, I’m always busy. Things hardly calm on my end, but that’s the way of it. Ya know if ya have need of me, ever, ya can call on Tac. Right?” she suddenly puts out there, sounding sincere. “Even if I’m not in the Weyr. I’ll come around.”

Vienne seems like she might just go on being even more reticent than usual until Jo goes flapping a hand at her, and then an indulgent laugh breaks free; it would appear that smile really is infectious. "I don't hate them. It's just easier to be me when I'm away from them, if that make any sense. And then when I see them, it just reminds me how much they're hurt that I stay away, so... That doesn't make it any easier, either." She shakes her head again, not feeling like she's explaining any of that properly. "You've mentioned your father a few times." It's not exactly a question, but it's too simple a statement not to invite comment. And meanwhile, when Jo gets to her suggestive remark about what lay beneath that turnover costume, Vienne puts a hand to her nose to hide the chuckle that might just be laughing at how corny the line sounds. It means that Jo's sudden sincerity comes as something of a shock, leaving Vienne to halt in the midst of everything, humor draining slowly as she blinks. "What do you mean?"

“No, it doesn’t,” Jo agrees on what’s first said not making any sense, but she’s laughing all the same. “My father,” she echoes that one, some of that humor draining away. “Takes his job too seriously.” Yeah, she better not closely look at the line she just uttered, but the convict rider seems to realize that herself by the slight frown that quirks out. It’s just as well she doesn’t follow her crass yet corny remark with another one that would probably be worse, when Vienne’s humor drains and puts her on alert. Staring at her a few moments, “Just….ya know,” she says, looking a bit taken back. “Ya said I ain’ around all that much, and well, that don’ mean I’m not accessible or anythin’. If ya need someone to…talk to, or braid yer hair, or somethin’ girls do.” Something she clearly doesn’t do, but the offer still stands. “If ya want. Just puttin’ it out there, in case ya didn’ know. I may not come right away, but I’ll come. That’s all I’m sayin’.”

She could be tempted to press for a little more, about Jo's father, about his job, about the way it changes Jo's expression, but it's that last that keeps Vienne from asking more. Instead, her own unsettled touch of alarm calmed with an easy exhale and a voice turned quiet and thoughtful, she wonders, "Do you? Ever? Need someone to talk to? To braid your hair?" It might crack a smile, but it doesn't change the softness of her expression, nor still the way her eyes move carefully over the other bluerider's face, then down to the bruise and back again. But then her gaze drops and her head shakes, both hands snuggly held between her knees once more, everything turned inward without explanation.

Does she? That gets a long pause from Jo, the convict rider just staring at Vienne as she must be thinking about an answer. Then, with a light snort, “I always find talkin’ about other things – other people – easier than talkin’ about myself,” she chooses to say, the woman appearing honest about it. “The things I can say….the things I can’t say…” and she lets that linger, perhaps indicating her complicated life or so. “Sometimes, I wanna work some shit out in my head. Sometimes I just wanna yell at someone about shit and have them say nothin’ at all. By the time I come to the decision to talk, the moment’s already passed and I’m don’ wanna talk anymore.” If her words are complicated, perhaps it’s meant to be so since she goes on to say, “And anyway, I don’ have enough hair to braid well.”

There's a good long moment of silence when Jo is finished. It doesn't stretch into awkwardness, but it gives just enough of a beat to be off-putting. Perhaps that will something when Vienne replies, "Me too." To all of it, it sounds like. She swallows a little, elbow bending and shoulders rounding, leaving her just a little bit smaller. "That's when I go somewhere with Oswinth. And he helps me break it into pieces, put them where they need to be. For the most part. I'm trying to hold onto it. It feels... tenuous." And it's at about the time where she realizes her eyes might ask for help that she drops her gaze again to hide it away.

When Vienne seems to agree – to understand her – Jo nods to that in companionable silence. It’s in the silence that the other speaks, equally as complicated, though the convict rider seems to have the look of someone who gets it anyway. She stays silent to them all, watching Vienne as she hides her eyes from her and whatever she could have found there, is not to be seen. Shaking her head, “Sometimes drawin’ blood helps with that,” is her offer, a hand lifting to gingerly touch at her bruised shoulder. “Well I mean, knockin’ some heads together. It’s a pretty messed up way to deal with things, but, it’s always somethin’ I fell back on to clear the head when me and Tac can’.” There’s a moment of silence to that before she’s suddenly up, reaching for her draped jacket as she returns to her teasing self and says, “Guess that’s enough disturbia for one night, eh? I should go….get this shoulder taken care of.”

Drawing blood. That's definitely something Vienne has plenty of experience with. It almost allows her look wry when she peeks up at Jo again, thankfully while the other bluerider is busy considering her shoulder. And when she reaches for the jacket, Vienne sits up a little straighter, offers, with the reach of her hand, to take back the glass. "Yeah," she agrees. "You should." Effortlessly, her smile is wide and friendly again, eyes brightening just a second later when they fall on the bruise, so that it doesn't seem like she's really saying Jo should 'leave', just that she should go tend her injury. "Thank you, again, for Ertrand's name. I'm glad you approve of how it turned out." She ducks her chin a little, some very vague nod to her own trousers, which she's feeling again with a quick run of her palm over her thigh before she stands to see Jo out.

Slinging that jacket back on carefully, “Like I said, if ya need anythin’,” Jo gives to her giving out Ertrand’s name, apparently being a treasure trove of useful contacts – or so she wants believed, maybe. She gives those pants an approving nod once more and then she’s heading out, wiggling some fingers Vienne’s way as she returns to her blue and prepares the quick ride home.

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Logs:Subtle Searching

2013-02-21T17:45:17Z

Vienne: Created page with "{{ Log | who = Linae, Vienne | where = Tillek Hold | what = Vienne hints that Linae can come back to High Reaches to stand. Linae hints that she'll accept that. | when = Day 1..."

{{ Log
| who = Linae, Vienne
| where = Tillek Hold
| what = Vienne hints that Linae can come back to High Reaches to stand. Linae hints that she'll accept that.
| when = Day 17, Month 1, Turn 31
| gamedate = 2013.02.20
| quote = Not the best sales pitch
| weather = Drizzle
| categories =
| mentions =
| ooc =
| icons = vienne lights.jpg
| log = It's not a pouring rain that fills the air here at Tillek Hold, but rather a pervasive drizzle, too thick to be mist but not distinct enough to be a shower. Everything is wet and the gray sky feels close overhead, like reaching a hand up could just about touch the low hanging clouds. But that isn't the case and when a blue dragon appears in the sky, he offers some perspective, putting the sky up high again where it belongs. The blue wings down in a wide arc, landing hard outside the main doors. The little woman who climbs down from his back looks barely dressed for this kind of weather -- no resistant slicker, just a tan wool coat -- and so the misty air is already darkening her jacket and making her hair hang limp and wet. She has a bundle under her arm; at least its contents are better protected from the dampness than the rest of her.

A pervasive drizzle at Tillek. This just in from the Department of Redundancy Department. Long-term inhabitants seem little fazed by the nuisance weather, except to huddle a little more beneath the overhanging front patio while they do things like stand guard-duty. The young man, with his smart Tillekian-blue jacket buttoned up and his broad shoulders and his closely cut crop of hair, looks the part of a guard well, albeit a guard with too little to do today. Few come and go on a day like this, and he's not called to attend the door much until that blue arrives, causing him to straighten up from where he'd been slouching and sharing a wineskin with the young woman next to him. /She/ doesn't look like a guard, and she definitely doesn't respond like one to the arrival. He's quick to call out a cheerfully brisk greeting. "Afternoon, dragonrider, Tillek's duties to the Weyr." She looks on in curious silence for now.

The bluerider wipes the cuff of her jacket across her brow, trying to keep some of the water from her eyes, a behavior that strikes her as strange since there isn't actually that much rain in the air. She casts her eyes upward to question just what is going on with this weather. Anyway! Vienne is not going to waste too much time in conversation with the sky. Her pace is quick and clipped, heeled boots sounding across the stone as she approaches the guard with a smile on her face, easy and friendly. "Thank you. Good afternoon. I'm looking for Master Analke." She shifts the package forward a little, plenty of explanation there. Meanwhile, still waiting where he's landed, Oswinth inhales a bit of water and the resulting tickle has him snorting repeatedly to clear it.

The tell is in the overly helpfulness of the young man, the way he hastens to get right to the bottom of whatever this dragonrider needs, definitely not like he's been slacking around all afternoon and doesn't want to get caught. "Sure thing, ma'am, I'd be happy to go get him for you. Master Analke, hummm." He peeps hopefully toward Vienne, hemming without being totally firm about this getting right to it plan of his. "He's a... fishermaster?" The guard even shoots a look toward the sneezingsnorting dragon as if there may linger a clue in that direction, but no. The girl is just waiting to see how it all turns out, looking on placidly. And a /smidge/ amusedly at how the boy flounders.

Vienne watches that display, the way the young man is so very attentive. She smiles up at him rather indulgently. "Harper," the bluerider corrects easily. "I haven't met... Actually, I don't know if it's him or her. I'm just doing a favor." She admits it with a light laugh, a crinkle of her nose, all meant to put the guard at ease; she's not going to report him for slacking off. However, Vienne does have a side glance at the girl beside him, catching that hint of amusement about her and returning it with a conspiring glint of her eye.

Some gestures are universal, and the shrug from the girl is one of them: beats me. Troubled but trying so hard not to show it, the guard nods distractedly, then more firmly, then draws himself up like only a man on a mission can do. "I'll find Master Anaky-" "Analke," the girl corrects benignly. "Analke for you!" He marches stoutly into the Hold, turning his back on the two women and the weather both. "You might want to wait inside," Linae submits once the sound of his footsteps has faded, letting that subdued amusement show in the tone of her voice and the breath of laughter on the end of her words.

Vienne might have had something to say to the guard, like 'here, take this with you' but she doesn't have much of a chance to do anything other than open her mouth and close it again. With the trickle of water from her hair, the violent little shiver that runs through her is just emphasis for her gratitude when the girl invites her to step inside. "Thank you," she sighs with relief, brow twisted pitifully as she starts in. There's a backward glance for Oswinth, who seems to have sorted himself out and is now staring toward the entrance like he would rather prefer there was somewhere dry for ''him'' to wait, too. Vienne adjusts the bundle beneath her arm, apparently content to stand just within the doorway while she waits. "Do you think he'll be long?"

Linae's nod starts off slowly but gains momentum before the end, so she's really nodding pretty firmly by the end, not unlike the way her friend just sorted himself out a moment ago. "Finding Master Anaky," she smirks, "might take him a while. I hope it's not perishable?" She pulls one hand out of the fold she's had her arms in the whole time, pointing a finger at the bundle that Vienne is protecting. "Or alive." For a few seconds, she watches it more intently in case it moves.

Yeah, finding Master 'Anaky', that gets Vienne to laugh brightly, her head dropping forward as it shakes side to side, a bit of melodramatic 'woe is me'. "No, I don't think it is," she says, eyes rolling upward to wonder as she gives the bundle a gentle squeeze under her elbow. Eventually all the play-acting falls by the wayside and she just smiles at the girl. "I think it's just strings and reeds and such. Some scrolls maybe. I didn't look. Though now I'm wondering if I should have..." She has another chuckle that fades as the joke does. "Are you a guard too?" Her glance flicks over the dark haired stranger who does not look anything like a guard. Vienne's light skepticism is probably understandable.

After a little laugh and a few more seconds of eyeballing the mystery package, Linae inhales around the change of subject and exhales with her answer, "Uh uh." Her grin hangs on for a few beats, long enough for her to remark, "Tillek would have to be in bad shape to scrape that far down in the barrel." Her arm lifts into a showy posture of flexing non-existent muscles before she refolds them the way they were before she pointed to Vienne's bundle, easing resolutely back into a lean against the doorway. "Bad day to be a messenger," she concludes, looking out at the bleak weather while, somewhere inside, a guard keeps nervously asking if anyone knows where Master Analke/Anaky/Annie/Anka is.

Vienne has a knowing grin for that display of awesomely useless girl arms. "I have a pair of those," she says, eyes narrowed and lips pursed as she gives a definitive nod. Her own elbow swings out, not the one with the package, referencing her own skinny arms. At least Linae has a few inches on her, even with Vienne in heels. As the girl settles back against the doorway, the bluerider shifts her wait, attention draw outdoors after Linae's, though her own eyes seek out the waiting dragon and his dour body language. "He misses Igen," she sighs. It is, in it's own way, a comment on the weather. Oswinth is still looking this way, and he also unfurls his wings to give them a wave, as if he can chase the drizzle away. "So what do you do?" the rider asks, sweeping damp hair from her forehead. Might as well get to know each other while they wait.

"Can you blame him?" The sun struggles to shoulder through the clouds, but that only makes things worse, throws the grayness of the day into sharp relief against a few shafts of sunlight that quickly get smothered once more. Linae shivers; it's gotten no colder in the last few seconds and no wind has come up, but it seems appropriate to do so right then, her arms tightening around her trunk. "I'm just goin' somewhere, waiting around for the right ship. You're from Igen?" She blends one thought right into the other, where she's going and where Vienne's coming from. "Long way from home, huh?"

With eyebrows high, Vienne can only draw in a breath and turn her head a bit in regard to blaming Oswinth for his preference. It's a neutral reaction with only a little leaning toward the 'no' side of the spectrum. The blue, meanwhile, lifts his head hopefully for that cruel hint of sun, and his attention stays up in the air even after there's only gray clouds to look at. "Me? Not really." From Igen. "Him, yes." The bluerider grins a bit for the way she answers those questions. "Do you want to go to the Weyr?" she wonders of the girl. "High Reaches, I mean. That's where we're from now. Though..." She pinches her mouth and glances aside, then back. "I suppose I could take you anywhere. If you wanted. After." After the package is delivered. She gives it another squeeze to make that clear.

Breathless reverence when Linae confesses, "I've never been to Igen." She sighs wistfully, thoughts of places warm and dry and sunny dancing like dust-devils through her head, and just as abruptly spinning into grit and nothingness when she laughs a small laugh. "To High Reaches Weyr? It's a lot like here but without the ships, huh?" She sticks her hand out from under the entryway to the drizzly rain, turning her fingers over till her hand is nice and cold and damp, then she drags it back in. "After, heh. Do you want me to go look for him? Maybe he got embarrassed and isn't coming back at all."

"Well..." Vienne starts, but her breath catches sharply as she looks outside. "It's not unlike here," she has to admit with a grimace. "More snow." But she can spin that! "Really, though, I've been learning that the snow is better. You can brush it off. It doesn't seep into everything and it doesn't give you that damp chill the way rain does. Plus it's really pretty." Though she realizes after saying this that it's unlikely Linae doesn't know these things about snow, so she covers up that lapse with: "We didn't get a lot at Igen. Not piles of it." Her smile is still a little apologetic when Linae makes her offer and Vienne is quick to pause. "Oh. If you want to? I'm not in a big hurry." She's not sending the girl off, either. However, Oswinth chooses this moment to let out a loud huff in the yard. He's not looking this way, but it still has the vague sound that he's in disagreement about there being no hurry. It's probably just the timing of it, though.

"Not the best sales pitch," Linae answers about there being more snow, looking at the wet track her fingers leave on her shirt while she wipes the cold rain off her hands and onto her clothes. As good excuse as any to go inside and out of the weather, she must mean to follow up on her offer to find the errant guard, saying, "I'll deliver the package if you want. So you two don't have to hang around until..." Her hand waves to suggest the uncertain possibility that the guy will ever get back to them with Master Whoever, and then that same hand offers to take the package for Vienne?

"There are nicer places," Vienne will be the first to admit. Considering she's still a little shivery, this whole wet winter thing doesn't suit her at all. "But, well, I suppose, from there, you could go anywhere you wanted. A lot of ships, just not the sailing kind." However, she doesn't really have any personal investment in selling Linae on the idea. It was just an offer. "Or if you liked it, you could stay. Stand." She shrugs a shoulder, even if her eyes flash a little, no big deal. "Do you know where Master Analke is? Maybe you could just show me to wherever the crafters are?" She doesn't hand the package over. It might be one thing to leave its delivery up to lazy young guard, but something else entirely to a girl who is 'just goin' somewhere'.

Suspicion goes both ways when Linae asks, eyes narrowed, "What do you mean, 'stay, stand?'" She's obviously not ignorant enough to have absolutely no clue, but she's not arrogant enough to doubt her own assumptions, stopping short from her voluntary quest to frown at Vienne. "I'm not a thief," she adds as a sullen FYI. "I kinda know where they are, but explain first."

Vienne plays innocent very well, baffled by the girl's sudden suspicion, by the weight she gives those two words. "Stay? As in, if you liked it there, you wouldn't have to move on. You could work, live..." Yeah, that probably isn't the definition that Linea is looking for. The bluerider shows no sign of laughing, though, she holds expertly to that air of light confusion. "And there are eggs. Dragon eggs. You could stand, if you were interested in that sort of thing." It's only at the end, when she starts to smile, that Vienne lets something wry show through. And also, she didn't miss Linae's comment. "You ''kinda' know? How long have you been here?"

"Work. Live." Linae weighs those words, too, repeating them with the same inflection of the previous pair, doubtful but /intrigued/. Her hand stops flat on the door into the hall, the weight of her push barely moving it, lingering there with a few extra seconds of hesitation to answer Vienne's two not unreasonable questions. "Not long." She pushes through the door after that, to look for the lost master, the lost guard, and a chance to think about 'stay stand work live.'

Whether it's really Linae's intention to lead the way or not, Vienne follows her now, weight behind her hand as she holds the door open to dart through as well, a sigh slipping out as a bit of proper warmth hits her. "Well," she says, posture straight and eyes ahead and at the ready. "Maybe we can find someone who does know where the crafters work. It shouldn't be too hard." Though there's a dry bit of humor in her voice, because this whole delivery endeavor has already been more complicated than she'd anticipated. "Where were you before here?" Why she asks is anyone guess, since Linae has been a font of specifics so far. At least the vague answers don't seem to trouble the rider at all.

Linae doesn't seem like she's totally lost, moving through the front hall with convincing purpose, around a corner, up a flight of stairs. She looks back twice, the first time to find out that Vienne is following her, and the second time to make sure she hasn't lost her around the first few bends. The corridors of the inner hold all look really similar to each other is the hard part, dim and long and uncarpeted with doors opening on either side at regular intervals. "A lotta places, mostly south of here. I was heading north, but it keeps getting colder, so now I'm thinking - east sounds good, huh?" She stops at an intersection, frowning for a second, then striding off, coincidentally east. She's halfway through saying, "This way," when the long lost guard rounds a corner practically on top of them, flushed from his adventure and startled by their sudden presence. "Hey!"

"Hard to go west," Vienne will give her, a light laugh following. She's distracted, though, trying to keep some kind of track of all these twists and turns, these identical hallways and dim corridors. She's about to make some comment out it -- likely something about how the stuff in her package is not worth all that much so there isn't really any point of mugging her in some forgotten back corner of Tillek Hold -- when the guard shows up again. Vienne is nearly as started as he is, though less flushed, and she smiles cheerfully. "Hello again. Master Analke?" Did he find him? Her? Whoever they are?

The package has been delivered. The guard is relieved that he has not totally failed. The girl has accepted the subtlest of searches in a way equally as subtle, going along with Vienne without much said about it all. One hopes they exchange names in the process of transport.

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Vienne

2013-02-18T21:14:00Z

Vienne:

{{HrwProfile
|picture=Vienne.jpg
|position= Bluerider
|dragon=Oswinth
|craft=
|birthplace=
|mother=
|father=
|siblings=
|children=
|friends=
|playedby= Anna Kendrick
|livejournal=[http://bluevienne.livejournal.com/ bluevienne]}}

== Description ==

She's a delicate little thing, really: short, thin and fine-boned. There's always a bit of heel on her shoes to feign a bit more height, or at least that's probably the aim. Slim as she is, she could hardly be described as anything other than small. And girly. Her brown hair is often artfully tousled whether it's hanging about her shoulders or swept into an updo, the kind of styling that would befit ribbons if she was so inclined. With a narrow face, small mouth and a slightly toothy smile, her eyes are probably her better feature: wide, doe-eyes, slate-blue. Her attire, be it snuggly sweaters or prim dresses, is rarely anything but feminine. It might not always flatter her frame as much as she'd like -- being short-waisted with a bit of a bust and slender limbs, her figure is a little boxy -- but the quality of her clothing hints at some upscale sensibilities.

== WYSK ==

*...recently transferred from Igen Weyr to High Reaches.

*...was a Harper and still maintains her relationships within the craft.

*...looks more decorative than functional.

*...has a chronically unfit lifemate.

== History ==

The daughter of successful parents, Vienne has always wanted to stand on her own feet, to be her own independent person away from their long shadows. She apprenticed to the Harper Hall, where she was a dedicated student and eventually a promising journeyman, with a leaning toward the more political and philosophical portions of the craft. While on an early posting to Igen Weyr, one thing led to another and she impressed a nerdy little blue named Oswinth. Not exactly thrilled to give up her old life entirely, Vienne was driven to continue developing as a harper despite life as a dragonrider. This might have been just fine if all she'd wanted to do was teach kids their learning songs, but instead it turned out that she ended up reporting some things to the Hall that the Weyr wasn't happy with. And so it might not really be entirely her choice that she's come to High Reaches now. And, really, it was all just a big misunderstanding, but here she is.

== Relationships ==

*[[Ainslee]]: She's so lively. It's always fun to visit with her.
*[[Azaylia]]: The way everyone talks about her, I was expecting someone different.
*[[Barnabas]]: He's all broad strokes; there might not be much finesse but he's sweet and honest. And he needs a shave.
*[[Brieli]]: I think we understand each other. I can't quite make sense of why people oppose her so vehemently, but I can't discount it either.
*[[H'kon]]: I like how odd he is, how serious.
*[[Jo]]: Gorgeous, exciting, what's not to like?
*[[K'del]]: I feel bad for him, but I think he needs to stop feeling bad for himself.
*[[R'hin]]: I don't know what he wants with me. If I did, I might not mind the strings.
*[[Taikrin]]: She seems to be trying.
*[[Z'ian]]: He's such a nice guy; he's been so kind to me.

== RP Logs ==

{{RP Logs | name = {{BASEPAGENAME}} | columns = 3 }}

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{{Icons}}

{{HRW}}

[[category:Characters]]
[[category:Riders]]
[[category:Blueriders]]
[[category:Snowdrift_Wing]]
[[category:High Reaches Weyr]]
[[category:High Reaches Area]]
[[category:Greater Pern]]

Logs:Sniff

2013-02-18T19:53:33Z

Vienne:

{{ Log
| who = Barnabas, Vienne
| where = Close To The Ground Weyr, High Reaches Weyr
| what = Bones and Vienne escape the winter wind.
| when = Day 5, Month 1, Turn 31
| gamedate = 2013.02.17
| quote = Still smells like her.
| weather = Windy
| categories =
| mentions = Ainslee, Jo, Z'ian
| ooc =
| icons = barnabas Droop.jpg, vienne laughing.jpg
| log = So, it might not be snowing like mad this evening, but the wind is harsh, wickedly forcing its icy fingers through layered winter wear and howling across the pocked walls of the bowl. So when Vienne bumps into Barnabas in the bowl, pleasant introductions are hurried and accompanied by excessive teeth chattering on the little bluerider's part. They might as well take the conversation inside. Thankfully the rope ladder to her ledge is quite close. She scales it quickly and hurries out of the wind, passing Oswinth who has made himself a tiny blue ball at the back of his couch. He eyes Bones a bit. Meanwhile it's right to the hearth for Vienne, to stoke the embers and get it burning again. Bones can take a moment to let his eyes adjust and take in the stark emptiness of her weyr. The seating area is just one blue chair and a trunk. There are more trunks to the back, and a matching chair covered with clothes by the bed. Aside from some knickknacks on the mantle, it pretty much still looks like she just moved in.

Bones' breath is still hot enough to create a few whisps of steam as he slips into weyr, eyes scanning it's cozy offerings with a bit of a smirk. "Wow, this place is tiny." Compared to the only other weyr he's ever stepped foot in, certainly. "Hey Oswinth!" He gives the little blue a wave as he passes, arm emerging from his heavy patchwork fur cloak. "We shouldn't have gone looking for costumes. Shoulda gone lookin' for furniture!"

Oswinth does not have any kind of friendly greeting for Bones, but then, so tightly wrapped against the cold, he might be in a bit of a mood. Vienne, despite still shivering violently as she gets the fire going, is a somewhat more welcoming hostess. "Thaaanks," she draws out with a laugh for his accurate, if not particularly flattering, first reaction, tossing a glance at him over her shoulder, cheeky grin giving him a hard time just for the fun of it. More seriously though, as she pokes the coals, "I know. I need a wardrobe. There are some in the stores but... what am I going to do? Pick it up and carry it out? I just haven't gotten around to scheduling some kind of delivery. You can hang up your..." Well, she's not sure what to call that fur-tent he wears, so she just points toward the hooks. There's jacket there already that looks a good deal more like Jo's than Vienne's (because it is), so he should be able to figure out what she means.

Her grin is met with an impressive show of teeth, his own smile like a cheshire cat's minus the mischeif. "I could help with that." He's casually confidant with the remark, focusing more on his coat than his host, undoing the necessary clasps that secured it's heavy weight over his usual sleeveless faire. "I mean unless you want somethin' made'a solid cast metals, I know my ropes inside and out. Could set up a pully system for you in ohhh..." he glances over his shoulder towards the entrance, giving it a genuine estimate. "Maybe two hours and I can set you up a sweet elevator thing. It's easy, just some plywood and shipping chain." He tosses his coat up onto a hook, and notices a familiar neighboor to it. "You know Jo eh?"

She appreciates what he's willing to do, the pullies and all, but Vienne chuckles lightly. "Well, I do have Oswinth," she reminds, though her dubious look might question how useful the blue could really be, or perhaps just his willingness since he's currently a glum little ball of sulkiness. Instead of shrugging off her own jacket when the fire is suitably tended, she heads toward the back of the weyr, so she can move that pile of clothes from chair to bed. "Jo?" she asks, momentarily confused by the question until she sees Bones eyeing the leather jacket. "Yeah, that was hers. You recognize it?" The pile shifted unceremoniously, she tugs the chair away from the wall a little. "If you want to sit, we can..." Move this chair. And by we, she means him, since now she stands beside it without doing anything useful other than smiling nicely.

He doesn't turn to Vienne right away, instead eyeing the jacket for a few seconds of still contemplation. It's carefully lifting from it's hook, and brought up near his face for a few light sniffs. Perhaps a bit insensitive to it's missing convict owner, but at least he stops short of a full deep huff. "Still smells like her." There's a smirk of satisfaction on his face as he makes his assesment, putting the coat right back on the rack next to his own before slipping his hands into his pockets and heading into the room. "Sure! I'd love to hang for a few. Maybe I'll get lucky and the winds will die down eh?" He's oblivious to her offering of chair, fully convinced she had cleared it for herself. Instead, he tugs over a sturdy looking trunk to sit wide-stanced and relaxed, elbows on his knees. "I like Oswinth. He's uhh, kinda sparkly y'know? And he ain't so friggen big. I still ain't used to dragons. They freak me out a little."

She might lift an eyebrow to have this wild man literally sniffing at her belongings, but she wears a wry little smile when she remarks, "I know." However, when he drops to sit on the trunk, Vienne gives that spare chair a dirty look and a quick shove back into place like that's what it deserves for whatever it's done. The clothes are dumped back on it. At least mention of her lifemate has the bluerider smiling again and she returns the short distance to less offensive chair, dropping into it, jacket and all. "I think he's gorgeous but I know I'm a little bias. You haven't been at the Weyr all that long then?" She cants her head, letting her glance skim over the man sitting before her.

A satisfied grumbling sigh leaves the old sailor as he interlaces his fingers and then send his thick arms up in a stretch, his shoulders rolling to work out some of the stiffness that the heavy cloak always put in him. "Nah I'm pretty new stil. Just barely missed getting booted out of the weyr before I ended up snagging that greenhouse gig. I'm lucky, it's like the only place that stays warm. Plus it keeps me outta sight, so I don't scare nobody y'know? Hehe!" He smiles as he looks to the floor between his feet, rubbing at the back of his neck beneath the heavy hair. "You got ain't any klah around, do ya?"

"I thought you didn't care what people think," Vienne reminds him when he brings up how he might scare people. She grins at him from her slump in the chair, teeth catching her lower lip over all the question she might like to ask. They're waiting there, unvoiced. Before any of them have a chance to escape, he's asking after klah and the little bluerider sits up straight again, ready to be of service. "Yeah," she says with a quick nod, shucking her jacket off to leave it in the chair, scarf and hat as well. She gets up to tend to that, to load the pot and set it over the fire, but not without looking back at Bones. "You're uncomfortable." It's a quiet observation, no remonstrance for the way he's been fidgeting and staring at his feet.

Eyes only trail upward from the floor when she throws that challenging half-question at him, and he looks briefly surprised before smile flares out again. "I don't care what ''most'' people think. If somebody gets on my good side, I figure I at least owe 'em enough respect not to make life too difficult for em." Spine is straightened out just a touch now, actually keeping his eyes on the girl as she postulates further. "I ain't uncomfy. Just seen some damage over the years, always gotta make sure my joints work right after usin' em y'know?" New smile is tight lipped, a little warmer. "Jo's the lady I toldja bout. The one who snagged herself a hunky bronze? Man that dude's awesome. ''I'd'' fuck that dude." Smile opens up a bit at Z'ian's mention, but closes again.

She smiles back at him for his explanation, a bit of relief in it to know that any discomfort he has isn't her own doing. "It won't take long," she says of the klah. "It's a small pot." She returns, but only to sit on the arm of her chair, as if somehow that's markedly closer to the hearth and the klah she'll be jumping up for in due time. At least she's a little taller than Bones from that vantage. But her brow furrows a little bit as he starts to talk about Jo. "So she and you..." She doesn't seem surprised, really, but she is musing over this. However, the description of this new guy on the scene has the bluerider laughing again, brighter now and not at all put off by the language. "Who's the guy?" She arches an eyebrow at Bones, teasing for his own interest in the nameless bronzerider.

A hand is held up quick, some of the hard white callouses on his palm and knuckles visible even in the dim light. "Oh no no..." he starts with a little sideways shake of the outstretched hand before it ends up dangling between his legs with his elbow resting on his knees. "There was some kissin', some ass grabbin', but we didn't do the deed. Turns out? I got no clue how to seal the deal without booze in me! Ha!" Or a mating flight clouding his judgement, but wasn't that about the same thing? "Now this is starting to feel like gossip or somethin'. Hope I ain't gonna piss anyone off mentionin' names. The dude's Z'ian. Met him?"

Vienne presses her lips tight at that description, though a smile remains around the edges. "So you've had a long, drunken life, then," she gets out quite dryly before the smirk slips back into place, lasting until Z'ian's name is mentioned. "Yeah, I've met him," she replies with a touch of surprise. "He's helped me out a few times. And I've really only met him a few times so..." So that probably says something. "He's nice." Her lips pinch closed again and now her eyes move over Bones, wondering. "So you have a thing for her. For Jo."

"Very long, and ''very'' drunk. Yup." He moves to clear some hair from the sides of his face, his previous slouching having framed his cheeks with the dark locks. Now, his face is more open, and the thick dreads rest like a lion's mane as she queries him further. "Questions questions questions. Don't think I've ever felt so interesting before. How about I trade you some, you're interesting too y'know?" Regardless of her answer, he moves to clear things up about him and Jo as best he can. "I got a thing for her as much as I got a thing for you." He mutters it so casually that the words aren't properly scanned for context. Even Bones can realize how that might sound, and once again his palm is offered front-first, this time with it's twin. "That's not to say I'm fixin' to drag you over to the bed or nothin'! Just that pretty girls that ain't put off by the ink and the voice? That's my type. Jos a sexy little peice that struts around in skin-tight leathers and ain't shy with her hands. Who ''doesn't'' have a thing for chicks like that eh?" There's a grin at his description, but it fades sharply. "Not that I'm callin' her an easy slag or anything, I'm just sayin'..." he laughs and drops his forehead into a palm, smiling big at his own follies. "Okay, NOW maybe I'm uncomfortable. Shit, I ain't good at this kinda talk." The hand that isn't cradling his face motions to her. "Quick, help me out. Talk about something awkward. Childhood fears. Losing your virginity. Throw me a line."

It's when he moves that hair away that Vienne's eyes grow just a smidge wider, as if the glimpse of his actual face is unexpected. Perhaps it's just the realization that there is a face under there and she has little idea what it look like. But his chiding cracks her smile again. "I didn't ask any questions," she points out, her chuckle amost silent. But yes, it's probably good that he raises his hands and explains himself, because comparing his thing for Jo to his anythng to do with her, what with the aforementioned butt-grabbing, does have the little bluerider looking duly surprised, all big blinking eyes and very little mouth; it's all but disappeared with the pinch of her lips. Thankfully, his description of Jo seems to relax her a good deal and rather than linger over comparisons, she nods emphatically, her eyes round in dramatic agreement rather than shock. "She looks ''amazing''," Vienne replies. "I had her give me the name of the man who makes her pants. I want some. But I know I'll never look the way she does." It's the kind of self effacing comment that is completely unrealized, her intention all compliment for Jo rather than disparaging herself. However, she doesn't throw Bones that line he's begging for, enjoying his discomfort a bit too much. "You know, not to say she's easy either but... I don't know that she strikes me as the kind of girl who... settles down quickly. You probably still have a shot."

Slowly gets over his embarassment as Vienne agrees on Jo's looks, feeling a touch more comfortable as they find common ground in Jo's good looks. That might explain why she kept the jacket. "Settle down?" There's a touch of smirk at the edge of Bones' mouth now. "Haha, I think I know what your problem is." She had a problem? "I think maybe you're expecting there to be more to me than there is." Despite the words, the smile on his face is toothless and warm once again. He's flattered, more than anything. "I don't much care if Jo find herself a whole harem, y'know? I'm just ticked that I gotta know the dude, 'cuz that means I'm gonna end up comparin' myself. I'm a laid back dude, but c'mon now, nobody's made'a stone. I get a little jealous." He pushes himself up to his feet now, making his way towards Vienne, once again towering above her. "And man, envy is a bitch. Y'know it's childish shit but that don't make it slip away." As he makes his way to her side, he puts a hand on her shoulder, and motions towards the klah. "Think it's done?"

Her problem? There's that surprise again, though this time Vienne is a bit more impressed by it, amused, and her mouth falls open in a bit of mock dismay that has way too much smile in it to be believable. "But that's what I'm saying," she corrects, assuming she knows what he thinks her problem is, even if he never does get it out. "She doesn't strike me as someone who only wants one person. So if she's with Z'ian, that might not mean she's off the market. She could see both of you. And you'd have no reason to compare because he wouldn't be getting anything you..." Except she kind of loses heart in the middle of this speech. Her eyes drag away from Bones to skim the empty walls. "Maybe you just need more to drink." And it's when she gets to that last word, in time with his reminder, that she jumps up to fetch the klah. "I don't have milk," she points out. "Do you take sweetener?"

He has to stifle a laugh at her distressed look, keeping it to a bright smile and waiting for her to finish her little rant. When her face falls, so does his. "Just pure klah is fine." Voice is a little softer now, not somber but certainly more calm. "Getting girls used to be reaaal simple. She'd be hammered, I'd be hammered, and I'd just... y'know." He isn't sure how to describe his pickup skills, giving a shrug of his shoulders for the silence. "Few hours of sweating and grunting later? Everybody's happy. Now, trying to be decent guy, and sober?" He blows air through puffed cheeks nad shakes his head. "Don't got a clue. I'm startin' from scratch." He has a far away look in his eyes for a moment, before standing up straighter and turning to her. "Oh and you're wrong by the way." A finger points up at her chin, then down to her toes, and back up again. "No disrespect? But you got a lot to work with there. You get pants like Jo and I promise you, you'll turn some heads, girl." He gives the softest of shoves to her shoulder, only pure compliment intended.

She finds some mugs and pours the klah, her own getting a touch of sweetener, but when Vienne returns to sink into her chair, she finds Bones standing, and so she stands as well, handing his mug over. "I don't think I have any advice for you. I..." she pauses there to shake her head and covers whatever she was going to say with, "I'm not an expert in picking up girls." She blows a little over the top of her mug. Except his pointed finger and the comments that come with it have her looking downright shy. "Um, thank you," she manages before a flustered laugh kicks in. She receives that softest of shoves with her chin tucked low. "Are you... hitting on me?" She sounds rather bashfully confused more than anything else.

Bones gives an almost lecherous groan of anticipation as he picks up the offered klah, somewhat belying his addiction to the caffinated drink. He's not so desperate for it that he brings it right to his lips however, mimicking Vienne in the subtle blowing of air across it's surface. Soft chuckles follow in her admission of not having any advice, but it's that last question that has Bones pausing and giving a blink. "... I wasn't." The pause gave him time to double check, but he takes the opportunity of her tucking her chin to give her another look up and down. "... was I?" He was actually asking her, with a hand once again rubbing at the back of his neck. "I was just tryin' to letcha know that you're damn pretty."

At least he's uncertain too! Vienne is put at ease by that realization, enough that she smirks at him, albeit with some of that bashfulness still clinging on. "Well, how should I know?" she adds a little extra apprehension, just for comic effect. "You're the one who said you're terrible at it. You could be trying and missing. Or not trying and succeeding." She even throws a hand up, like it's all too much for her. Except she also chuckles afterwards, which softens the whole display. And then that waving hand of hers reaches up toward his face and takes ahold of some hair, probably beard, to tug gently. "Stoop," she instructs primly.

He nervously chuckles along with the bluerider, not entirely sure how to respond to her hypotheticals other than with his usual smile, pausing in between to blow the coolest air he could manage across his klah mug. Just as he thinks the moment is passed, a clump of his beard is snagged. What's he going to do, say no? "Aww don't slap me now, already got tagged at the party remember?" His words are confidant, but judging by the low tone he's not certain if that's the impending outcome. "Be gentle."

And so if he'll do her the favor of leaning aaaaaall the way down, Vienne can do her best to land a peck on his cheek -- perhaps closer to his eye than might be normal but honestly, there isn't much skin among all that crazy hair. "You're very sweet," she tells him quietly, releasing his beard from her grasp so he can straighten up again. "I'm sorry we got separated at the party. So many people. I think Ainslee will forgive you, though. For..." Well, he was there. He knows what he did.

"Not sweet. Just honest." He gives her one more look up and down, making up for the guilt he felt at sneaking the earlier one by letting her watch him size her up this time. It isn't fair to pretend to be a prince charming when you really aren't, after all. "I might get her a gift to apologize." He finally braves a sip of his klah, peering out at her over the top of the mug, at least meeting her eyes this time. "Can I ask you a little favor?" He glances out towards where they came in, ears picking up a bit of low whistle that makes clear the still vicious wind. "Can I just.. get a quick nap in on your floor for an hour or two? Y'know, with my coat in a corner or somethin'? I uhhh, ain't lookin too forward to goin' back out there."

This time when he looks her up and down so very blantantly, it's Vienne's turn to give him a shove, not the softest ever, at least from her perspective, but it's a feeble thing on the other end. She grins, though, and her brows pop up solicitiously when he requests a favor. And she's surprised by what that favor is, blinking a bit, her chin pulled in. "Yeah... Sure..." It's not that she's uncertain about allowing it, it's that she's too busy now looking around for anything else to offer him. "I'll get you a pillow. I was just going... sit and read." So he can have a pillow and nap under his coat, and Vienne can sit by the fire with a very unusual visitor at her feet. She's bemused, but game.

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Logs:Sniff

2013-02-18T19:48:06Z

Vienne: Created page with "{{ Log | who = Barnabas, Vienne | where = Close To The Ground Weyr, High Reaches Weyr | what = Bones and Vienne escape the winter wind. | when = Day 5, Month 1, Turn 31 | game..."

{{ Log
| who = Barnabas, Vienne
| where = Close To The Ground Weyr, High Reaches Weyr
| what = Bones and Vienne escape the winter wind.
| when = Day 5, Month 1, Turn 31
| gamedate = 2013.02.17
| quote = Still smells like her.
| weather = Windy
| categories =
| mentions = Jo, Z'ian
| ooc =
| icons = barnabas Droop.jpg, vienne laughing.jpg
| log = So, it might not be snowing like mad this evening, but the wind is harsh, wickedly forcing its icy fingers through layered winter wear and howling across the pocked walls of the bowl. So when Vienne bumps into Barnabas in the bowl, pleasant introductions are hurried and accompanied by excessive teeth chattering on the little bluerider's part. They might as well take the conversation inside. Thankfully the rope ladder to her ledge is quite close. She scales it quickly and hurries out of the wind, passing Oswinth who has made himself a tiny blue ball at the back of his couch. He eyes Bones a bit. Meanwhile it's right to the hearth for Vienne, to stoke the embers and get it burning again. Bones can take a moment to let his eyes adjust and take in the stark emptiness of her weyr. The seating area is just one blue chair and a trunk. There are more trunks to the back, and a matching chair covered with clothes by the bed. Aside from some knickknacks on the mantle, it pretty much still looks like she just moved in.

Bones' breath is still hot enough to create a few whisps of steam as he slips into weyr, eyes scanning it's cozy offerings with a bit of a smirk. "Wow, this place is tiny." Compared to the only other weyr he's ever stepped foot in, certainly. "Hey Oswinth!" He gives the little blue a wave as he passes, arm emerging from his heavy patchwork fur cloak. "We shouldn't have gone looking for costumes. Shoulda gone lookin' for furniture!"

Oswinth does not have any kind of friendly greeting for Bones, but then, so tightly wrapped against the cold, he might be in a bit of a mood. Vienne, despite still shivering violently as she gets the fire going, is a somewhat more welcoming hostess. "Thaaanks," she draws out with a laugh for his accurate, if not particularly flattering, first reaction, tossing a glance at him over her shoulder, cheeky grin giving him a hard time just for the fun of it. More seriously though, as she pokes the coals, "I know. I need a wardrobe. There are some in the stores but... what am I going to do? Pick it up and carry it out? I just haven't gotten around to scheduling some kind of delivery. You can hang up your..." Well, she's not sure what to call that fur-tent he wears, so she just points toward the hooks. There's jacket there already that looks a good deal more like Jo's than Vienne's (because it is), so he should be able to figure out what she means.

Her grin is met with an impressive show of teeth, his own smile like a cheshire cat's minus the mischeif. "I could help with that." He's casually confidant with the remark, focusing more on his coat than his host, undoing the necessary clasps that secured it's heavy weight over his usual sleeveless faire. "I mean unless you want somethin' made'a solid cast metals, I know my ropes inside and out. Could set up a pully system for you in ohhh..." he glances over his shoulder towards the entrance, giving it a genuine estimate. "Maybe two hours and I can set you up a sweet elevator thing. It's easy, just some plywood and shipping chain." He tosses his coat up onto a hook, and notices a familiar neighboor to it. "You know Jo eh?"

She appreciates what he's willing to do, the pullies and all, but Vienne chuckles lightly. "Well, I do have Oswinth," she reminds, though her dubious look might question how useful the blue could really be, or perhaps just his willingness since he's currently a glum little ball of sulkiness. Instead of shrugging off her own jacket when the fire is suitably tended, she heads toward the back of the weyr, so she can move that pile of clothes from chair to bed. "Jo?" she asks, momentarily confused by the question until she sees Bones eyeing the leather jacket. "Yeah, that was hers. You recognize it?" The pile shifted unceremoniously, she tugs the chair away from the wall a little. "If you want to sit, we can..." Move this chair. And by we, she means him, since now she stands beside it without doing anything useful other than smiling nicely.

He doesn't turn to Vienne right away, instead eyeing the jacket for a few seconds of still contemplation. It's carefully lifting from it's hook, and brought up near his face for a few light sniffs. Perhaps a bit insensitive to it's missing convict owner, but at least he stops short of a full deep huff. "Still smells like her." There's a smirk of satisfaction on his face as he makes his assesment, putting the coat right back on the rack next to his own before slipping his hands into his pockets and heading into the room. "Sure! I'd love to hang for a few. Maybe I'll get lucky and the winds will die down eh?" He's oblivious to her offering of chair, fully convinced she had cleared it for herself. Instead, he tugs over a sturdy looking trunk to sit wide-stanced and relaxed, elbows on his knees. "I like Oswinth. He's uhh, kinda sparkly y'know? And he ain't so friggen big. I still ain't used to dragons. They freak me out a little."

She might lift an eyebrow to have this wild man literally sniffing at her belongings, but she wears a wry little smile when she remarks, "I know." However, when he drops to sit on the trunk, Vienne gives that spare chair a dirty look and a quick shove back into place like that's what it deserves for whatever it's done. The clothes are dumped back on it. At least mention of her lifemate has the bluerider smiling again and she returns the short distance to less offensive chair, dropping into it, jacket and all. "I think he's gorgeous but I know I'm a little bias. You haven't been at the Weyr all that long then?" She cants her head, letting her glance skim over the man sitting before her.

A satisfied grumbling sigh leaves the old sailor as he interlaces his fingers and then send his thick arms up in a stretch, his shoulders rolling to work out some of the stiffness that the heavy cloak always put in him. "Nah I'm pretty new stil. Just barely missed getting booted out of the weyr before I ended up snagging that greenhouse gig. I'm lucky, it's like the only place that stays warm. Plus it keeps me outta sight, so I don't scare nobody y'know? Hehe!" He smiles as he looks to the floor between his feet, rubbing at the back of his neck beneath the heavy hair. "You got ain't any klah around, do ya?"

"I thought you didn't care what people think," Vienne reminds him when he brings up how he might scare people. She grins at him from her slump in the chair, teeth catching her lower lip over all the question she might like to ask. They're waiting there, unvoiced. Before any of them have a chance to escape, he's asking after klah and the little bluerider sits up straight again, ready to be of service. "Yeah," she says with a quick nod, shucking her jacket off to leave it in the chair, scarf and hat as well. She gets up to tend to that, to load the pot and set it over the fire, but not without looking back at Bones. "You're uncomfortable." It's a quiet observation, no remonstrance for the way he's been fidgeting and staring at his feet.

Eyes only trail upward from the floor when she throws that challenging half-question at him, and he looks briefly surprised before smile flares out again. "I don't care what ''most'' people think. If somebody gets on my good side, I figure I at least owe 'em enough respect not to make life too difficult for em." Spine is straightened out just a touch now, actually keeping his eyes on the girl as she postulates further. "I ain't uncomfy. Just seen some damage over the years, always gotta make sure my joints work right after usin' em y'know?" New smile is tight lipped, a little warmer. "Jo's the lady I toldja bout. The one who snagged herself a hunky bronze? Man that dude's awesome. ''I'd'' fuck that dude." Smile opens up a bit at Z'ian's mention, but closes again.

She smiles back at him for his explanation, a bit of relief in it to know that any discomfort he has isn't her own doing. "It won't take long," she says of the klah. "It's a small pot." She returns, but only to sit on the arm of her chair, as if somehow that's markedly closer to the hearth and the klah she'll be jumping up for in due time. At least she's a little taller than Bones from that vantage. But her brow furrows a little bit as he starts to talk about Jo. "So she and you..." She doesn't seem surprised, really, but she is musing over this. However, the description of this new guy on the scene has the bluerider laughing again, brighter now and not at all put off by the language. "Who's the guy?" She arches an eyebrow at Bones, teasing for his own interest in the nameless bronzerider.

A hand is held up quick, some of the hard white callouses on his palm and knuckles visible even in the dim light. "Oh no no..." he starts with a little sideways shake of the outstretched hand before it ends up dangling between his legs with his elbow resting on his knees. "There was some kissin', some ass grabbin', but we didn't do the deed. Turns out? I got no clue how to seal the deal without booze in me! Ha!" Or a mating flight clouding his judgement, but wasn't that about the same thing? "Now this is starting to feel like gossip or somethin'. Hope I ain't gonna piss anyone off mentionin' names. The dude's Z'ian. Met him?"

Vienne presses her lips tight at that description, though a smile remains around the edges. "So you've had a long, drunken life, then," she gets out quite dryly before the smirk slips back into place, lasting until Z'ian's name is mentioned. "Yeah, I've met him," she replies with a touch of surprise. "He's helped me out a few times. And I've really only met him a few times so..." So that probably says something. "He's nice." Her lips pinch closed again and now her eyes move over Bones, wondering. "So you have a thing for her. For Jo."

"Very long, and ''very'' drunk. Yup." He moves to clear some hair from the sides of his face, his previous slouching having framed his cheeks with the dark locks. Now, his face is more open, and the thick dreads rest like a lion's mane as she queries him further. "Questions questions questions. Don't think I've ever felt so interesting before. How about I trade you some, you're interesting too y'know?" Regardless of her answer, he moves to clear things up about him and Jo as best he can. "I got a thing for her as much as I got a thing for you." He mutters it so casually that the words aren't properly scanned for context. Even Bones can realize how that might sound, and once again his palm is offered front-first, this time with it's twin. "That's not to say I'm fixin' to drag you over to the bed or nothin'! Just that pretty girls that ain't put off by the ink and the voice? That's my type. Jos a sexy little peice that struts around in skin-tight leathers and ain't shy with her hands. Who ''doesn't'' have a thing for chicks like that eh?" There's a grin at his description, but it fades sharply. "Not that I'm callin' her an easy slag or anything, I'm just sayin'..." he laughs and drops his forehead into a palm, smiling big at his own follies. "Okay, NOW maybe I'm uncomfortable. Shit, I ain't good at this kinda talk." The hand that isn't cradling his face motions to her. "Quick, help me out. Talk about something awkward. Childhood fears. Losing your virginity. Throw me a line."

It's when he moves that hair away that Vienne's eyes grow just a smidge wider, as if the glimpse of his actual face is unexpected. Perhaps it's just the realization that there is a face under there and she has little idea what it look like. But his chiding cracks her smile again. "I didn't ask any questions," she points out, her chuckle amost silent. But yes, it's probably good that he raises his hands and explains himself, because comparing his thing for Jo to his anythng to do with her, what with the aforementioned butt-grabbing, does have the little bluerider looking duly surprised, all big blinking eyes and very little mouth; it's all but disappeared with the pinch of her lips. Thankfully, his description of Jo seems to relax her a good deal and rather than linger over comparisons, she nods emphatically, her eyes round in dramatic agreement rather than shock. "She looks ''amazing''," Vienne replies. "I had her give me the name of the man who makes her pants. I want some. But I know I'll never look the way she does." It's the kind of self effacing comment that is completely unrealized, her intention all compliment for Jo rather than disparaging herself. However, she doesn't throw Bones that line he's begging for, enjoying his discomfort a bit too much. "You know, not to say she's easy either but... I don't know that she strikes me as the kind of girl who... settles down quickly. You probably still have a shot."

Slowly gets over his embarassment as Vienne agrees on Jo's looks, feeling a touch more comfortable as they find common ground in Jo's good looks. That might explain why she kept the jacket. "Settle down?" There's a touch of smirk at the edge of Bones' mouth now. "Haha, I think I know what your problem is." She had a problem? "I think maybe you're expecting there to be more to me than there is." Despite the words, the smile on his face is toothless and warm once again. He's flattered, more than anything. "I don't much care if Jo find herself a whole harem, y'know? I'm just ticked that I gotta know the dude, 'cuz that means I'm gonna end up comparin' myself. I'm a laid back dude, but c'mon now, nobody's made'a stone. I get a little jealous." He pushes himself up to his feet now, making his way towards Vienne, once again towering above her. "And man, envy is a bitch. Y'know it's childish shit but that don't make it slip away." As he makes his way to her side, he puts a hand on her shoulder, and motions towards the klah. "Think it's done?"

Her problem? There's that surprise again, though this time Vienne is a bit more impressed by it, amused, and her mouth falls open in a bit of mock dismay that has way too much smile in it to be believable. "But that's what I'm saying," she corrects, assuming she knows what he thinks her problem is, even if he never does get it out. "She doesn't strike me as someone who only wants one person. So if she's with Z'ian, that might not mean she's off the market. She could see both of you. And you'd have no reason to compare because he wouldn't be getting anything you..." Except she kind of loses heart in the middle of this speech. Her eyes drag away from Bones to skim the empty walls. "Maybe you just need more to drink." And it's when she gets to that last word, in time with his reminder, that she jumps up to fetch the klah. "I don't have milk," she points out. "Do you take sweetener?"

He has to stifle a laugh at her distressed look, keeping it to a bright smile and waiting for her to finish her little rant. When her face falls, so does his. "Just pure klah is fine." Voice is a little softer now, not somber but certainly more calm. "Getting girls used to be reaaal simple. She'd be hammered, I'd be hammered, and I'd just... y'know." He isn't sure how to describe his pickup skills, giving a shrug of his shoulders for the silence. "Few hours of sweating and grunting later? Everybody's happy. Now, trying to be decent guy, and sober?" He blows air through puffed cheeks nad shakes his head. "Don't got a clue. I'm startin' from scratch." He has a far away look in his eyes for a moment, before standing up straighter and turning to her. "Oh and you're wrong by the way." A finger points up at her chin, then down to her toes, and back up again. "No disrespect? But you got a lot to work with there. You get pants like Jo and I promise you, you'll turn some heads, girl." He gives the softest of shoves to her shoulder, only pure compliment intended.

She finds some mugs and pours the klah, her own getting a touch of sweetener, but when Vienne returns to sink into her chair, she finds Bones standing, and so she stands as well, handing his mug over. "I don't think I have any advice for you. I..." she pauses there to shake her head and covers whatever she was going to say with, "I'm not an expert in picking up girls." She blows a little over the top of her mug. Except his pointed finger and the comments that come with it have her looking downright shy. "Um, thank you," she manages before a flustered laugh kicks in. She receives that softest of shoves with her chin tucked low. "Are you... hitting on me?" She sounds rather bashfully confused more than anything else.

Bones gives an almost lecherous groan of anticipation as he picks up the offered klah, somewhat belying his addiction to the caffinated drink. He's not so desperate for it that he brings it right to his lips however, mimicking Vienne in the subtle blowing of air across it's surface. Soft chuckles follow in her admission of not having any advice, but it's that last question that has Bones pausing and giving a blink. "... I wasn't." The pause gave him time to double check, but he takes the opportunity of her tucking her chin to give her another look up and down. "... was I?" He was actually asking her, with a hand once again rubbing at the back of his neck. "I was just tryin' to letcha know that you're damn pretty."

At least he's uncertain too! Vienne is put at ease by that realization, enough that she smirks at him, albeit with some of that bashfulness still clinging on. "Well, how should I know?" she adds a little extra apprehension, just for comic effect. "You're the one who said you're terrible at it. You could be trying and missing. Or not trying and succeeding." She even throws a hand up, like it's all too much for her. Except she also chuckles afterwards, which softens the whole display. And then that waving hand of hers reaches up toward his face and takes ahold of some hair, probably beard, to tug gently. "Stoop," she instructs primly.

He nervously chuckles along with the bluerider, not entirely sure how to respond to her hypotheticals other than with his usual smile, pausing in between to blow the coolest air he could manage across his klah mug. Just as he thinks the moment is passed, a clump of his beard is snagged. What's he going to do, say no? "Aww don't slap me now, already got tagged at the party remember?" His words are confidant, but judging by the low tone he's not certain if that's the impending outcome. "Be gentle."

And so if he'll do her the favor of leaning aaaaaall the way down, Vienne can do her best to land a peck on his cheek -- perhaps closer to his eye than might be normal but honestly, there isn't much skin among all that crazy hair. "You're very sweet," she tells him quietly, releasing his beard from her grasp so he can straighten up again. "I'm sorry we got separated at the party. So many people. I think Ainslee will forgive you, though. For..." Well, he was there. He knows what he did.

"Not sweet. Just honest." He gives her one more look up and down, making up for the guilt he felt at sneaking the earlier one by letting her watch him size her up this time. It isn't fair to pretend to be a prince charming when you really aren't, after all. "I might get her a gift to apologize." He finally braves a sip of his klah, peering out at her over the top of the mug, at least meeting her eyes this time. "Can I ask you a little favor?" He glances out towards where they came in, ears picking up a bit of low whistle that makes clear the still vicious wind. "Can I just.. get a quick nap in on your floor for an hour or two? Y'know, with my coat in a corner or somethin'? I uhhh, ain't lookin too forward to goin' back out there."

This time when he looks her up and down so very blantantly, it's Vienne's turn to give him a shove, not the softest ever, at least from her perspective, but it's a feeble thing on the other end. She grins, though, and her brows pop up solicitiously when he requests a favor. And she's surprised by what that favor is, blinking a bit, her chin pulled in. "Yeah... Sure..." It's not that she's uncertain about allowing it, it's that she's too busy now looking around for anything else to offer him. "I'll get you a pillow. I was just going... sit and read." So he can have a pillow and nap under his coat, and Vienne can sit by the fire with a very unusual visitor at her feet. She's bemused, but game.

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Logs:Catching Up in the New Turn

2013-02-18T19:31:14Z

Vienne: Created page with "{{ Log | who = Ainslee, Vienne | where = Living Cavern | what = Ainslee and Vienne recap their first Turnover at High Reaches | when = Day 5, Month 1, Turn 31 | gamedate = 201..."

{{ Log
| who = Ainslee, Vienne
| where = Living Cavern
| what = Ainslee and Vienne recap their first Turnover at High Reaches
| when = Day 5, Month 1, Turn 31
| gamedate = 2013.02.17
| quote = How's the new turn treating you?
| weather = Windy
| categories =
| mentions = Barnabas, Z'ian
| ooc =
| icons = vienne.jpg, ainslee.jpg
| log = It's a brand new turn, but the weather outside goes right on being same old High Reaches, wintry and today with biting winds. Vienne can hardly be blamed for lingering in the warmth of the living cavern, tucked in at an out of the way table, even though she's done with her meal. She's still nursing a mug of something, slouched deep in her chair with a knee propped up against the table as she slowly thumbs through a book. It must be funny, whatever she's reading, since she smiles to herself, the busy cavern around her all but forgotten.

It's always funny that life goes on, isn't it? Earthshattering events could be taking place, but 'earthshattering' always seems to affect the earth, well, very little, as it were. Ainslee breezes in from the cold, appearing as always untouched by the bite of frost and sere scorch of freezing cold. She doesn't linger, however, tugging a scarf free of her neck and plucking gloves from her fingers as she moves through the crowds, searching for an empty seat. The sweet blessing of Serendipity lands her next to Vienne, still radiating the cold - snow is beginning to melt in her hair and on her clothes. "Good book?" A flashed smile.

Vienne's eyes stick to the page even as Ainslee sits, though the bluerider's knee does drop, definitely aware of someone else in her vicinity, just doggedly determined to reach a good stopping point. She scoots herself back, posture a bit more polite and presentable and she starts to smile. And only after all of that does she lift her gaze across to the frosted woman, thumb slipping into place and the book lowering. "Hey," she greets, light and cheery. "Yeah, better than I thought." Her glance skims over the drops of snow melting in red hair. "How's the new turn treating you?"

With the patience of someone familiar with being interrupted while reading, Ainslee doesn't interrupt, waiting for Vienne to get to her spot. The redhead is still shucking layers in an effort to reach a good temperature. "So was he ripping her bodice off, or allowing her to enjoy the 'blue-veined marble of his rock-hard dri--'..." She breaks off as she gets a Look from someone sitting down the way: obviously a holdbred someone, but. The Hailstorm rider tosses a bemused glance, then focuses back on Vienne. "So far, better than actual turnover!" There's definitely laughter, there.

What starts as a friendly roll of Vienne's eyes for the bodice-ripping becomes an all out dramatic gag when the options get worse. She turns it into a laugh, though, shakes her head and goes about slipping her bookmark in the place of her thumb, setting the volume down beside her debris-strewn plate. "Nothing like that. It's a series of letters between two harpers. One of them had quite a way with descriptions. Though..." The bluerider dips her chin and sends a meaningful glance across at Ainslee, enough to say that the harper in her book has nothing on the greenrider at her table. As for the actual turnover: "What happened there? You and Bones..."

There's the expected smirk for the dramatic gag, melting quickly into sympathy. "You know, hone--" Ainslee seems to think better about whatever it was that she was going to say, bubbling into laughter before shaking her head, sending curls bouncing. For descriptions, there's a bit of a shoulder shrug; "When you read enough of them," airily replied, "You learn all manners of purple-prose explanations of anatomy." Her eyes roll at turnover, though: "I got what I deserved for wearing something cut entirely too low."

Does Vienne know? She arches those eyebrows, ready to have some knowledge dropped on her, mouth curving into an answering smirk. She might even be just a little disappointed when Ainslee changes direction. "I have read some," she says. "Though... thankfully I haven't yet come across that particular passage." No meal to eat now, book set aside, the bluerider takes up her mug with both hands, cradling it beneath her chin. "That ''was'' quite a dress," she has to admit. "But what happened? All I saw was everyone staring. Bones seems..." She pouts thoughtfully, though, not entirely sure what Bones seems.

Vienne doesn't know. Thankfully. "Just wait." About reading bad passages, that is. Ainslee doesn't seem all too hurried to get up and procure a drink; instead, she stretches her insubstantial length. "Thanks," she comments about the dress. "I wanted it to be like that. Cost a pretty penny." Less than it would be for someone /else/, maybe. "Someone threw a mark at my cleavage. It kind of ... stuck? And Bones- that's his name, Bones?- fished it out for me." She is NOT laughing, either, though her lips may be struggling to contain a smile.

Vienne tries not to smile, and when that fails, she tries not to laugh, but ultimately both end up bubbling, sympathy tranforming into a regretful chuckle as she shakes her head and puts a hand over her face to hide what might not be the most flattering of reactions. "Okay," she'll allow, "I believe that's something he would do. Bones, yes. He's..." The bluerider shrugs, but her indulgent smile probably says enough. "Surprised you, didn't he." Because maybe girls who wear dresses like shouldn't be all that upset about extra attention.

"I just didn't expect-- I don't know. I was already flustered by something flying at my face." Wait, she's not used to that? ... From being a ''dragonrider''? Dirty minds. "I've never met him before. He seemed..." Different? "...interesting," says the greenrider, momentarily politically correct. "I think it surprised me ''most'' because Z'ian was right there, in hindsight. I don't know. Anyhow. Did you enjoy yourself? How's this turn treating -you-?"

Vienne doesn't take the easy shot, it doesn't seem to occur to her. Instead she nods agreeably about Bones, finding 'interesting' to be an accurate descriptor. But her eyesbrows press inward as she takes a sip from her mug, not for the contents but for Ainslee's explanation. "Because Z'ian was there? Are you two..." One of these days, Vienne will finish a sentence instead of letting it trail off. Like right now when she grins a bit more shyly. "It's been good. I actually ended up performing at the Hall. Just one song. I'm afraid I'm embarrassingly out of practice."

"Us?" Startled, "Oh, no. He's-- fun, of course, but I hardly know the man." Aside from how he looks naked. Because that's not really knowing someone, is it? Ainslee drops the question in favor of the next, though. "Oh, a performance at the Hall? Lovely! You should arrange to do one here, at the weyr. I'd certainly make sure to be there." She leans forwards, thoughtful. "I wonder if that would go through the Harpers here, or the headwoman..."

Ainslee hardly knows him, which seems to puzzle the bluerider, her head tipping to the side. "You just figure that, from Bone's perspective, he doesn't know you're not with Z'ian, so it's surprising he'd be so forward right in front of someone who ''could'' be upset about it?" That's the best Vienne can surmise about the situation. It does delay the discussion of Weyr performances for a moment, and the former harper's glance slides out across the room, where such perfomances would likely be held. "I'm sure the they'll arrange one if they want one." She's not volunteering.

"''Exactly''," Ainslee states, well-satisfied with Vienne's figuring out her emotions for her. (And Ainslee was the one training to be a mindhealer? Faranth save us all.) "It just seems to violate the... normal code of things, I guess. Unless he and Z'ian are tight, I guess. I don't know. Whatever." She waves it off, airy again. A thoughtful expression, sliding to a side to prop elbow on the tabletop, chin on her palm. "Do you not like performing?" she carefully questions.

Vienne doesn't know anything about Bones and Z'ian's relationship either, so all the can do is shrug a thin shoulder. And really, this question about performing seems to make her think, that gaze drifting off again as she sips her mug. "Mm, I don't mind it. I'm happy to sing or play if people want to hear it. And it's different here, a little more relaxed. When you're surrounded by the great talents of Pern and you know you don't really belong among them..." So perhaps that explains the shy smile she had, mentioning it in the first place. "But the harpers here can arrange their performances. It's not really my place. You were a healer, right?" She lifts a brow, angling that proposition back at Ainslee.

Ainslee falls thoughtful while Vienne talks. "You think you didn't belong among the talented?" She doesn't move from her position, chinpropped as she is, despite the hustle and flow of people about, fresh food delivered and the smell of klah in the air. "But if someone /else/ asks you..." She trails off, stealing Vienne's schtick at the moment, still thoughtful. "I was less than six months from my qualifying exams for journeyman when I was Searched, yes." As a Healer, but that's implied, right?

Vienne brushes some of the weight from that question, a quick shake of her head, a quick frown. "It's not necessarily that. I know that no one expects me to be exquisite, and I didn't embarrass myself or anything. It was a surprise, though. Someone's idea of a turnover gift." Her mouth twists to a smirk for that. "I had barely walked the tables when I impressed." It's not necessarily here or there, because the real point is, "Would you feel it was your place to organize the healers here?" She gives the greenrider a look that certainly looks ready to guess her answer.

"Ah." Curious, Ainslee may be, but she doesn't ''pry''... overmuch. Not yet. "Mmm. Amazing how often the dragons seem to pick crafters." It's an idle comment, not something that goes into real depth. She whisks away the last question: "Different. But I see your meaning. I did," the greenrider points out, "Apply myself to the dragonhealers when I did get here, to see how I could help." Eyebrows lift: see? Maybe there is a happy medium.

While it's not really the point of Ainslee's comment, it does remind Vienne, "I've been meaning to finish copying Oswinth's records. I got everything from Igen, but I figured that having a second set wouldn't be a bad idea. I want the dragonhealers here to have all the information. Hopefully he won't need them too much but..." But history would seem to indicate otherwise, particularly if it's taking her a bit of time to copy everything. She smiles a bit shyly, as if she doesn't want fate to overhear her hopes and plot against them. And she also pulls her book from the table, twisting to tuck it into the pocket of her jacket on the back of her chair.

"Mmmm, it's never a bad idea to have an extra set of health records," Ainslee agrees along, absentminded. She finally stirs, glancing towards the line slowly building at the food tables. "You should tell me to just go and get it over with - it's not like it's going to get any ''better'', me just sitting here." Dinner... it's what's, er, for dinner. "That little girl who sang at Turnover - she was pretty good." Aside from the whole choking on her words part. (It totally wasn't Ainslee's fault!)

Vienne grins knowingly across the table and does exactly as she's bid. "You should go and get it over with. Not standing in line doesn't get your food any more quickly. And you can take my plates for me," she suggests with a bright, cheeky smile and a little nudge of said plate in the greenrider's direction. Vienne, however, is pulling out all her winter accessories, getting her hat and scarf and mittens in place, preparing to brave that wicked wind howling outside.

"Ha, fine." Ainslee does collect Vienne's plate, eyeballing the strewn debris as she does. "Ham tonight?" she half-questions, shifting up to her feet in a slow groan of movement. "Oh well. It was nice chatting with you. Maybe next time there could be-- singing." Her smile is a touch wicked, the rest whimsical.

Vienne answers that wicked smile with one of her own, though it doesn't quite have the same look on the bluerider. Instead of wishing Ainslee a satisfying dinner or making promises for their next meeting, as she stands and shrugs her jacket on, she begins to sing quietly. It's a rather bawdy song, about a crew of sailors all dreaming about a buxom girl without realizing it's the same girl in all of their fantasies. She doesn't actually get further than the first verse before turning away, but with a parting grin, Vienne heads off.

Nothing farther than the first verse is necessary, though: Ainslee's laughter, pure and low and delighted, follow Vienne as she exits. Laughter, and then a call of "Bravo!". Shaking her head, still smiling, the greenrider rises to her feet and moves off to focus on dinner- humming an entirely inappropriate little jaunty tune, not quite under her breath. She may get a few dirty looks for it, but who cares, right?

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Logs:Turnover Turn 30

2013-02-17T17:04:52Z

Vienne:

{{ Log
| who = Ainslee, Alida, Azaylia, Barnabas, Brieli, Ceawlin, Devaki, H'kon, Jo, Kaeden, K'del, Madilla, Riorde, Suireh, Taikrin, Peregrine, Vienne, Wakizian, Xhaeon, Z'ian
| where = Living Caverns, High Reaches Weyr
| what = It's turnover! Everyone has a good time. Mostly.
| when = Day 28, Month 13, Turn 30
| gamedate = 2013.02.16
| quote = "Happy turnover!"
| weather =
| categories = Clutch 34, Divided Leadership, A Lord In Exile
| mentions =
| ooc =
| icons = brieli gold.png, jo dolled up.jpg, k'del formal.jpg, vienne lights.jpg, z'ian15 zian15.jpg, kaeden main.jpg
| log = Living Cavern, High Reaches Weyr

----

Stalactites hang high above this enormous cavern like a jagged chandelier or an inversion of the Spires themselves, but shadows cling to them instead of light. Below lie great tables arranged in rows, each large enough to serve a fighting wing, while in the nooks and alcoves around the cavern's edge sit more sensibly-sized tables, from six- and eight-seaters down to intimate spots for just a couple of diners. The only really open space is around the kitchen entrance, smelling of food and rarely quiet, and by the nearby serving tables with their long buffet of the day's offerings.

Tapestries on the smooth walls -- some faded and others newly woven -- only slightly mute the sea of sound when a meal is in full swing, but they add cheerfulness augmented by the glowlight from wall sconces and the centerpieces of each table. Still, shadows always creep along the ceiling and into the mouths of the exits -- the myriad small hallways at one end of the cavern and, at the other, the twisting tunnel to the bowl near an array of coathooks and and hatracks -- and late at night, when the glows are allowed to dim, the chamber can seem very dark indeed.

----

It's a party! It's a masquerade! The caverns have been prettied up and decorated for the occasion, the glows and candles are low, there's even a dance floor cleared and musicians setting up. There's also a ton of food and drinks for the occasion, because above all that, it's Turnover, and there are clutches on the sands besides. The tensions of the last weeks have people well ready to let off some steam, so even early on, there's a big crowd of costumed (and, yes, barely-to-non-costumed people) wandering around and admiring each other, eating and ''always'' drinking. This is High Reaches, it is the winter and it's a party.

K'del is... blue? From head to toe, even, and it's a little bizarre, frankly. "Midnight," is what he answers to the first person who asks him what he's dressed at, and, "Sadness," to the next. His smile is crooked: he seems to be enjoying the way people react to his altogether peculiar attire. Swanning through the caverns, he aims for the serving tables, fetching himself a glass of whisky that he can leave blue smudged lip-prints on.

Madilla is sans-children, tonight, though she looks almost like one herself, in that girly pink dress, with the cap sleeves and big bowed waist, not to mention the pigtails in her hair, and those shiny black flats. Her grin is brilliant, but there's a watchfulness to her gaze as she scans the room, evidently seeking out - or just searching for - someone in particular. She seems to find herself 'safe' on that first sweep, because she heads off to a corner to stand with a group of Crafters, and chats with them quite amiably.

The moons are difficult to see outside with with snowy weather, but there's at least one indoors; it ''looks'' like Brieli, by height and hair and other attributes, dressed and masked and shod in silver. She's just found herself a glass of something that could be whisky, or something else, as K'del approaches. She doesn't exactly move away, but she doesn't say anything either - just gives the blue man a glance and looks over the damage to the booze so far.

Peregrine stops in the doorway with a smile on her face as she looks around at all the decorations and candles. She realizes after a few moments that she might be blocking the entrance a little, and looks behind her with a sheepish glance before moving out of the way. But once she's done that it's back to looking around again, as she edges closer to the musicians to watch them set up. She tugs a little at the tight lace collar of the dress she's wearing. As she sees all the costume she blushes a little that she isn't wearing one. Like the dress she is wearing isn't embarrasing looking enough. She smiles as she overhears a couple of K'del's answers to what his costume is, but doesn't ask the question a third time. Instead she leaves the musicians and heads to the drink table and waits in line after Brieli, getting juice when there's room for her at the table.

The natural hunch to Bones' walk works well with the costume, especially considering how he lords over the refreshments. Maw is slowly but steadily stuffed with all manner of prepared snacks, the ocasional grumble of appreciation for the taste leaving him. With dreads hanging across the sides of his face, the snacks seem to simply dissapear into the painted white mouth one by one. The horrible beast arrived hungry.

H'kon was early enough to have secured his glass of whisky, now firmly gripped in his hand, well before any rush. He's since occupied the outskirts, nodding to Avalanche's riders, and the occasional rider from another wing, or anyone who might happen upon him. He's got no chair, content to stand with his back propped against the wall, but it doesn't take much investigation to see the man has little in the way of intentions to leave. Or mingle. He ''will'' keep up a continuous scan of the room, watching comers, goers, mill-abouters. Blue people. Etc.

Evidently, K'del is disinclined to be rude or distant, tonight, because he sweeps Brieli a bow-- or perhaps he's just mistaken who she is. But - no, apparently not, because he says then, "Weyrwoman. You look lovely, as always." He's smirking, though. "Congratulations on the eggs. We've brought you in a few Candidates already." From suspiciously pro-K'del holds, too, for the most part.

Every party needs a pooper! Apparently Alida is the big one tonight, given she wears no costume, no mask... is not even dressed up. This is what happens when you travel on business, and are relatively poor. No matter; the woman simply steps into the main cavern from deeper within the living area, eyeballing the various adorned bodies with relative interest, for once...even if a few of the costumes make her have to hide low snickers behind an artfully placed hand. Observance is her keyword, at this time.

On Taikrin's arm sits Hraedhyth. No, wait, she's much smaller and far more timid, Azaylia not quite doing her lifemate justice. Painted jaws spread as she smiles, looking over at her escort as gilded nails reach up to brush fingertips over the necklace she wears. Eyes catch a glint of silver, K'del's own grand gestures bringing her eyes towards her fellow Weyrwoman. But it's a party, and despite sullen days Azaylia is intending to fully throw herself into the festivities. Now where are the drinks?

"Thank you. I know." Brieli has her own faint smirk for that and K'del both over her glass, as she shifts out of the way for the girl behind her to get her juice - not that she waits in line, no. So yay for Peregrine! And... they are at the drinks, but at least the other goldrider will lift a hand to her counterpart and date, despite her somewhat wide-eyed look. Directing that back the bronzerider's way briefly - did I see right? - she quirks her lips. "I'd heard. And thank you. I'm hoping everyone will be able to see them soon." There's a pause before, "I hope you're well." It sounds sincere!

For her part, Taikrin is doing her best to be as gallant as a coal-miner ought to be. Her pickaxe is tucked into far side of her belt, and she's managed not to get any of the dark dust smudging her face on Azaylia. Yet. Her head is held high, though, and beneath the mask is a smug a smile as any she's ever worn. "What do you want to drink tonight, mm-- Hraedhyth?" There's a tease in her voice as she addresses Azaylia. "Some of the good stuff?"

Peregrine smiles at Brieli politely as she gets her drink. She's suddently surrounded by so many people! "Your costumes are really good, um, sirs and ma'ams." She nods her head quickly and moves away from the table to make more room and is that a blush again? She is then one of the people that seems to plan to mill around, but on the outskirts and tries to avoid attention as she watches the people, looks at the costumes, and enjoys the music.

K'del, too, shoots a glance towards 'Hraedhyth' and the coalminer, and his brows raise beneath all the blue paint. To Brieli, all he says is, "Imagine most of the Weyr hope so, too. Been a long time since we had so many eggs upon the sands. I'm well." It's a little clipped, but… it's probably sincere, along with his, "And yourself, of course." His white teeth stand out all the more on blue lips (and man, that can't taste good). "Oh," he says, glancing at Peregrine. "Uh, thank you. You look--" He runs out of words.

Suireh's idea of a costume is a feathered white mask that's elegantly jeweled. How an apprentice affords such wares would be a question if she were marked as an apprentice this night, but being knotless, she's also judgment free (mostly). She's wearing gather finery; a simple, silken white dress that clings to her less than ample curves and her dark, glossy hair is in an elegant updo. She's midst a gaggle of weyr boys, and for once, behind that saving grace of a mask, she allows herself to smile charmingly, beaming practically, at the court she has surrounding her.

"Any stuff." Azaylia answers somewhat weakly, but as she begins to shake off the melancholy, she gives Taikrin's arm a faint tug. "Let's see what they have? I mean, I know, I helped plan but--" Is she nervous? More than likely, doing her best not to bite her lip for fear of smudging her war paint. "I won't keep you for long," She promises, "If you'd rather dance with Riorde or someone." Not to free herself up for dancing with any boys, or anything.

Madilla, in her little-girl garb, looks extra peculiar sipping from the glass of white wine in her hand. Of course, she makes a funny-shaped little girl: too many curves. The healer chats cheerfully with one of her crafter compatriots for a few minutes, then, bobbing her head at hime, draws herself up and away from the wall - ready to mingle.

After a sip from her drink, "I imagine so. I don't think it should be an issue for too long." Brieli's expression is even more difficult to read than usual with her mask on, but the blink for Peregrine is easily readable. More gracious than for the blue man, "Thank you. Are you dressed as something, or are you not a costume person?" And for K'del, since he asks, "I've been... thinking a lot. I think that's productive. I'll forgive you if you say ''no'', but I'd like to talk sometime. Start everything over with the turn?" Innocent enough, right?

"Promised the first dance to you, didn't I?" Taikrin reassures Azaylia as she leads her over towards the bar. Her smirk when she pulls into the end of the line implies that she's only standing there for fun, really. "It's different when you see it in front of you than when you're planning. Relax. Enjoy it. This turnover is for you, and all you done. It's your party." Her focus is entirely on reassuring the weyrwoman on her arm, to the exclusion of all else-- it migth be a little intense.

Vienne is hardly a notable addition to the gathering, just a little sailor boy slipping in amongst the revelers, perhaps out of place if one doesn't look to close and actually mistakes her for an underaged male. She's short enough to pull it off and with her hair tucked up into a cap and her skinny limbs, she might really look the part, though the buttons across her chest don't quite hide her gender entirely. With the number of people present, she has to press up to her toes a bit, trying to peer through the crowd in an attempt to figure out where the wine is being poured.

Z'ian arrives at the party, fashionably late of course. The simple white mask that he wears obscures most of his face and he's left the knot behind for tonight. Some people are recognizable in their costumes and there's a couple that garner more than a passing glance from the bronzerider. He moves through the crowd, his feet taking him on an indirect path towards the bar. He bumps into other partiers along the way, some he knows and greets while others he merely nods a quick apology and keeps moving.

Brieli's request may be innocent, but K'del seems unnerved by it. Perhaps that's not unreasonable. "Perhaps," he prevaricates, at first. But: "You're one of my Weyrwomen. Of course." He sounds thrilled with the idea. Or dubious. Probably dubious. Abruptlly, "Won't keep you, now. Imagine you've guests to mingle with, and all. If you'll excuse me?"

H'kon is not ready to mingle. And when the walls start to get crowded as people with loaded plates look for safe places to eat, he shifts from his lean on the wall, and sets out, slow and steady through the increasingly frequent waves of partiers. It might be a ploy, to move away from the wall and into the crowd that's almost entirely made of people taller than him (give or take one or two), a means of camouflage. That exit's far, but never underestimate the determination of a painfully introverted and broody brownrider.

Riorde's concession to masquerade is a mask only, black silk to match a black dress. It's the same dress she's worn in turns past; tonight will not be the night she breaks habit. She is, thus, plainly recognizable, even with her hair twisted up off her shoulders. The mask really does nothing to hide her features.

With *that* cleavage and *that* hair, is it any surprise that most notable Hailstorm wingriders jeer loudly at the arrival of the fashionably late Ainslee? Red hair is pulled up for a change, a bold stance given the risque-low cut of off-the-shoulder dress: a plunging neckline matches, a simple shift of metallic peach that gracefully hugs curves from bosom to knee. This is definitely more of Ainslee than the greenrider typically shows, even with the charming winged mask of fanciful white. (Who knew she had *that* much cleavage? Guys? Guys? Some poor Avalanche schmuck just ran into a punch bowl. Maybe someone should give her a scarf before she REALLY causes a traffic accident.)

Azaylia may wilt some under that intensity, tempted to bury her face into Taikrin's arm if not for her make up. "Yeah." She doesn't sound at all displeased, pulling away to trade compliments with those passing by before her attention focuses back onto the brownrider. "It's not, it's for everyone. Really. But thank you for saying so." Fingers keep brushing up against that necklace, worrying the most center precious stone with her thumb.

Is she being a wall-flower? Shells no, but Alida certainly isn't the belle of the damned ball, either, the pale-headed femme simply weaving in and around the gathered throng as she heads straight for the booze table. Those clear, deep green eyes certainly don't avoid anyone on her way to refreshment, taking in mister 'Blue' over there with a bit of darkly-humored gawking, while the gal wearing the vicious gold dragon costume gets a rather toothy grin. Peering like an old Uncle at the little sailor boy-gal as she passes, astute eyes then manage to fixate on pigtailed and waaaay girlish Madilla, managing to tear free (after 'lida once again artfully hides her sniggering behind her hand) and rake over the guy in the white mask and nothing else dressy. "What a f*cking crowd..." the guard mutters to herself as she fords it like a river.

Bones leans more intensely over the food, another growl leaving him at the taste of a particularly succulent mini-meatroll. He's playing the part of his costume without realizing, so enamored with the free food that he's half-inclined to crawl right up onto the table. Thankfully there's the pauses required to chew. He can't quite open is mouth as wide as a watch-wher can. It's in the middle of chewing that he notices a familiar face, one that'd helped him pick out his horrific costume. "Vee!"

Maybe it's sympathy that sends Madilla hurrying towards H'kon, having caught sight of him across the room. Of course, by the time she actually gets there, the brownrider is gone; she's left looking perplexed. In the process, she catches sight of Alida just barely-- and offers her a trepidatious smile, both wary and attempting to be friendly and welcoming. No, she will never give up.

"Of course." Brieli tilts her glass K'del's way with a faint smile, a farewell. And with all these people headed bar-ward and her with a glass in hand, perhaps she ''does'' have rounds to make. Drifting off away from the drinks, she nurses the one in hand. As one young man comes too close and speaks to her quietly, she snaps briefly, "Do I look like I'm wearing white?" Likewise knotless, mistakes will be made. Dumb boys.

"Happy Turnover," offers K'del, with a final bob of his head towards Brieli. With that, the blue man turns to leave, wandering back through the crowd with an expression that speaks to great apprehension and concern.

"Good." Taikrin smiles at Azaylia's gesture, her grip turning momentarily possessive. But then it's time to order, which Taikrin will do with a raised-brow silent request for the goldrider to humor her. "Whisky, no ice, and the Lady Hraedhyth'll have a glass of that white-- no, not that one, the good one. The Benden-- yeah, that one. It'll do." Turning back to Azaylia, she says, "So long as you enjoy the party yourself. Let the headwoman take care of everything tonight. We'll drink and dance and eat." For a moment, her gaze flickers towards Alida -- she must have caught some of the woman's comment, given their relative proximities -- but she doesn't let the frown linger long. "You're the star tonight," she adds distractedly to Azaylia. "You and Brieli."

The dumb boy, nonetheless, looks enchanted to be snapped at by the silver-dressed vision and lingers staring long after Brieli's moved on. If Suireh's noticed she's lost one member of her court, well- charitably, there are a lot of weyr boys around her. Uncharitably? She's such a player tonight. Maybe that's what she's dressed as, in all white... with a white mask and sparkling jewels. An angelic, innocent looking player. But a man in blue catches her attention and making the sweetest of apologies, the white-clad teenager departs the gaggle and makes her way through the crowds slowly, pink sugar-rimmed drink in hand. As for her court? Well, there are many other attractive and far more pliable girls than Suireh all too willing to claim this boy or that one, if they're not being completely distracted by the walking cleavage that is Ainslee.

It might not be the nickname that tips Sailor Vienne off that Bones is calling for her; largely it's just his volume and that striking... look he has about him. She smiles wide, lifting a hand to wave at him while she tries to twist and duck her way across the crowd until she's close enough to say, "You look terrifying!" With her grin beaming, her tone is utter congratulations, even if she did help him come up with this get up. "The teeth are genius."

Z'ian has arrived by the bar, food, beverage whatever area. The sight of another man bumping into the punch bowl is a notable occurence, so it's natural that he would turn around to find the focus of his distracted attention. The jeering and catcalls from a group of wingriders is what finally gets him to shift his gaze towards Ainslee herself. The bronzerider watches her from across the way, smiling lopsidedly as he takes in that uh, dress she's wearing. And what a nice dress it is. So nice. It's only the sight of K'del in blue that pulls his attention, he lifts his hand and tries to get his attention. But he is quite far away, for now he gives up and orders his drink. Meanwhile, his gaze slides back to the Hailstorm greenrider.

What is this? K'del? In blue? Riorde seems to have found her target. She heads for him like a hound on a scent, neatly interposing herself in his path. "Good evening, Weyr--whoops. Sorry. Habit."

K'del eventually comes to a halt off to one side, nursing his blue-rimmed drink with a very faraway and sad kind of expression. It's his first turnover as a single man in some time; give him a break! If he's noticed that the girl in white has noticed him in turn, he certainly doesn't pay her any attention: ''his'' gaze wanders off through the room, more than briefly lingering on Ainslee, and then falling idly towards Z'ian, to whom he raises his drink. Hi the-- Riorde. His expression is bland. "Riorde."

Peregrine has finished the glass of juice she had and makes her way back to the drink table from where she had stood near the musicians. She gets the same thing for herself when there's room for her to get to the table itself. She doesn't stay there however since there are so many other people around to have to watch out about bumping into. She smiles a little when she sees the young man come in. Maybe it has to do with the fact that he looks better in his dress than she does in hers.

Every girl knows that accessories make the outfit. And some girl let Wakizian in on this little secret. And so it is with clumsy white lace fan in hand that the young... man? slips into the party, a little out of breath. He takes a moment to rid himself of a thick winter coat and fluff his sleeves and push long brown locks out of his face before he starts further into the cavern, brown eyes dancing across all the faces from behind the black half-mask.

Ainslee didn't *mean* to borrow Suireh's fanboys. SUIREH. TAKE THEM BACK. The redhead winds her way through the crowd, stopping as she does next to an inconspicuous sailor just her height, unaware of the converging mass horde on K'del or Z'ian's appreciative gaze - yet. That convergence is going to cause one hell of a pileup, and Z'ian, well, appraisals like that /itch/ after a while! "Sailor," she drawls in the *most* horrible imitation of a South Boll accent, "What's a girl got to do to get a drink?" Her smirk for Vienne is somewhat girlish in implementation.

Any smiles directed Azaylia's way will be returned, with genuine cheer to go with the polite gesture. "I do--" But then Taikrin is ordering, so hopefully the mask hides her wince at the brownrider's choice. The wine is inspected, perhaps under the guise of it ''not'' being good enough when in reality, the weyrwoman has never been one for wine. But it's alcohol, and the sooner she finishes, the sooner she can have more. "Thank you, Taikrin. I was... yes. Both of us." Said in a rush, new topic: "Why a coal miner?" Even as she asks, her eyes are scanning the room and that wine isn't being properly appreciated. Glug.

"K'del," Riorde says with a pretty smile, matching name for name. "Hello. How have you been? It's been so long since we properly talked." Words, all above board. Intimations? Quite possibly less so.

"Man, I was worried that I'd have the weirdest costume" Bones admits as he rounds the table to talk to the sailor boy, Vienne. "Thankfully, that guy just showed up." He puts one hand on Vienne's shoulder, and uses the other to point across the room at the other gender-bending costume choice, Wakizian. "Dude shoulda shaved his legs for that one, don'tcha think? Ha!" It's just as he makes that joke that Ainsless approaches, and steals Vienne's attention. How could she not, what with the rack and all.

Silvery flashes come from the edge of the room as Brieli surveys the party from the edges of things, picking out costumes, then people, if she can sort out the two. She's not drinking too quickly, not yet - and she's not all that inclined to chat for the time being, still watching K'del as he's being accosted, dark gaze thoughtful. Ainslee's dress - and yes, hair and rack and admirers all - gets her attention, tipping her off to Vienne, along with Bones - and though she's in no hurry, she angles towards the food.

Isn't is just like the perhaps-sour guardswoman: leaving someone in her wake frowning at her! Alida misses that expression from Taikrin, but she does happen to catch Madilla's look and nervous bit of a smile at her...the Pars woman actually inclining her pale head to the Healer and tossing her a very half-assed salute with two fingers to forehead. And then it's on through the rest of the crowd, and over to the table of booze and food, where some party chow and good spirits are found, appropriated, and then sat down with. Nompf...sip. Quite randomly, the bitch settles not far from the settled Bones/Barnabas...her green eyes occasionally skating subtly aside to study him and his wher costume.

"Imagine you know exactly how I've been," points out K'del, not especially trusting of Riorde. He regards her, levelly, his blue-tinged brows only slightly raised. "Imagine you know that, too. What do you want? Go on, rub it all in. I don't care." He does care, though: that would be why he's suddenly looking so tired and alone.

Either Taikrin doesn't notice the wince, or she chooses not to comment on it. Either way, she's happily sipping away at her own whisky. "Grew up a coal miner, you know-- used to play down in the mines. Hide-and-seek? We'd come home so covered in black dust sometimes our own mothers couldn't tell us apart, so it seemed like it might be a good costume." Presumably Taikrin didn't also come home with an additional thirty pounds of muscle on her frame. "I tried to talk the weyrmate into being a fisherman, like, a sexy fisherman? But she wasn't having it. What can you do?" She glances over the crowd again, curiously, to search for the woman. When she's not immediately visible, the nearly-Weyrleader shrugs. "How'd you settle on Hraedhyth?"

Sailor Vienne didn't realize Ainslee was standing right there, but it's possible she missed the greenrider's face, all things considered. She turns to regard her friend with a wide smile, infected by all the excitement. "Look at you!" she laughs, reaching out to slip an arm around Ainslee's waist as if that's entirely natural. It's just for a moment. "I think all you have to do is say it a little louder." She cuts a glance past the boobs toward all those eyes that have been on them. And then, back to grinning at Bones, "No, I think the teeth might give you an edge. You're going to give people nightmares." She tries to see through the crowd to the unshaved legs, but it's nothing but shoulders. There's barely time to catch Brieli's glance and send a smile back her way.

Z'ian's drink arrives, tall and amber colored. He accepts it graciously from the bartender, leaning with his back against the counter. Does this count as being a wallflower? Probably. But it gives him a good vantage point to people watch for the time being and he seems content with just staying out of the crazy mass of humanity right now. He lifts his chin when K'del acknowledges him, eyes flickering to Riorde when she approaches the other bronzerider. His lips purse but he's soon distracted by continuing the art of making eyes at Ainslee from across the room. Until you know, she notices. Or he gets bored, whichever comes first. ''Or'' he looks K'del's way again and catches that expression. Well. Greenrider with cleavage, rescue your friend. Greenrider with cleavage, rescue your friend. So many choices. The Avalanche rider pushes himself to a stand begins to head towards the blue man.

K'del looking tired and alone is when Suireh, mindless of Ainslee sudden problem of all her former suitors ''mesmerized'' by the cleavage and red head combo, swoops in, sliding her arm in through the former Weyrleader's unsuspect arm from behind. "You look like you could use a drink, sugar." She can even feign a sultry voice, with mixed results. "Why don't I get you one? You don't mind if I borrow him, right?" She's not quite manhandling K'del away from the black-masked woman, but there's an arch little smile beneath that all-encompassing white feather mask.

It's a good thing Wakizian didn't go for the heels! He's having enough trouble navigating his way though the crowd in men's work boots as is. Apparently dressing as the fairer sex isn't sitting well with him, as he's shifting the bodice and tugging on the skirt of the dress. His target becomes readily apparent. He's heading towards Hraedhyth's lifemate. Apparently the lack of shaved legs is enough to stave off the attentions of some, but others whistle at his passing - either in play or perhaps as a compliment for the figure he's created for himself. His fan taps Azaylia lightly on the shoulder and he murmurs - sound perhaps lost to some of the crowd, "I think I may have chosen poorly and might need protection."

Peregrine is enjoying people watching, or costume watching, though she doesn't know what to do with herself anytime she gets too close to any drama between other residents or riders so she moves away whenever she thinks she should. She moves to the food table and piles a variety of things on a plate and hides in a corner to stay out of everyone's way.

Hraedhyth is all smiles, "That's really cute, Taikrin." To make up for what might be construed as an insult, she's pressing even more up against the brownrider's side. "Riorde." She says, warmly. The wine must be kicking in, as her glass is nearly empty ''already''. "I'm sorry that she didn't. That would have been nice. A coal miner and a fisherman..." There's a snap to Azaylia's neck as she does a doubletake- that young, unfortunately shaped woman looks familiar. Wakizian. Not that she recognizes him, turning to look back up at Taikrin, "Oh. I thought of a gold firelizard, but Hraedhyth got a little upset at that." She says with a fond little smile, "So I made the joke that I'd go as her. She was happy. And it's... different." Which is a plus.

Riorde stares straight back at K'del from behind her mask. There's very little warmth, if any. "I don't want anything." A pause, and then she reconsiders, "Maybe a glass of wine. I haven't had anything to drink yet. Do you--" She's on the verge of suggesting a drink herself when Suireh intervenes, earning her one black look. There's no point in saying anything when it's to their backs.

Ainslee frames a look through dark 'lashes up to Bones, across the way. "I'm not sure we've met," she states, leaning over - oh God - to extend a hand, a pretty imitation of manners. A princess and a wher; isn't there a Disney movie about this, somewhere? "I'm... well. I suppose I can't tell you that, tonight, but I'm very pleased to meet you?" Yes, it's a question. She melts into Vienne's side in that uber-girly fashion that some girls just seem blessed with, a hug returned (look ma, no hands!). It comes about this point in time that some kind of survival instinct triggers, and she scoots away from Vienne and Bones just quickly enough to escape no less than four costumed men chasing her with drinks. "I'll be back!" she likely lies through her teeth, slipping sideways a step to fall in line with a pretty (and also familiar) face. "Oh, look at ''you''." You, in this case, would be Z'ian. "Mind if I?" She's going to take a sip from his drink, now, heedless of the fact that he's still, y'know, holding it.

Go back to your ogling, Z'ian: all is probably well! Probably. K'del has to blink several times at Suireh before determining that she is ''not'' the other woman in a pale dress and mask, though it's likely he's still not actually sure who she is. "Another time, Riorde," he gets out between half-gritted teeth. "Why don't you go and find your little girlfriend, instead. Unless she's too busy?" Suireh, whoever she is, is clearly the better option: he's apparently quite content to be swept along with her. "Thanks," he says.

Azaylia gives a sudden start at being tapped on the shoulder, and instantly that unfortunate girl is there! "Oh. ...Oh!" A sharp gasp, "Oh you poor... what." The weyrwoman is trying not to laugh, really, Wakizian has her sympathies, but... "Taikrin is a wonderful guard. We'll save you from those fresh bronzeriders."

Madilla's fingers idly play with the end of one pigtail, while the other continues to hold on to the stem of her wineglass. Having missed H'kon in the crush, she's alone only briefly-- long enough to take another few sips of her wine, but not much more. Her smile, as one of the other healers approaches, is bright, and their low-toned conversation seems to please her.

The moon drifts over Sailor Vienne's way - doesn't it draw the tides, anyway? Brieli just comes up to the bluerider as Ainslee's skittering away, and she offers a little wave to the redhead en passant. So it's just Vienne and Bones that she offers a flash of a smile to, a tilt of her glass. "Happy Turnover. You both look good." Even the wher, even hunching over the food and all. In fact, she'll ask him, "What's good tonight?"

Oh, good. Because Z'ian really didn't want to break up a cat fight between K'del and Riorde. That would have been awkward. So when he tries to bypass Ainslee and her little group, he's more or less fine with being waylaid by the greenrider. With Ainslee now by his side, he slips an arm around her waist while slowing so that he can more easily hand off that drink to her. He's barely even touched it yet, so it's essentially fresh still.

Taikrin makes a face at being called cute, but there's teasing in her voice. "Funny that she liked the idea of you going as her. I ain't ever thought that. Wonder what Szad would say about it." There's not time to ponder that thought, though, because there's a cute girl-- girl?" Taikrin's initial broad smile turns confused when she gets a better look at Wakazian. "I reckon we can manage to save you from bronzeriders, yeah. How did-- who's your friend, Azaylia?"

Bones' eyes are locked to cleavage as he takes Ainslee's hand and shakes it with the strength of a man who's survived by hard labor alone. "Preeetty sure I'd remember you." He says with a smirk, being openly and obvious with his gawking. It's as soon as he's introduced that she's chased away, and Bones is left to blink at Vienne the sailor. "Well that was weird. It's not just me right, that ''was'' weird?" Brieli jumps in, and Bones eyes jump up to the moon goddess. This one he can actually make eye contact with. "What's good? Ha! All free food is good food. But if I had to pick a favorite? That uhh, brown paste. Put it on one the blue cracker things." He wasn't good with names.

Note one chillin' guardswoman sitting at a table, eating her noms, sipping her wine, watching the guests circulate...and then watch said Alida suddenly gag on a swallow of her wine when finally noticing the hairy-legged, dress-wearing Waki in the crowd. More hacking, choking, and then a series of harsh coughs later has the Pars woman lifting a napkin to her lips and nose, finally eyes, to try and cover, wipe away all of that experience of a guy in drag...her snickering giggles drowned behind hand with cloth within it.

Yay fresh drink! Ainslee will totally steer this little twosome ove-- oh wait, there's Brieli, and she's leaning around to offer a smile-in-passing, over two joe-schmoe's shoulders and one disturbingly short tanner's head. When Ainslee can see over someone's head, things are bad, guys. She returns to leaning up against Z'ian comfortably. "Think things are going to get bloody before the night is out?" is her question to her companion-of-the-moment, beaming up at him with certain spirit. Or maybe it's the +3 ego boost that Bones just gave her a minute ago.

Riorde doesn't bother herself with a response to K'del. She's already turning away, in fact, with what's visible of her expression steadily darkening. The brownrider in black practically stalks towards the nearest drink.

Oh, and here -- fashionably late, of course -- is the High Reaches Hold contingent. They're immediately apparent, if only for their finery and their solidarity -- the couple at front entering as if they're owed some sort of attention, trailed by their entourage. The woman at the front -- obviously Issedi, dressed all in pink -- is gasping with delight at all the outfits, and leans in to give the black-clad figure at her side a kiss on the cheek before disappearing off towards a group of women, accompanied by Diendra. This leaves a somewhat bemused Devaki in her wake, glancing back to Hana and offering a hand. "Drink?"

Black mask lady gets one last wicked smile cast over Suireh's shoulder, before she makes off with blue man. A very obvious-who-it-is blue man. The harper's voice is, at least, kind behind the safety of her mask. "Looked like you needed someone to hold your hand." And look, there she is, slipping her hand down his arm to his hand to hold it with one delicate gloved hand. "And a drink. Here, have the rest of mine. If you shoot it back in one go, it's much stronger. And the party becomes all the more enjoyable."

Hana blinks after Issedi for a long moment - that was not in the plans! before doing the same to Devaki. Preferring something in a blueish-green, the young woman steps up to Dev's side and accepts the hand, "Ah.. perhaps that would be just as well." That said, Han then peeks this way and that to get a look at all the outfits, a bit of a smile taking up permenant residence.

Such a variety, tonight! The weyr's newest Smith slips in, an austere figure in autumnal colors of rust and gold and russet, his mask a marvelous contraption of raptorial beak and feathers, nonetheless masculine for the presence of such. Almost of a height with yon blue-man, Xhaeon, though as unfamiliar as the other man is familiar; maybe he's a little more familiar as he ends nearby Wakizian, happening to appraise the apprentice with a leisurely expression. His Telgar accent gives him away, deadpan delivery of his salutation for such greeting as is offered: "Ma'am."

"Don't choke!" Wakizian's baritone voice projects over some of the noise towards the choking-gagging-giggling Alida. This before he has a chance to respond to Azaylia and Taikrin. He groans as he looks back to the riders, "Or maybe you need to protect people from me." A glance behind him to where a bronzer who's had a little more wine than he should for so early in the evening is raising a glass in his direction, "No, wait, I've changed my mind. Definitely protect me from the bronzeriders." He shifts nervously, "Weyrwoman, with all due respect, I wish I'd never made you laugh. And then had this idea. I look ''too'' good." He flips his hair. It's all the hair. And the fan. He flutters it. A plaintive glance is given towards Taikrin in a 'save me please' kind of way.

K'del squeezes Suireh's hand in return - and at least he's got gloves on his hands rather than more blue paint, making it unlikely that he will accidentally rub anything off on her. "Thanks," he says, genuinely, not glancing back in Riorde's direction. He doesn't need a second invitation to take that drink, or to down it in one, though afterwards his expression isn't much happier. "There's always someone who's got to try and ruin someone else's night. Go figure. Anything I can do for you in return, uh--?"

"It's a party," Sailor Vienne laughs as Ainslee goes spinning away with her cleavage and Bones is left blinking at her. She barely has any time to make further explanation for her buxom friend before the moon is taking Ainslee's place. "Brieli," she smiles easily, eyes flicking up and down the goldrider. "You look beautiful. I tip my hat." And that she does so with a jaunty smile. For Bones, she tries to supply the word, "Pate?"

"I thought about going as Szadath. She liked that, too." Azaylia explains with a soft laugh, not oblivious to her own dragon's intense affection. Intense everything, really. "But I look ''awful'' in brown." She turns, tipping the empty glass towards Wakizian, "This little smartmouth is..." Did they exchange names? She's forgotten. "...uhm. A crafter I met in the complex." Smooth. Still, her arm wraps around Wakizian's waist and pulls him in, to make sure the lady-lad is protected, of course. From bronzerieders. "Can we keep hi-- her, Taikrin?" She asks with a playful smile for the shorter brownrider.

Peering at the 'brown paste', Brieli squints a touch, then just nods. "I'll give it a try, thank you." Maybe she figures there's not much sense in telling Bones the actual names. "I'm glad it's all good though - the kitchen staff have been at it for days, and definitely concerned that people would enjoy the food." There's a quirk of lips; they needn't have worried in some cases. "Vienne. And thank you. You've been enjoying the night as well, then?" With a glance across the caverns and crowd, "Looks like our guests have made it as well. From the Hold." The look back to the bluerider might be significant.

"She'll be back," Devaki murmurs to Hana in an undertone of amusement, "Once she's assured herself she's wearing the ''best'' dress here. Otherwise," a light pat of hand to Hana's as he rests it on his arm, "She'll drag you off to change again." Behind the black-feathered mask, the Lord's eyes are bright, and he begins to lead the way through the crowd to where the drinks are being served. "This way, if memory serves."

Alida pats weakly at the air in Waki's direction when she can't help but overhearing his boom at her state of being at this moment, the woman still holding the leftovers of a grin upon her features, though it's fading. Holy crap, she *can* actually smile. Finally recovering, the palest-blonde settles back into her fare, enjoying the tastes and the bouyant atmosphere in the Caverns. As she's not standing in the packed place, her keen eyes don't make out Devaki and party's entrance.

Z'ian follows the line of his companion's gaze, turning to look towards her little group. His eyes flickers over Brieli before letting them slide right back towards the greenrider again. He does pause to wave and call out a quick hell to the man dressed as a wher, "Bones!" But they're moving again now. And while there's still men staring hard at Ainslee and her cleavage, his arm around her waist seems to deter them for the moment. Even if they've just resorted to giving him particularly nasty looks. "I think it might. Do you want to place another wager and see who wins?" He asks her challengingly, tipping his head to present her with a sly smile.

The power of being relatively unknown is a heady thing, allowing Suireh to again smile archly at her companion. It's a secretive, playful smile from one angle; a practiced, harperly smile from another. "You can call me lady in white. It's a night for anonymity anyway, right? And even if you know who someone is, you pretend you don't." The subtle dance of her voice that lays emphasis on this choice word or that isn't insulting of Riorde -- not at all, right? "Here, another," they're suddenly at the drinks table, which is relieved of two glasses of bubbly golden liquid. "A toast, sad little, blue man."

When the High Reaches Hold contingent enters, Taikrin's spine stiffens. She goes back onto point, though she's making an effort to smile and be pleasant to Wakizian. "You do look cute. Azaylia can be dangerous if you let her start dressing you." She glances over her shoulder again, at Devaki and Issedi and contingent. "Reckon we can keep, um, her. If it makes you happy?" When she looks again-- there's Riorde! She takes a half-step back, stretching a hand out to the other woman, then adds, "Reckon we ought to go and make sure the Holders are feeling welcome, yeah? You're welcome to come--?"

It's not long after the High Reaches Hold contingent arrives that a low mutter begins to spread throughout one corner of the room: murderer, they say. ''Murderer''.

"Oh, we could. What shall we wager, then?" Ainslee takes another sip of Z'ian's drink, allows herself to be guided for the moment. "Something meaningful." The bloodlust is tangible, after all, isn't it? Sneaking vengefully just underneath the thinnest veneer of civility.

Bones' height offers him the advantage of being able to spot most anyone in the room, and he here's his name called from a familiar face, be it half in white mask. "Z'ian!" He calls back, waving his monster arm out to him in recognition. It's as soon as he calls out the name that he notices Ainslee get her hooks into him, and the gardener can only chuckle. He'd catch up with Z'ian later. Besides, Brieli was busy pointing out some hold-folk. A new direction for his neck to turn.

Riorde, over by one of the drinks tables, has wound up with a glass of white wine, but she's looking like she regrets it, considering her glass at length. It doesn't slip her attention that the group from the Hold's entered. It doesn't even take the mutterings of murderer to begin. She glances up to find Taikrin there, and in short order, she's smiling again. "Yes. I believe we should," Riorde agrees as pleasantly as can be.

"Oh dear. On the other hand, I'm sure we have something.. possibly... to modify.." Well, not so much modify, as just put on. Still, Hana grins a bit at the idea, and follows along to the drink table easily enough. "Ah, liquid courage - well, for one of us. What did you say about your dancing skills again?" she asks, teasing her boss as they go, and to all appearances, missing the whispering going on.

A teenage weyr boy, dressed as the hind end of a runner, ventures closer to Ainslee. Somewhere in the crowd, there's the fore end of that runner egging him on with silent cheers of 'go on, go on'. But then Z'ian is whisking her away, and the boy trails after, silently, not conspicuous at all.

Suireh's answer isn't, it seems, entirely satisfactory to K'del, but he accepts it with a twist of his expression-- and then a nod. "Lady in white, then," he confirms. "And I'm be blue man? It seems only appropriate." He knows all too well that he's easy to recognise, that his costume hasn't even tried to hide that; it doesn't seem to bother him, though. "Another," he agrees. "Hopefully not so sad, if I can help it. I'll try. Thank you for rescuing me, lady in white." He executes a practiced bow.

Apparently Wakizian picked the wrong mask. This one doesn't cover his cheeks! Which fill with a blush at the Journeyman Smith's greeting, "Sir! Evening!" His voice cracks in the middle of the greeting, coaxing a darker hue to his cheeks. "Oh yeah. Never going to live this one down." This is more under his breath, but those closest to him would certainly hear the remark. "I'll be Lady Smith forever." He's pulled close then to the goldrider, and he clears his throat, "Actually, ma'am, I'm um-- a candidate now. Got my new knot just before the party began." Hence his late entrance, more than likely. "And as such, it would be in the interest of your future dragonets to keep me from any tawdry bronzeriders with bad intentions." This is the pitch made towards Taikrin. He glances towards the Holders and then down at himself, "Are you sure I would make-- uh, a good impression on Hold folk? Might this be a little too-- um, Weyr-esque for their sensibilities?"

For all that the celebration in the air has Vienne grinning, when Brieli mentions the guests, she tries to look. Only... she is short and there are bodies in the way and the poor little sailor frowns. "I can't see. I don't have heels tonight." As if the two inches would make all that much difference. So all she can do is lift a questioning brow to the goldrider, ready for her expression to fill in the blanks. She also glances aside to Bones, "Would it be weird if you picked me up?" she teases, not at all intending for him to do so.

"I don't think we should wager marks again. We never bothered exchanging them the ''last'' time." Z'ian remarks, using his free hand to reach over and snag his drink back. Just for a moment, he takes a swallow from the glass but notices the fore end of a runner making silent cheers and egging on motions. He can't tell to who he's doing it for yet, but with narrowed eyes he hands the drink back to Ainslee. The whispers reach their area of the crowd and he casts a quick look in her direction, smile turning from sly to crooked. "Maybe sooner than later."

That mutter, that unease that spreads through the cavern is not something Brieli is unaware of, from the way she straightens, looks around the crowd. Her brows might be drawn together under that mask, and as she looks over to Bones, then Vienne, she might betray a bit of concern. "Come with me," she tells the former harper. "If Bones doesn't mind? Then he won't have to stop eating to pick you up." She grins a touch for the joke... but downs the rest of her drink after.

"Yeah, it would." Says Bones, but that doesn't at all deter him from doing just that. Without too much trouble, Vienne's hips are snatched up and Bones quickly deposits the little sailor up on one shoulder, carrying her not unlike the planter that she had helped him with a few days prior. "Got a good view now?"

Whispers? What whispers? Devaki's been far too well trained to acknowledge anything so crass as a low mutter, his air of certainty and confidence never wavering as he leads the charge. "You'll have to wait and see," he replies to Hana with a lightness, and a sidelong glance. "I won't forget. But first, there's--" he's spotted their destination, and a certain brunette there, too. "Drinks." He's making a beeline for Riorde, now. Well, she ''is'' at the drinks table, after all.

"Or... never mind." Brieli blinks as Vienne's hoisted into the air.

Wakizian's cheeks are the least of Xhaeon's worries, for the moment. The tall man seems more than pleased just to draw that voice-cracking reaction. "Lady Smith," he declares, having heard this, executing a courtly bow with a snappy sharpness to gesture and silly flourish of hand and limb. The Smith-raptor (like a velociraptor but less bitey in public) turns his gaze onto Wakizian's friends: Azaylia and Taikrin for certain, and he's touching the edges of his fingers against his mask, a salute for Lady Hraedhyth and, er, Dirty Taikrin.

"Had her murdered. She was in his ''way''," says one whisper, spreading through the cavern. "Then went and married into the Hold. Killed one of his own for the sake of his ambition! And he dares to show his face again?"

"And now," Suireh shares, her delicately featured face lifting to murmur, "That you've been rescued, I should take my leave. It's my turn to provide entertainment for the evening, see." But there's a brush of lips to the blue man's cheeks; somewhere, her father is rolling in his undug grave.

ST> To K'del: You sense Suireh takes that moment, where it seems she's kissing him, to whisper: "You have friends at the Hall." But how much of it he can hear over the din, well...

"Actually," the brownrider corrects, looking past Taikrin to see who's coming their way, "I think they're coming to us. Although I don't see the Lady. Maybe you should see that she's taken care of?" Riorde's smile blossoms for Devaki in a way that it didn't for Taikrin -- but then, she doesn't see him with the same frequency.

The grip Azaylia has on Taikrin's arm might tighten just as the brownrider attempts to flag down Riorde. With a patient sigh, her hand relaxes and she's giving the new brownrider a pleasant smile. And the newest addition, Xhaeon as well, "Happy Turnover." Wakizian has a habit of making her laugh, and she starts up again as he jabs at bronzeriders, "Oh my. Well, congratulations. I'll see about talking Hraedhyth into letting the candidates see the eggs." Maybe. At Taikrin's suggestion, "Oh, we should. Yes." The empty glass is passed off to someone, Wakizian and Xhaeon given a bright smile, "You're welcome to join us, unless you wanted to talk about crafter things. Or, Lady-crafter things." As Devaki makes his way towards them, "Welcome. I hope you've been enjoying your stay?" Warmth that's only encouraged by the wine she's had is painfully genuine.

There's an inadvertent step back, a surprised one, from K'del, a moment after his lady in white has pressed that kiss to him: there's a question in his eyes, too, albeit one he doesn't ask. Instead, a nod, as he reaches to draw her hand up to his lips to kiss. "Thank you, fair lady," he says. "I'll enjoy your song, I'm sure."

Hana laughs quietly as their steps, while not hurried - are suddenly not quite as careless as they were, "An old friend?" she asks curious, rising up on her toes just slightly to try and get a better view of who they are heading for, a bright smile offered as they come into view.

"Meaningful," Ainslee states, blessedly ignorant of any horse's asses running around trying to do malevolent things to her or her current escort. She ''does'' pause, though, when a murmur reaches her from one side, then again from a different direction: her gaze up to Z'ian is a little uncertain, maybe even a touch unsettled. "Maybe we should go back the way we came." Over to Brieli, then, and Vienne and Bones. Red head shakes, she plants a hip and pivots, hopefully bringing the tall bronzerider with her. "You think?" Charming smile, again, half-furrowed as the front-half of a runner crosses her view. That's not someting you see every day.

Vienne is nodding to Brieli, rather seriously, which makes it all the most surprising when Bones' hands end up around her hips and she's hauled up like so much garden equipment. The squeaky, "Oh shit," comes out before she realizes it and her hands end up on the man's crazy hair to steady herself. Laughing brightly, she doesn't really have time to see much of anything other than a mass of weirdly decorated heads before she's twisting to slide back down again. "You are too good at that," she chuckles, shaking her head, a quick glance to see if Brieli is still lingering. "I'll be back, okay?" She tells Bones, her hands still on his chest for a moment before she attempts to follow that whiff of intrigue that calls to her.

Murmurs are the oddest things... Even in a room full of loud people, they get noticed... as soon as word circulates or people stare staring. While some ignore such, others note and say nothing, Alida cannot help but cock her head and languidly take note of the whos and wheres of such whispered talk. After some long moments, she climbs to her booted feet and goes to pour herself a new glass of golden sparkling wine, then setting out on a concentrically-spiralling course from the edges of the crowd inward. At a 'mere' 5'7", she might go somewhat unnoticed. It's on her mission of ferreting out things that she catches that 'killed one of his own' comment from some person, their face, form, words filed away in the sharp rolodex of her mind as she takes it all in.

The middle-aged man who ''made'' the remark about those murders catches Alida's glance, and lifts his eyebrows at her. It could be an invitation-- perhaps he's looking for someone ''else'' to share his talk with. After all, people seem to be moving around so quickly.

Suireh climbs the dais to where the harpers have set up their instruments and begins to provide vocals to the instrumental music that provides a low thrum to the conversation. Her voice is sweet, and when singing, far too recognizable as the girl who once stood on the sands with Brieli and Azaylia. Her perch affords her the best view of all the goings on, and while she's played a fairly decent part tonight (one her masters could potentially be proud of), she's unable to keep that sliver of smug satisfaction out of her feline-in-the-cream smile. At least the singing is pretty.

"Candidates are our future," Taikrin remarks distractedly to Wakizian. She's looking at Riorde with a crease in her brow, but instead of letting the other woman send her off she's stepping forward and inserting herself, with hand held out, to greet Devaki after Azaylia. "High Reaches' welcome to our party." She's got a total-professional smile, completely devoid of the passions she's known for. "Glad High Reaches Hold could make it." The smile includes Hana and the rest of the party, as a matter of course, but Taikrin is focused primarily on asserting herself to Devaki as the man-in-charge.

Bones is carefully still as Vienne slides her way down, but makes no effort to keep her for long. "No problem Vee. Go mingle or whatever." He gives a quick smile as the two depart, a nod of farewell for Brieli. Now he refocuses his effort on the food. Time for some delicous brown paste.

The next wave of rumors that reach them has Z'ian's lips pressed in a firm line once more. His eyes drift away from Ainslee, catching sight of the holders across the cavern. They're watched with something of a critical gaze, hard to tell from behind his mask though. He tightens the circle of his arm around her waist, going along with the pivet that takes them back in the direction of the other three. "Define meaningful to me." The bronzerider must know what it means generally, he's probably more focused on what she's leaning towards more specifically.

Brieli has lingered, and is just shaking her head a little, her smile faint. When Vienne has slid back down from Barnabas' boost up, she gives the big man a quick grin before starting away, quite as if she's headed for a refill along with the little sailor... girl. That her path will connect with the little knot of Hold and Weyr greetings is likely not a coincidence. Quietly to the bluerider, she'll admit, "I don't know enough about all of... what they're saying." The murmurs.

Wakizian visibly winces as he unwittingly ''gives'' himself a new, ''fun'' nickname. And all too soon he's near enough to the Holder grouping that the best he can do is whip his fan open and hold it up to his face, sliding enough steps behind the others that his hairy legs might not be noticed. Time to test if he can pass for an ugly woman! To Xhaeon his words are quiet, "Settling in alright, sir? I swear I'm not normally... it's just that Weyrwoman Azaylia and I had a joke about-- and then--" And a hand gestures to the dress as though these things ''just happen''.

"A very old friend," comes Devaki's murmured response to Hana. His arm slips free from Hana's smoothly enough, his path for Riorde halted abruptly by the greetings from Azaylia and Taikrin. He rocks to a halt, the mask serving to hide any frustrations. Though there's no recognition in the former exile's gaze for Azaylia, he nods to her politely, "Very much so. My Lady, especially, has commented on the hospitality." Taikrin, however, is a far more familiar figure, and there's a smile -- professional, to match hers -- as he responds, "I hear congratulations are in order -- to your dragon?" a lilt at the end.

"Meaningful? Ah... I don't know." Ainslee's gaze is filtered through pale lashes again, up to Z'ian-- her attention is captured by Vienne going off that way, and then Brieli that way. "That's where the blood's going to be," she points an inconspicuous finger over towards the growing knot of people, ends up back where she started: in proximity of Bones. "Sir, what do you feel is a /meaningful/ thing to bet, in a friendly competition?" This is to Barnabas, this time, her friendly smile likely going -completely- unnoticed. Woe. This is why she doesn't wear this dress.

A rather open and guileless little smile are (surprisingly) all for the middle-aged man raising his brows at her, Alida slipping into place next to him...while surreptitiously using one of her arms to try and artfully cover her scabbarded sword. With the press of bodies, it might not be that tough. She'll let him make the intros, however.

Hana aaahs quietly, then offers a deep sweep of the skirts to the savage looking Azaylia, eyes slightly wide as she takes in some of the more daring parts of the woman's outfit, before being distracted by other, more embroidered parts of the outfit. However, for all that, nar a word escaps her lips at this point.

"Not really done, wearing a weapon indoors," says the middle-aged man, giving Alida a lingering glance. Clearly, she hasn't been successful, despite her attempts: he's a sharp-eyed type, it seems. "''Especially'' when you're not a local. Name's L'vand."

Xhaeon doesn't seem to mind, clapping a broad hand to Wakizian's shoulder, unconcerned by his state of undress. "It's a party. What happens here stays here?" Hopefully Wakizian isn't planning on being posted at High Reaches for an awfully long amount of time... Now that he's in the midst of this growing knot, he belatedly offers Devaki and Hana (and Riorde) murmured acknowledgements, sipping on his drink and seeming more than amenable to standing right here, listening to Suireh sing and watching the plot thicken. Er. People go by. "Maybe next time," he can't help but comment to Wakizian, nonetheless: "Shave your legs?" For authenticity, of course.

They've paused. The horse's ass stops short and giggles like the teenage boy he is. He takes aim. And a single full mark piece goes flying, aiming straight for the center of that ample cleavage. Both ends of the horse visibly hold their breath, waiting to see what happens next. Oh, boys.

Suffice to say that Riorde is not among the mutterers. "Dev," she says, dispensing with all titles and formalities as she comes up alongside the two women representing the Weyr to the Hold. Just the nickname. That's all.

Sailor boy. Vienne is a boy tonight. That's why her hair is pulled up in her cap. That's all it takes. Really. And as that 'boy' parts company with Bones and settles in alongside Brieli, Vienne's expression sobers a little, and she nods. "I'll try to listen," she replies, as if that's some tacit understanding between them. It's difficult, though, to catch much from the murmurred comments of people as they pass through the crowd.

Bones is just about to put a cracker full of delicious into his mouth when Ainslee comes back, asking a sudden question with zero context to consider. "Meaningful but friendly wager?" He's able to catch her eyes this time, the male not entirely driven by hormones. Hunger is sometimes a factor too. "Well I'd say-" He's cut off by a flipping mark that lands square in between in her tits, and he gives a short glance to Z'ian before just reaching in and snatching it. "How about one mark?"

"Not usually..." Alida's light alto intones in an almost humored fashion, her green eyes dancing a little as she murmurs her answer quite softly to L'vand. "Well-met, rider. Enjoying the costume ball?"

The remaining exiles, riders and residents, seem divided as that murmur of murderer. Some are casting baleful looks towards the Hold contingent, while others seem to find the man in blue to blame. There are recurrent whispers of ''Seani'' and how rank somehow lets people get away with murder.

"I've been meaning to properly welcome Lady Issedi," Azaylia says, with what little, polite confidence her knot grants her. Not that she's wearing it at the moment. "We should have tea, soon." Hana is included in this offer, smile just as welcoming. "Your dress is very pretty. A dragon's happiness?" She takes a guess for the blue-green ensemble. Not skilled in the art of hiding her emotions, as the whispers finally reach her ears there's a flicker of something. Confusion, most likely. The savage mask makes it hard to tell.

L'vand gives Alida a searching glance, then shakes his head; he seems amused by her, somehow. "Tough scrap of a thing, aren't you? I'm just sayin'-- someone sees it, works out it's real, you could be in some trouble. Dangerous, when people're drinking. Ball's well enough. Be better, if we didn't have a ''murderer'' in our midst, of course, but-- politics say otherwise, it seems. ''Blood'', pah. What's your name, girly?"

With Brieli and Vienne gone, they're back to just Bones again. Z'ian steps forward and punches the wher-gardener in the upper arm. It's not enough to hurt or be aggressive, it's just hello. "Hey again." He shoots the other man a broad smile, blinking when the full mark piece comes flying towards Ainslee's chest and down into her clevage. The bronzerider really doesn't have much other reaction other than to turn and look, catching sight of the two boys. He points one finger at them, then turns two towards his eyes and points at them. ''I saw you''. It's pretty much a silent threat, they may want to scatter. Meanwhile he returns his attention the greenrider just in time to see Barnabas put his hand down there. "Stay classy, man."

K'del seems somewhat frozen by the glances aimed in his direction, at least at first. Perhaps his woman in white's earlier encouragements are enough to ease his tension, however, in retrospect, because a moment later his chin is in the air, and he seems quite content to engage in a low conversation with another rider.

What the FU-- Ainslee's expression is probably the most priceless part of the whole situation: first, listen, that wasn't expected; in some poor alternate universe storyline, that richocheted off a boob and straight into Z'ian's face, gouging out an eye all anime-style and causing irrepairable damage that eventually leads to death, despair, and the end of all life on Pern. Luckily, this isn't THAT timeline. This is the timeline where Ainslee's jaw drops: first that mark, then the presumption of Bones' fingers ON HER RACK, guys, her RACK! - and then she's inhaling the swiftest, "Why I've ''''''never''''''!", followed by a resounding THWACK! of her palm dashing across Barnabas' face.

Harpers sing and play. And observe and those slate eyes try to remain dispassionate, but having caught sight of the arcing mark, where it lands, and the resulting hubbub, Suireh chokes on a note and what was once a solemn ballad turns into a choking festival.

"Appreciated," Brieli tells Vienne, favoring the sailor ''boy'', fine, with a brilliant smile. A brilliant smile which is then aimed Devaki and Hana's way before including the brownriders and the other weyrwoman as well, as if she's surprised to come across them. "Evening, all," she offers, quirking lips as she raises her empty glass. And she'd say more... but then there's the sound of a SLAP, and the moon-masked woman is turning swiftly to stare.

Oh, that wasn't good. Between 'Stay classsy, man' and taking his next breath, Ainslee has thwacked Bones in the face. Z'ian goes from one arm around her waist, to the other strongly gripping her shouler and pulling her immediately away from his friend. "He didn't mean it, he just gets excited." Will that help diffuse the situation?

Only her wry, though now slightly-flinty gaze is offered in answer for L'vand's 'scrap' comment, Alida brushing past such in order to digest more information with restrained interest. Finally... "I heard uv' the...difficulties the Weyr's been having for over a Turn. Sad happenstance, that...especially when a queen passes as well." Of her name, nothing is spoken.

"Szad's plenty pleased with his newest brood," Taikrin acknowledges of Devaki's congratulations. "It's been a turn of big changes for all of us, I reckon. May the new turn bring us as much fortune and then some." That pleasant social smile must be painful, though Taikrin's tells are small enough that only Riorde -- and perhaps Azaylia? -- might notice. "Wingleaders and Weyrleaders and babies and clutches and-- Lord Holders, or so I hear?" Her question is light, social, though the quickest of looks she cuts to Riorde has a weight to it.

"I know you're fairly new to 'Reaches, sir, but have you ever been to a Turnover party where what happens at the Turnover party stays at the Turnover party? In this Weyr everyone has the highlights by breakfast." Wakizian comments quietly to the Journeyman. "Truthfully, sir, I was going to, but then I ended up having to run between talking with Journeyman Thraland and the Headwoman to get my candidate's knot and--" And it's not until he gets to this point in the commentary that he realizes it might not have been the wisest move to reveal that he had ''intended'' to shave. The sound of the slap carries, and Waki flicks his fingers to indicate Bones and his curvy companion, "That'll be in the highlights for sure."

The hard strike to Bones' cheek slaps the smile right from of him, taking a few steps back not of pain, but of shock. The mark is dropped to the floor, and he raises an eyebrow as he rubs his cheek. "Hey, Ow." It's spoken calmly, more emotional hurt in his tone than anything else. "Sorry, just thought I'd save you the trouble of going fishing." The mark is flipped towards Z'ian, enough airtime to let the bronzerider snatch it with ease.

Hana's smile turns up a notch, at Azaylia's guess, "Does that mean I got it correctly? I haven't actually been that close to a dragon, enough to tell when they're happy, but I wanted to try anyway, without asking for details." Oh, right. She was going to remain quiet while Weyrleadgroups and Dev was talking. Oops? The smile doesn't fade, but it turns a touch rueful.

At this rate, L'vand's brows will be raising just about forever-- Alida seems determined to draw them from him again and again. "Been more than one Turn we've been having troubles," he remarks. "Four turns ago, a little more now, ''that'' man had someone murdered in the Weyrleader's Weyr." He's pointing directly at Devaki, long thin finger outstretched.

"Ri," the black-clad Lord replies in turn, something warm and ''familiar'' in the address as Devaki gazes at the brownrider. It's only belatedly that his attention shifts back towards Azaylia. "Tea? Mm, yes, she'd like that very much, I think. Maybe tomorrow afternoon?" he glances at Hana with a wry smile; she knows Issedi's schedule better than he, after all. Then, for Taikrin, a tight smile: "I can drink to that -- if I had a drink." He doesn't get much of a chance to acknowledge Brieli's greeting, when she turns away -- but never one to miss a chance, ''he'' uses it as an opportunity to step sideways past the group, closer to the table, to secure a couple of glasses.

Well now, isn't *that* just as interesting as all get-out? A flick of eyes - not her pale head - in the direction of that pointed finger gives Alida a quick glimpse of Devaki, the woman's own brows lifting for a sudden second before she returns that now quiet green gaze back to the brownrider. A small tilt of head and open expression are offered to him in silent encouragement to continue.

Ainslee doesn't go for the kill, er, physically - Z'ian definitely has her well-in-hand by this point! - but still looks just this side of OUTRAGED. "Going-- fi--" Oh shit, the redhead may be going nuclear if Bones keeps talking. "Are you trying to imply," she demands in a none-too-soft tone of voice, "That--" She starts to work herself up to a heraculean rage, but abruptly shuts down any further comment. She can't do it. She chokes as hard as Suireh does up on the stage, whirls on one flat-shod heel, and storms away, leaving both bronzerider and brown wher to it. Exit one Ainslee, center stage.

Brieli is attended by a little sailor, this evening, or at least that's the part Vienne plays, standing quietly at her side as they approach Devaki and Hana, her smile echoing the goldrider's feigned surprise, an uncertain kind of welcome. At least until all eyes are back on Bones and Azaylia, she misses the groping and only catches the recourse of the slap, blinking quickly. Of course, when she looks back to discover part of their target has slipped off, she can only turn another quiet look at Brieli, ready to follow her lead.

Riorde's smile is a slight thing now that they're past the initial greeting, lingering past the point that Devaki's turned his attention to Azaylia. She glances sidelong at Taikrin then, briefly taking in the would-be Weyrleader. It's long enough apparently, and when Devaki steps away, she reaches over, curls her fingers around Taikrin's upper arm, and gives a light squeeze before her hand drops away. "We haven't met," she remarks, addressing Hana. "Riorde. And you are?"

L'vand seems more than happy to expand on his tale; this is clearly more interesting than the music, or even the sight of marks being thrown and grabbed, wherever they land. "Night of one of our hatchings, it was," he says. "Or day of. One of them exiles-- one of his ''own'' people. He and his red-haired guard disappeared overnight, weren't seen again for turns… until he showed up at the Hold, and look where he is now? Amazing, how people go unpunished for these things."

With the greenrider pulled back out of the range of further smacking, Z'ian lets go of her shoulder to deftly catch the mark in one hand. But so soon she's twisting and storming away. The bronzerider can only stare over and up at the gardener. "The next time I'm with a woman and a mark goes down her huge, ample cleavage? Can you let me pull it out and get smacked? Just mentioning, you know. For if this ever happens again?" Did he get his drink back? We'll say he got his drink back. It's now time to take a long swallow as he pockets the mark.

Brieli is... clearly astounded by the whole Ainslee-Bones situation, but really, she shouldn't be. Maybe it would have been less shocking should the greenrider have punched him. With a little shake of her head, she turns back to tell Azaylia, smiling, "Thank you. That must have taken some time." She gestures to the other goldrider's costume with her glass, then to Taikrin, with Riorde's busy with Hana. "Interesting choice," she says wryly. More generally, "Happy Turnover. Vienne and I were on our way for more drinks."

The set ends sans singer, who is struggling to catch her breath just off stage. A younger apprentice comes to the rescue with a glass of something or other that a now maskless Suireh sips and takes in deep, calming breaths.

Hana pauses for a moment, eyes looking upward as she goes over the schedule, before nodding in agreement. Azaylia gets another bright smile, and a "Very very good - I wasn't sure I would finish it in time," before Riorde's introducing herself, and Hana's reply is simple enough, "We haven't - Hana, ma'am." So many people, it's quite the job to keep up.

Bones winces hard at Z'ian's scolding, shoulders bunching up a little. "Sorry Z'ian. Didn't mean to shut you out. But hey! There's plenty'a ladies here. Night is young right?" He's still wincing slightly as he gives Z'ian a pat on the shoulder. "Granted they probably won't be as stacked but.."

"No," Xhaeon returns baldly to Wakizian; "No, I haven't. Happens that Master Senshan at the main hall once stripped naked and danced on a table at Turnover... oh, that had to be at least a decade ago. They still talk about it. In graphic detail." The Smith, at this junction, can't help it: he leans to a side, laughing; "You *meant* to shave, ma'am?" He's not even focusing on the mounting drama... visibly, at least, though the slap (and the breasts) draw his attention as the whole thing goes down as it does.

"''The'' Hold?" Alida inquires with growing excitement and interest to L'vand, though she keeps her emotions all carefully tucked away within. "Can you tell me how this all came about?" is noted in clinical tones, a small nub of charcoal and a piece of wood-pulp paper coming out of one beltpouch, readied as the woman makes slightly wide eyes at the tale teller.

Apparently Devaki's settled, for now, on snatching the nearest two glasses. He isn't so crass as to abandon Hana entirely -- and it's not much longer before he's at her side again, offering her one of the glasses. "Trouble?" he asks, pleasantly and belatedly, glancing vaguely in the direction of the outburst and departed red-head, more as a distraction than out of any real interest.

The brief contact with Riorde has a spasm of a real smile passing across Taikrin's face before she cna help it. She steps aside for Devaki to pass, though the gesture is not strictly necessary. "That's my girl," she murmurs to herself, though-- which girl is she referring to? Riorde? Azaylia? Wakizian? She adds her introduction to Hana, since Devaki has escaped for the moment. "Taikrin, Glacier's Wingleader," she adds in reference to herself for Hana's benefit, before gesturing to Azaylia and adding, "Weyrwoman Azaylia." She doesn't seem all that distressed about the goings-on with Barnabas and Vienne, and has no bones about saying so. "Regular party business," she says to Devaki. "Nothing to worry about."

If L'vand is concerned about Alida's sudden growing excitement, he certainly doesn't show it: mostly, he seems terribly pleased to have gotten someone's attention for his conspiracy theories (nevermind that they're probably true). "What do you want to know, exactly?" he asks in return. "I'll tell you everything ''I'' know. You know about the exiles, right? Found out on the islands, brought back here?"

Azaylia glances down at her outfit, "The corset is new. The skirt... I found scraps in the stores. I got excited." Is her soft, somewhat clip explaination for the half weaver, half homemade effort she's wearing. "Taikrin gave me this, tonight." Fingers touch the necklace, stroking over the center most stone, clearly fond of the gift. Since Bones' assailant has left in a huff, she can focus her attention on the Holders. Still on the brownrider's arm, she is reminded to introduce herself, "Azaylia. Well met, Hana. And- Vienne." Not so smooth, suddenly just realizing that the lad isn't a lad at all! It certainly is a night to be someone else.

"... and Weyrwoman Brieli," because Taikrin in no way intended to leave Brieli out of the introductions. Really.

Z'ian sighs, "Probably not. They won't be redheaded either." He rolls eyes before finally allowing a slow smirk and just shrugging his shoulders at Bones. He briefly glances in the direction that she departed but it's obvious that he doesn't think she's coming back any time soon. "Don't worry about it, really." And he seems to be pretty genuine about it, easy nature taking that tension out of him quick enough.

Sailor Vienne has a little wave for Azaylia, a smile and a flick of her eyes that flatters the goldrider's dress, before she shifts, ready to follow Brieli. "I haven't had one yet," she adds in, of drinks, like they need the excuse to look for libations. "Happy Turnover." And her pleased grin might just be enjoying the doubletake she gets from Azaylia.

And those boys? The ones that caused the spectacle? They're dying of laughter and rolling on the floor, literally. Probably got stomped on by a few pairs of boots but neither seems to mind much. Score! Tomorrow, when they're sober, they'll realize they're out a mark cause of it. Will it be worth it then?

"Mhm; the Exiles are pretty much known everywhere..." Alida murmurs very quietly to L'vand, her gaze flicking into his own unerringly. "Tell me about how you think things came to such a sad state of affairs from around those 4 Turns ago onward, please."

So many names, so many titles. "Happy Turnover, Wingleader Taikrin, Weyrwoman Azaylia - and you did a wonderful job, ma'am, Weyrwoman Brieli," Hana replies carefully, before turning with a hint of relief as Devaki returns. After all, he's gone after this sort of thing, while she did slightly the opposite!

"Tell you what.." Bones starts with Z'ian as he reaches for a ready-poured glass of... drink. Something alcoholic, that's all Bones knew as he handed it to Z'ian. "I owe you.. three drinks next time we hit the snowasis. She seemed like she was about three drinks worth of fun, right?" Judging from Bones' grin, he was intentionally aiming low. The art of haggling on display.

"Please. Riorde. They're the ones to call ma'am," the brownrider says, deferring to Taikrin and Azaylia. The latter gains a look -- her necklace, specifically. "Lovely," she comments, leaving it there, with a look at Taikrin to follow. She turns away when Devaki reappears with drinks in hand, saying dismissively, "It's Turn's End. People do and say all sorts of stupid things. It's not worth the breath it takes to mention it." The look she gives him is more meaningful than boys' pranks and poor decisions.

"He ''did''? They ''do''?" Wakizian demands of the Journeyman and then a wail that starts at an impressively high pitch and runs the range of notes to a low timbre escapes the former apprentice. "I'm going to be the new Master Senshan of High Reaches." His free hand runs through his hair nervously; a gesture that does not help his manly status. The candidate peeks over his lacy fan to eye Brieli's choice of dress and then Vienne's, but he doesn't offer overtures to either as he's still trying (fairly successfully) not to embarrass the Weyr to the Holder contingent despite his proximity.

It's with interest that Devaki glances between Azaylia and Taikrin, then gives a significant look Riorde's way in turn. "I'd forgotten," he says, after a pause, picking up the thread of conversation, "How... strange... things are, at the Weyr. I hope my Lady isn't unduly unsettled. She's probably," a smile here, "Already found her way to the dance floor." There's a brief stretch of his hand for Hana's back, an absent, steadying presence in response to her relief. "Happy Turnover," he adds, using it mostly as an excuse to take a deep drought from his glass.

"You don't want much, do you?" says L'vand, though he's clearly teasing: the creases around the corners of his mouth certainly say as much. "Bit demanding, too, aren't you? What are you, some kind of investigator? Haven't even told me your ''name''." None of which implies that he won't warm to the subject even further. "Hard to know what really happened. Sometime between the start of that hatching, and sometime during the party, Seani was murdered. She was working as a nanny, blending in. Good girl, from all reports. Then she was dead."

"Well," Xhaeon placates, "He is well-known, at least." A hand lifts, a finger taps on bold chin, clean-shaven for the evening; "What /was/ his specialty, though?" Ahem. The raptor-masked Smith leans forwards, seeming fine with eavesdropping upon the conversation of Hold meets Weyr; even though if his attention is momentarily captured by Vienne. "Is he," this is to Wakisian still, "-a woman?" He points. Who cares about murderers when crossdressing is afoot?

Z'ian already had a drink. Now he has another. One plus one is two. So in order to get back to one he has to subtract the other. He downs the rest of the original and passes it off to a person with a tray that goes by. There, better. He sniffs it and blinks, whatever it is, it's quite strong. "She's worth more than three drinks. The woman is a solid... eight or nine on a scale of one to ten. Points deducted only for being much shorter than me." The bronzerider grins wolfishly, falling into the male-bonding-over-women thing, "Eleven drinks." Intentionally high, which he knows, because he's got the glass gifted to him up to his mouth already.

With a flicker of a look from necklace to Riorde, then back to Hraezaylia, "Lovely." A near echo of the brownrider. "And excited is fine for this sort of thing. What it's meant for, really." Brieli has a ready smile for the introduction, though it might be superfluous. "Vienne, yes. Oswinth's." She gestures to the sailor boy with a grin, then tells Hana graciously, "Much appreciated, though much of it is Azaylia's doing. I'm particular about certain things." There's a glance Devaki's way for his comment, then; "I do hope she's settling in well? I'll have to check in. Or bring her by." Into Brieli's ''inner sanctum''?! Unheard of. There's a flicker of a glance for the boys.

Indeed, Turn's End is indeed a time of excess. Alida's keen senses take in a few choice words here and there whenever possible, though she must focus on L'vand, primarily. "No, not really..." the woman twinkles to the rider's words of her being difficult...and his words of her being a potential investigator. "I like to... collect interesting conversations, and disseminate them interested parties whenever I can. Must be a shade of some Harper in me, I guess." A flash of a bright grin that could melt ice caps presages her smooth nod, and a swift darting of thin-tipped charcoal nub to paper, the femme's own shorthand coming into being. "Tell me about Seani, and about all involved parties."

"Sir," Taikrin corrects, with a dirty look at Riorde. So she gave Azaylia fancy jewelery-- so what! "To turns' end." She's happy enough for the salute, and the chance to drink some of the whisky she's been clutching in her off-hand. "To new opportunities in the new turn." There's a glance towards the dance floor after Devaki mentions Issedi's location, but it's cursory. "It must be strange to be at the Weyr, after being in the Hold for so long," she says to Devaki. "Reckon we forget, sometimes, how it must seem to the outside-- especially seeing as Lord Holders are for life, while Weyr leadership must seem to change on a whim to you all, yeah?"

"ELEVEN!?" At that, even Bones is a little flabbergasted. "C'mon now, y'can probably snag any girl in the damn weyr with your stupid pretty face!" He reaches up to give a playful pinch at Z'ian's cheekbone. "And I bet she ain't even a lost cause if you hunt her down. What am I, made of marks? Five!"

"Oh." A second glance has to be taken at Vienne, "Oh! Yes. I met her. She taught me geography." Wakizian responds to the Journeyman. "You know, it seems only appropriate..." He trails off, "If you'll excuse me, sir?" and he's maneuvering around the back of the bunch towards Vienne. His lacy fan is snapped shut and the tip of it is used to tap the shoulder of the sailor boy. "Excuse me, sir," The candidate pitches his voice to falsetto. "I think I would be remiss if we didn't share at least one dance. Even though it's tradition for the man to ask the woman, may I be so bold as to claim a dance?" A hand is foppishly offered into the air. In for thirty-second mark in for a mark? If he's going to be known, he might as well be known for making a sharding fine damsel! A polite smile is offered to Weyrwoman Brieli, Hana and the others in the cluster.

It might sound like bragging from someone else, but honestly Azaylia is doing her best to let people know how generous Taikrin is. Isn't she amazing? "Happy Turnover." She echoes. "Thank you." For Riorde and Brieli's compliments, though she adds, "I was making plans with Hana to have tea with Lady Issedi." See? The weyrwoman definitely want to make sure she's comfortable. It's a joint effort, as is Turnover, "I hope you'll enjoy yourself, Hana." Taikrin's observations on weyr life versus hold has her falling silent, looking thoughtful. Something catches her eye, and she finally retracts the claws she's sunk into the brownrider this evening. "Excuse me. I've been hogging 'Sir' all evening." She's at least self aware, "I should see how the rest of our guests are doing." With a little dip for Devaki and Hana, mini-Hraedhyth turns to make her rounds.

That sound of hand meeting face isn't Ainslee going apeshit on someone else before she hits the fringes of the party and disappears for real: it's Xhaeon's face hitting his hand. The Smithcraft is not going to recover from this evening soon, obviously.

Hana can almost be seen making mental notes of who to call which title, regardless of gender, and everything else. And once that's straight, the woman keeps very silent - and takes a slightly larger than recommended drink from her glass. No choking is involved, but the clearing of passageways is a handy excuse not to babble on. Though that's finished somewhat hastily as Azaylia takes her leavetaking.

"Do you now," says L'vand, keeping his tone level, though his smile? It's suddenly brighter, even to the point of matching Alida's own. "Nice to have someone interested in what I have to say for once," he adds, with a long roll of his shoulders. "Never knew Seani, myself. Bet if you asked around, though, you'd get plenty of talk about her. People liked her. Lot of people hurt when they found her with her throat cut. At first, some people suspected the Weyrleader - that would be K'del - but when Devaki and Raum disappeared… it began to become pretty obvious. We've known for turns, really, who did it. Devaki - he never wanted to just fit in at the Weyr, so I'm told. Higher aspirations. Guess he lucked out, in the end."

This has the potential to end poorly. When Bones pinches his cheekbone, Z'ian reaches up and gives the man an equally playful pull on his beard. "Okay, oka- What? You think I could go chase her down? I think it's a lost cause for tonight, you already manhandled her tits." That they're in public seems to have little importantance for the bronzeriding half of the pair as they continue this conversation. Taking another swallow from the glass, "Six. I think that's a nice even number. We don't even have to do it all at once. Spread it out, you know I love your company."

It's natural that the covict riders are so-called 'fashionably late'. The three of them - Jo, M'ron and Kaitlin - all walk into the room together, actually dressed. Jo, in a pale yellow halter dress and Kaitlin in something pale blue with a plunging neckline. The three of them pause on the threshold and check out what's left of the crowd before M'ron could be heard grunting out, "The booze. Let's get to it. Gonna needs a whole lot after this night." Jo lingers a little after them as she scans the crowd with narrowed eyes, then not having found anyone yet, she's heading after the pack towards where she could get her drink on.

As the evening wears on, K'del takes his leave, meandering out into the chilly bowl. Clearly, he has ''other'' places he intends to be, tonight. Hopefuly he won't show up blue to those, too.

A nod for the other weyrwoman, "I'm sure that can be arranged. The Weyrwoman Azaylia's asked the very same thing. I'm sure you'll all have a grand time together." Devaki says, easily, assuming of course the whole thing will be a staid affair. There's not a huge amount of interest in such arrangements for him; it's Taikrin's comment that makes a smile flicker across his features. "It is, certainly, a lot to take in. Many of the islanders who've settled in at the Hold have found it much more familiar." An easy nod for Azaylia, and a glance back to Taikrin, as if interested: will she follow, too?

Introductions are made, but Vienne manages to pay little attention to them, her eyes finally setting on Hana long enough to recognize her from a random encounter over lunch some time ago. It makes her smile a little more meaningful, waiting to see if the girl places her in turn. She misses the speculation over her gender entirely and it's not until there's someone addressing her in that falsetto that she turns to blink at Wakizian. A laugh follows quickly, her grin wide. "Aren't you a forward girl!" she teases, uterly amused by the proposition even if she doesn't seem to be accepting it. "And aren't you looking lovely this evening." There's only a little glance aside to Brieli to let the goldrider know she's still paying attention, at least as well as she can.

"Sir," Riorde echoes with something of a smirk, corrected. "Excuse me." Moving right along; the woman turns away almost abruptly to address the Holder when she can get a word in edgewise."Dev," Riorde begins, "I'm sure there's plenty of other people here with claims to your time, but I hope you'll save me a dance later. It isn't often we get a chance to catch up these days. I'd like to hear more about how the islanders are doing -- I wouldn't want to bore them all with details about people they don't know, though."

A small wink and laying of her finger alongside her nose are L'vand's answers to his first inquiry, Alida continuing to jot down the important points of the conversation between asking questions. "Where'd Seani originally come from, if you know?" A jerk of eyes over to the boom of a male voice is followed by the faint roll of the woman's greens, which soon return to the brownrider once more, and she's inquiring around a slight frown of lips at the words 'throat cut,' "And Devaki's roots are...questionable, then? How about his claim?"

"Six.." Bones repeats in thought. Spread out? Fine. "Alright you damn conman, six it is. Now, lemme eat some friggen snacks. All this bargaining is making me hungry." As if anything could make him ''not'' hungry with there still being mountains of food available. Finally, a blue cracker thing with brown pastey stuff gets to call Bones' mouth it's home.

The would-be-Weyrleader's drift of conversation has Brieli's dark gaze shifting Taikrin's way. Quietly, "There were people here that rather thought that too." It sounds as if it's mostly meant to be to herself, but it can't be a coincidence that her attention shifts Devaki's way for a moment. But then Azaylia's explaining and leaving, and she nods, including the Lord Holder in her; "Azaylia's much better with tea, anyway. I'm mostly good with clothes." It's self-deprecating, to be sure. With a little wave to the other goldrider, she looks over to Vienne and her would-be suitor before, "Don't you need a drink before you even think of dancing?"

Is Taikrin being possessive when she reaches out to curl an arm around Riorde's waist, or making a point to Devaki? Either way, her gaze doesn't much leave Devaki's features. "Reckon I can see how they might be more comfortable in the hold. We're happy to do our best by those who choose to say, though. The lot of you have come a long way from when me and Szad found your island." Because the two of them definitely, totally did it all on their own. "Must be strange to be back here, after all this time? We're happy to host, of course-- and happy to have you dancing with our riders." Taikrin's smile is bland, totally unthreatening. Really. This is all just casual conversation.

"Z'ian." Is that Azaylia sounding stern? When did she get that empty shotglass, and a half empty glass of wine. "You can't say ''tits''. That's ''rude''." Comes the light scolding from Hraedhyth as she approaches, plucking the blue cracker with brown paste just before it can reach Bones' mouth. "Oh, this is good." Comes the soft murmur, happy to plant herself, all female-like, in their manly conversation.

"She was one of the exiles," prompts L'vand, giving Alida a peculiar glance, as if he expects her to know this already. "Born and raised out there, same as Devaki. That's why it was so strange-- why murder one of your own? Just goes to show how ruthless he is, him and that red-haired guard of his." He reaches for his beer, merely content to hold it within his hand for a few more seconds before he says, "From what I understand, he claims he's blood, blood from way back, his ancestors who were exiled. Doubt there's any way to prove it. Marrying Lord High Reaches' sister certainly puts him in a position of power, eh? ''Especially'' while Lord Braeden has no children of his own."

"How about right now?" Devaki counters, to Riorde's offer. "That is, if," he glances at Hana, questioningly, "You'll be fine in the ladies' company, won't you?" He doesn't ask, perhaps pointedly, if Taikrin would be fine with it; she ''did'' just suggest the very same thing, after all.

"Deal. Conman?" He repeats that, trying to appear hurt. But Z'ian is helplessly amused by this turn of events. He begins to smirk, but that's cut short when he hears his name being said. It's enough to make him look around, first catching sight of Jo. In a dress. Women and their dresses tonight, damn. But then Azaylia is suddenly there and she's scolding him for saying ''tits''. He finishes the rest of this second glass, perhaps becoming a little buzzed off of it. Just enough to be cheeky with the goldrider, smiling wolfishly, "It's only rude if the company was objecting." His eyes dart to Bones. "And the company didn't seem to be objecting. Are you objecting?"

Hana actually looks relieved at the question, "Certainly, my lord - in fact, I should find my lady sooner rather than later, and make sure that everything is going well." There is a pause, then she's looking over at Vienne, "And we'll have to chat later." Of course, she doesn't suggest dancing, but Taikrin gets a quick smile, "I am glad to hear that - I haven't had the chance to dance very much in far too long. Happy Turnday, Sir, Ma'am, Wingleader, and all." And then, yes... she's totally getting lost in the crowd. Gracefully, of course. With her wine.

"Well, you know what they say," Nothing like a drag-dressing politically unsavvy Smith-apprentice-turned-candidate to distract from complicated political maneuvering! The falsetto continues, "The forward girl regrets nothing until morning!" Do they say that? Maybe in some circles. "Come on, we're practically matching." If only from one very rudimentary point of view. "If we don't dance at least once, we'll never be the talk of the town." Wasn't he moments ago bemoaning his dress choice to Journeyman Xhaeon? Teenagers and their mood swings. "One dance won't hurt. I promise. And if it does, I'll rush you to the infirmary."

"Of course," Taikrin says, all geniality, as if Devaki had been asking her permission. "Happy to have you off with my weyrmate. Bring her back all in one piece, yeah? I did promise our Weyrwoman Azaylia her first dance." Her smile is all of a sudden /wicked/, and she's deliberately avoiding Riorde's gaze as she reaches to firmly claim Azaylia's arm. "We'll take good care of everyone here." She must mean Hana, from that glancing smile.

"Love to." Riorde's quick to accept, dashing off a kiss to Taikrin's cheek in compensation. "See you later?" she says brightly. "You owe me dances, too. I won't be a minute." Lies.

Bones' cracker is snatched cruelly from his hand, another costume-appropriate grumble eminating from his thick chest. "Tits." Bones uses it as more of an exclamation of his frustrated nature, but it answers Z'ian's question quite clearly. "Damn Zee, that corset makes your ti- breasts look awesome." Spoken so casual one would be convinced he was her gay best friend. Time to prepare another cracker.

"One cannot assume anything in circumstances like this..." Alida murmurs thoughtfully to that look L'vand gives her, one of her charcoal-stained fingertips waggling slightly at him while she smirks softly for a moment. "The guard's name?" Alida's own champagne has long since been abandoned, handed off to some surprised and pleased weyrfolk who glided past the current conversation towards the fun in the room. "All set to inherit the Reaches, then, eh?" is murmured with a hint of well-feigned testiness. A tap of her pionkie finger to bottom lip, a long look at the rider, then a quick glance at Devaki under her long lashes presages a low, "And how is Braeden these days?"

Also. What. Weyrmate? Riorde stares at Taikrin as she partners off with Azaylia. "Dev." She speaks his name with a low sort of urgency, reaching for his arm. Now is when she drags off her fellow exile who's come up so much in the world.

Vienne laughs brightly, unable to keep her expresion serious in the face of Wakizian's begging. But she lays a hand on the 'girl's arm in apology. "I'm actually on my way to get a drink," she says, so helpfully reminded by Brieli. "Have you had anything? Miss?" she asks the candidate, brows high as she gestures toward the wine not far away. And for that very helpful Brieli, she leans in just enough to shake her head, to flick her glance toward Devaki in a silent 'not gonna happen'. Slippery Lords are slippery. And Vienne might as well get a drink while it's convenient.

Azaylia chokes on that cruelly snatched cracker at what's said. Her shot glass lost to a server as the weyrwoman reaches over to swat at both bronzerider and brown watch-wher. "If you can't be charming, no lady is going to want to leave with you." Perhaps telling of what the goldrider's own goals are. "I heard a slap." Didn't see, heard. "What did you do?" Now she's playful in her accusation, aiming it more Z'ian's way than Bones'. He's clearly innocent!

With a pleased smile for the departing Hana, Devaki takes another gulp from his glass before depositing it on a nearby table. "Ladies," a half bow, glinting, amused gaze darting in Taikrin's direction, clearly not missing the brownrider's comment. He's quick to lead Riorde towards the dance floor, his arm slipping familiarly around her waist on the way, as he leans in to murmur to her, "I see a ''lot'' has happened in my absence. You'll have to bring me up to date."

Brieli offers a wave to Hana as she heads off into the crowd, then turns to mostly regard Vienne and Wakizian, the cross-dressing pair, with an amused light to her eyes. Azaylia's eating, Riorde and Devaki are off to dance, Taikrin is distracted. Tilting her head to regard Wakizian for a moment, she tells Vienne, "I'm dying for one. And... attention must be paid." Her tone is wry, as she looks around the room before telling the hairy-legged, booted 'girl', "You can come with us if you like." So generous, the goldrider.

The convict rider trio made it to where the booze is with little fuss - Kaitlin all flirty to those male riders they pass by and Jo at least trying not to act surly. She's the first to the table and is about to take up a whole bottle of something until she eyes the crowd and their glasses. Blend in, right? She fidgets with the halter dress and snags a glass instead, beckoning for the other two to do likewise with a look. M'ron looks reluctant, but Kaitlin is only too happy to appear a little civilized tonight. So their glasses get filled with whiskey and the three stake out by the table to really scan the crowd once more. Kaitlin's making the occasional comment to her companions, with Jo appearing far more interested at the moment in draining her glass and refilling in between short responses to them.

L'vand's smile is amused. "I suppose not," he allows. "R-something, was the guard's name. Rame? Red-- ''Raum''. Redhead. Believe he's back here with 'Lord' Devaki, even. Bastards." He exhales, turning his gaze out towards the room, but without focusing in too much on anyone - not even on Devaki himself. "Could be. If Braeden and his bitch-wife don't produce, in time. Me, I don't much keep up with Hold stuff, not so much as Weyr matters."

When another server passes by with a tray of drinks, Z'ian manages to pluck his next off. When Bones says the word again, the bronzerider can only shrug at Azaylia. "See? It's completely acceptable at this current moment." He fake winces at the slap to his arm, gesturing now to some point off in the distance. "My drive to be charming went down the drain earlier. Some kids shot a mark into a very attractive woman's ti- ''breasts'' that I was with. So our friend here retrieved the mark for her-" He makes the motion of putting one's hand down a woman's shirt. "And she took it poorly." He laughs then, "She slapped him real good too." He lifts that glass to his mouth and looks past the two he's with, scanning for sight of that yellow dress again. Maybe he hasn't ''entirely'' given up for the night.

With Devaki and Riorde off, Taikrin makes good on her threat to chase down Azaylia. She's not looking back, either, despite Riorde's stare. Or perhaps because of it? Either way. She ''does'' offer a faint, crooked smile for Brieli, along with a softly murmured, "Dance later?" After, of course, she chases down Azaylia. "''Azaylia'', love. There you are," she says brightly as she comes up behind the goldrider to join the group. "It's getting wild in here, ain't it?"

"Not a drop." Waki's voice drops back to his usual range, apparently finding his dance beseeching a futile endeavor. "But a little would go a long way in taking the edge off." He boasts a brave smile towards Vienne, but the tug at the dress shows the lad is clearly a bit self-conscious. Brieli's eyes on him have him fidgeting even more, "Thank you, Weyrwoman, I'd be delighted. And there's something I think you should look into. There are no dancing slippers in my size in the storerooms." His feet are rather large for the usual ladies sizes. He feigns genuine distress over the fact, gesturing down to his work boots."

"You mean you haven't got spies already in place?" Riorde shoots back -- quietly, though, given the rumors already in circulation. Wouldn't do to add another to the arsenal. This leads to another comment as she makes off with the Lord, easily directed away from Taikrin and the rest. "We don't stay in good enough touch."

"It'll come out soon enough..." Alida murmurs of the name of the redhead, her lips offering a thin hint of a smile that doesn't touch her cool eyes. "Hrm... I figured that - with your deep interest in who's currently holding at Reaches - that you would have *some* compelling reason to feel such a way. Er, aside from good Seani, of course."

Bones raises an eyebrow at Taikrin's very ''affectionate'' approach to Azaylia, though it doesn't deter his smile all too much. What does interrupt it is a crunch of cracker and brown paste, one that thankfully isn't snatched up by anyone else. He hopes. "You call this wild?" For Taikrin especially, the description seems off.

Vienne turns as Brieli and Wakizian do, toward the wine, and in some sympathy for the candidates discomfort, she shares a tale of her own. "I found my boots in the boy's section. Not these boots," since her whole outfit is a boy's tonight, "But my regular boots." She lets out a light sigh, for show, for solidarity, sister. To Brieli her eyebrows lift again, brief but full of questions she'll no doubt ask another time. Then she glances back toward Bones, having not quite forgotten him in all the commotion. Plus he's easy to pick out.

"I have ''you''," Devaki murmurs, though there's amusement showing beneath black-feathered mask as he finds a space for them on the floor. His hands settle comfortable at Riorde's waist as he waits one, two, three, four beats of the music before joining in -- leading with an adeptness that suggests plenty of training. "You should come and visit the Hold more -- although we're planning to stay at the Weyr until after the Hatching, at least." A beat, gaze flickering past, then back to his fellow exile, "Weyrmate, hm? She seems pretty keen on the young weyrwoman there."

Ceawlin has been here the whole time, promise. The Candidate, dressed sharply in the nondescript and not-standig-out colors of winter in greys, whites, and blacks, is a nimble and silent mingler. That or he's just, thus far, not drawn attention to himself; focusing, instead, on taking notice of the who's who of the gathering and how they all play together. Totally here, though.

Azaylia gives a patient sigh, though she looks a touch lost at Z'ian's explination. "Bones..." It's a one-word reprimand, before she gives up. What's left of her wine is slowly sipped, likely numb to the foreign, sour taste due to the amount she's had by now. "Other than his chasing off your date... having a good night?" For the bronzerider. Taikrin's hunting her down has the goldrider surprised, but pleasantly so. "Taikrin," Not quite a coo, "Sorry. I had to check up one him." Bones. She ''had'' to.

"''Exiles''," spits L'vand, with a shake of his head. Apparently, that's enough of a reason for him - enough to follow all of this, enough to share it to a random strange he's only just met. His beer is empty, now, and though he seems to enjoy having a captive audience, he ''also'' seems to enjoy having a drink in hand. "If I were you, I'd go talk to people. Find out what ''they'' think. Skulking around listening won't get you very far; direct talk, that's the key. And take that sword off - it makes people nervous."

There's a nod for Taikrin; Brieli can consider that at least. That is, until Wakizian's request has her distracted - glancing back at the young man as she heads for the drinks. There's a tip of her empty glass for Vienne's problems as an explanation. But not empty for long! "That is just something you'll have to bear, I suppose. Unless you have them made for you. That's true commitment." A long look for bare legs before she's looking for the rum. "Tights might have helped. If you were Vienne, you'd be dead of the cold."

"Indeed..." Alida murmurs low to L'vand's spat-out word, jotting something more down, then nodding in sage fashion to his opinion. "Have any other names I should seek out? I can't really just walk up to nearly anybody and start inquiring away, after all..." Smirk. "What, this old thing?" the blonde chuckles lightly, glancing down at her scabbard. "It's just an old wooden thing...keeps the holdless rabble and renegades farther away so I can hightail it to safety, first." Ah, such a little rogue 'Harper' she is.

"Of course," Taikrin allows with a winning smile for Bones. "Can't have him getting himself into trouble on his own. Reckon that'd be boring." That doesn't stop her from laying an almost-possessive hand into the small of Azaylia's back as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "''Was'' that you causing all that ruckus? Thought I might have caught a glimpse, but there was an Exile-Lord-Holder in the way." Or close enough to one, as the case may be. "I figured if it was ''getting'' wild, might be that I should come and take a look. Looks like we might be on that road? Not as good as my turnday yet, but then-- Azaylia ain't thrown as many parties as me."

Z'ian flicks his eyes over Taikrin, his gaze remaining cool and neutral in light of her arrival. The bronzerider merely nods his head in her direction, not quite the friendly greeting. But not exactly unpleasent either. Instead he takes another long swallow from that glass, beginning to step away from the group. "It's been alright. I've had better. If you'll excuse me?" And even if they ''don't'', he's going to be exiting their little party anyway. He begins to pick his way through the crowd towards Jo and her convict rider friends, side-stepping thouse who have had too much to drink already.

"We'd have to be in better contact for me to count," Riorde counters, sharp even though she's smiling. She doesn't have the same fluidity on the dance floor, but she can follow, and a practiced partner makes it all that much easier. "I could do that," she agrees, hand light on Devaki's shoulder. "I miss-- people. I forget. And then I see someone like you--" She stops right there, the lines at her mouth suggesting concentration. "First ''I've'' heard of it," the exile rider states of her 'weyrmate', in no hurry to claim that attachment before Devaki. "And you know how it is. It's important that they have a good working relationship. Show a united front. Et cetera. Can we not talk about ''that''?"

Wood. Of ''course'' it's wood; L'vand seems relieved by that, and maybe embarrassedly amused, though he covers that up with a firmer nod. "Good. That's less of a concern, then, I guess." He stretches, standing, and glances around the room thoughtfully. "You could get in good with the little ''Lord''," he offers, after a moment. "Make nice. Or with K'del, or one of the others who've been around for turns. Be friendly, people'll start talking. Works every time." Beat. "Introduce yourself, sometimes. That could help, oh nameless one."

Bones gives another eyebrow raise at Azaylia, waiting till Z'ian had left to ask the obvious question. "So are you Taikrin's woman now?" He was usually quite good about ''not'' prying into Azaylia's love life, but.. well. "Cuz it's alright if you are. I'm just checkin." Not a subtle bone in his body.

"I feel like I feel hot from the forge even when I'm not there. But apparently I should have shaved." ''This'' time Wakizian does not choose to mention that he had intended to but just didn't have time before the party started. "And unless you have any commission projects you want to give me, I'm afraid I'm not in a position to commission dance slippers." There's a tone of playfulness to this. There's not much chance that he would seriously consider commissioning his own pair of women's dance slippers. He picks up his own glass of wine and helps himself to a few sips. His eyes go to Vienne's feet, considering. "Well, you do have little feet. I can see why you'd have to look in the boy's section. Have to be careful though. Sometimes the soles aren't as sturdy since boys tend to out-grow them faster than the average adult wears through regular boots." Helpful, isn't he?

"We can change that," Devaki counters, then, "I'd ''like'' to change that." A tip of head, as if waiting for Riorde's feelings on the matter. It's followed by a long exhale, "Sorry," he says, although he's probably not ''that'' sorry, given the interest in his voice. "You should see Tom, he's loving it at the Hold. Back to his old tricks; I think we all gave up trying to get him to ''do'' anything, and I've settled for getting him to agree to marry some relative of the Lady Tillek's. Well, I haven't actually ''told'' him that part, yet," the islander's smiling at the notion.

If Azaylia has issue with Taikrin's possessive nature, she's pretty damn good at hiding it. In fact, she'll be leaning into the brownrider's side with a soft smile, though her own arms stay where they can be seen. "I had one party that got out of hand, right before I graduated from Weyrlinghood." Or was it after? "Too many people showed up." It might ''still'' be talked about. As Z'ian leaves, she looks surprised, but gives him a polite enough fairwell. The wine doesn't leave her lips in a spray, choking back from a complete spittake, "''BONES''." She dabs at her lips, "Bones... I... no. She, and Riorde..!" He gets several more slaps to his arm, the weyrwoman clearly flustered.

"Ahh, friendly..." Alida muses aloud, trying not to sound disappointed, and managing neutrality instead when looking back up to L'vand's face. As for the 'nameless one,' "Harpers and such have a certain tradition of anonymity in such cases. Keeps the ass safer from being mobbed and potentially strung-up, don't you think?" Another flash of a grin, and a wink is addended, 'lida then closing with a bob of her fairest head and a sotto, "It may take some time to get any results, if things come to fruition. Nobody can be hasty...you understand?" Cue a quick, "Have a grand Turn Over, brownrider, and may your sleep be eased."

L'vand considers Alida for several long seconds before, finally, he nods. "And you, of course." And thus, he heads off into the crowd, in search of that next beer, looking most… what? Thoughtful? Surprised? Pleased? It's so hard to tell.

There's a suggestion that she's probably been drinking before they had walked in, for her bursts of laughter are loud and getting frequent. If her strap slips down just a little, all the more fun to her! M'ron's the one trying to calm her before attention actually comes their way, while Jo's leaning against that drinks table with her whiskey, clearly finding it amusing. She's not saying anything to deter her! She turns her head in time to spot Brieli approaching the drinks table, and she tries to catch her gaze, nodding a greeting to her. Then, further study has the familiar gait of Z'ian approaching them, the bluerider downing a good portion of her drink first before she raises it in a greeting to him since he's still a ways from her to speak.

Riorde, who now looks quite comfortable in the arms of the murderous exile Lord. "''Tom.''" She packs a lot into that one name. Amusement, incredulity, some disgust. "And what will he do then, sponge off their goodwill? Well. Better than yours, maybe. But yes." The smile's back, thin and not altogether happy, but pleasure isn't entirely absent. "Let's change that. I think it's time."

"I'm just taking care of her," Taikrin assures Bones with a lopsided smile. "Ain't got to be weyrmates to do that, yeah? It's only honorable to take care of a woman when your dragon's knocked hers up." That hand on the small of Azaylia's back doesn't budge and inch, and in fact she seems to welcome Azaylia as she draws closer-- smoothly comfortable where the goldrider is discomfited. She looks to meet Barnabas' look with an arched brow. "It's important to take care of a lady. Reckon I'm sure you agree?"

Vienne turns a look of surprise on Wakizian as she takes up her glass, eyes merry over the rim when she remarks, "Forges and boys' shoes? So many talents for such a pretty girl." It's a pale joke, his crossdressing, but she laughs anyway and admits, "I ''would'' be freezing." Her shoulders hunch in her little uniform, just for dramatic effect, but mostly she takes a sip of her wine. Meanwhile, another glance across the room spies Jo and she presses her lips together thoughtfully.

The harpers play, without their singer, who has taken a seat near the stage to scribble idly along the edges of what appears to be a set list. And by scribble, doodle funny drawings. But this doesn't last long and Suireh's elbow is accosted by a sandy-haired man, and the indignation of those gray eyes turns pleased, and the pair sneak out to the inner caverns. As you do at parties.

Dryly, Brieli feels she must point out, "You would not like growing it back in." Things people don't tell you about shaving. For some reason, the goldrider is feeling charitable tonight. Maybe it's the fact that she's keeping the bottle in hand. Still drinking from the glass, but bottle in hand - a bottle she'll raise in salute to one ex-con bluerider as her gaze is caught briefly. "Jo." If her voice carries. With an apologetic glance for Vienne - business - "Are things well at the forge? Anything anyone needs?"

By the time he's made it through the throngs of people, Z'ian has more or less drained this other glass. It's lost along the way so that by the time he makes it to the trio of riders, he may smell like alcohol but he's not actually in posession of it any more. How helpful that they're at the place where you get refreshments anyway. It's getting late in the night, so the bronzerider ends up pulling the mask from his face and letting it dangle from his fingers by the strings. He holds it out to Jo, "I hear you're supposed to come in costume?" He offers, smile crooked as he flashes a glance towards Kaitlin and M'ron. The brownrider with the plunging neckline gets a wiggle of his fingers. Hello.

Bones looks Taikrin up and down, still smiling of course, but a touch of suspician in his face. "I just like to make sure Zee is in good hands." Not wanting to entirely treat Azaylia like she's not there, his gaze turns to lady Hraedhyth, reading her face. Seems to him like Azaylia isn't uncomfortable, and he decides he shouldn't be either. Smile grows two sizes as he continues. "And I reckon' she is."

There's a definite smile under the feathered mask of the totally-not-a-murderer-guys exile Lord, Devaki chuckling at Riorde's reaction to Tom as he sweeps her around the dance floor. "He'll do what Tom does best; play up his Blood." With a little shrug and a kind of what-else grin, he adds with a sudden warmth, "Good. I do, too, Ri. Missed you."

Azaylia is all too comfortable, tucked up against the brownrider like she is. "Aw." She has to coo for her roommate, and it seems he's forgiven for getting himself slapped. "Taikrin's thoughtful." She promotes her 'date', doing her best not to squirm all girlishly at the attention. Knocking back the rest of the wine, she moves to hand the empty glass to Bones. "I think I want to dance now." Which has her hand reaching up to give Taikrin's arm a squeeze, "But if a handsome man cuts, maybe..?" Not that she sounds totally sold on being stolen away from the brownrider. Conflicted goldrider is conflicted!

Wakizian gives a little shrug to Vienne, "What can I say, I'm talented and pretty." The hand not holding the wine glass rises to flip his long brown locks. See? ''Pretty.'' "You'd be freezing because Igen's hot." He pauses to consider, "I guess Igen heat isn't the same as forge heat. Or maybe I just imagine I'm warm when I'm actually cold." He glances down at his legs, perhaps searching for signs of goose pimples, but finding none he shrugs again. His brows raise at Brieli's kind advice, "Really? Does it itch?" Then there's talk of the forge, "Journeyman Xhaeon, who was around here somewhere, would know better than I if there are needs at the forge. But as far as I know all is well." He pauses, "I just traded my knot in so I can stand for your lifemate's clutch. As I understand it, I'll still be plenty at the forge, but a little less than before."

Finished with her grilling and far more interested in her surroundings than ever before, Alida wends her way through the crowd towards a table once again...and finds herself frowning as it's completely occupied, by now. The sheaf of paper with what looks like symbolic gibberish on it is fastidiously folded, it and now-stub of charcoal tucked away inside her belt pouch, the thing sealed securely before the woman moves off to fetch herself a large glass of wine. Hard work is thirsty work.

At that, Riorde simply smiles. And dances. And eventually relinquishes Devaki back into the care of his wife -- for now.

"Brieli," Jo gives in return to her with an equally raised glass slightly tipped in her direction before she drains it again. She passes it over to M'ron without even looking his way, and he goes to refill it just as Z'ian arrives. Her arm still extended for her drink, when the bronzerider holds out his mask, she moves that extended arm around to take the mask up and hold it to the light briefly. "Oh yeah," she says, clearly well aware that she was suppose to come in a mask. Jerking her chin towards Kaitlin, 'I blame her. She was more interested in getting' me into this damn dress." She looks a bit uncomfortable in it, adding as she looks around in a mutter, "...missin' my jacket." As for Kaitlin, she's all bubbles of laughter as she throws a wink Z'ian's way and a bright and slurry, "Hey there, handsome! Come to take this parched damsel away from my guards?" M'ron's throwing Z'ian a look, but he at least says dryly to him, "You in a mask, huh?"

There is perhaps something reluctant in Devaki's demeanor as Riorde departs, though he remains on the dance floor, paired soon enough with the pink-draped Issedi.

What can Taikrin do, but follow on where Azaylia leads? There's a smile that's not-really apologetic for Bones, but Taikrin is wrapping a hand around Azaylia's as she says so. "You and me, we're gonna have to have a talk about the handsome men. While we dance." Because if it's a dance Azaylia wants, it's a dance Taikrin will give her.

Stepping off to the side, Ceawlin finally makes his way towards the area where his fellow crafters play for the weyr's denizens. Somehow, along the way, the Candidate-crafter snags a drink and some finger food or something. Whatever is available. Nibble, nibble.

If little-girl dressed Madilla distracts herself from her various conversations long enough to glance at the dancefloor, she only looks approving when she sees Devaki with Issedi. It's better that way.

Vienne holds her glass out for Brieli to top it off, even if there's only a sip missing so far. It's all the better, though, to have a full take before slipping away, and the sailor boy is still glancing at Jo across the way. She doesn't scurry off immediately, though, turning to grin at Wakizian instead. "That's right," she says of his understand of Igen's heat and her own tendency to have chattering teeth. "It's not quite a forge, no, but it does make High Reaches' feel very cold by comparison. If you'll excuse me." She smile widely to the candidate and more wryly for the goldrider before she heads off in Jo's direction.

"You should probably have her arrested for such a heinous crime as putting you into a perfectly nice dress." Z'ian responds, the corners of his mouth curving. He's distracted just then by the other two and he gives the female brownrider a polite but slightly confused laugh, "If you mean you, maybe sometime later." He responds to her wink with one of his own, tossing an easy smile M'ron's way. "Yeah. My face got obnoxiously hot, I wouldn't recommand it." He shrugs helplessly but amused now as he turns his full attention to Jo again. Hopefully before she can pick up another glass of booze, "Seriously, you look great. And you're dancing with me before I'm too drunk to remember how to move my feet." It's uncharacteristic of him, not exactly a request as he reaches out to tangle his fingers with hers.

Sipping from her glass, Brieli only moves a little away from the drinks table, bottle still in hand as she flashes Jo a smile - and missing Z'ian's arrival as she turns back to her little group. "It can," she tells Wakizian - though she's not terribly interested in the whole shaving issue in the light of everything else. "I'll keep that in mind. And congratulations. I imagine whatever the Headwoman's decided is the right thing." There's a pause, before; "How long have you been an apprentice again?" Because Iesaryth's kids are like to be smart, yes? Mostly to Vienne, as she refills her glass, "What did you think... oh. I'll catch up with you later." She waves the bottle at the bluerider.

Bones gives a sigh and a roll of his eyes as his roommate is snatched away by Taikrin. He trusted the brownrider more or less. No reason to fret. Besides, that meant he was finally alone! Food glorious food!

"What? It's a party..." Azaylia is careful about not seeming too argumentative as she leads Taikrin onto the dance floor. "I'm not leaving alone." That would be ''wrong''. Especially since she's had enough liquor to forget all the woes that will chase her in the morning. Still, Taikrin gets the first dance and Lady Hraedhyth manages ''not'' to do anything to embarrass the Weyr for the rest of the night. Shame.

On the other hand, Taikrin has no shame, aside from the basic sense of propriety that she's trying to maintain. Weyr propriety includes close-clutching and maybe some familiarly-placed hands, right? Especially after a dragon has known to be involved? And while Taikrin might not ''completely'' monopolize Azaylia, she's certainly determined to do more than her fair share, especially when Riorde is otherwise occupied.

Wakizian nods towards the departing Vienne, and to Brieli he responds, "Five turns, Weyrwoman. Coming up on six in a few months. Although I guess this time doesn't count towards my apprenticeship for the time being." He gives a little shrug and finishes off his glass of wine, placing the empty glass onto the tray of a passing server. "Speaking of all this apprenticeship and candidacy and all that, I've got a bit of moving yet to do before I get to sleep tonight. If you'll excuse me, ma'am. Happy Turnover." And with that wish towards whomever is close enough to hear it, the she-he works his way out of the crowd, thankfully unpursued by any zealous bronzeriders.

Jo's gaze lingers on Brieli as she moves off before M'ron's pressing a filled glass back into her waiting hand - once she switches the mask to her free one. "I should," the bluerider says a little too loudly in Kaitlin's direction, and the blonde's waving her off. Kaitlin's all smiles despite Z'ian rejecting her, and so she simply drapes herself on M'ron with a purred, "Then ''you'll'' whisk me away! Come, come, dance with me..." There's a snort for Z'ian from M'ron, but the man seems quite occupied right now by a whole lot of Kaitlin. As for Jo, she inclines her head to the compliment and is finding her hand being taken for that dance. Passing her drink over towards her clutchmates as she straightens up, "I'm not exactly a dancer," she seems to warn the bronzerider in her amusement, a brow slightly lifted as she steps to him. She turns in time to catch Vienne approaching - is that Vienne in the costume? - before she lifts two fingers in greeting in her direction. She hopes it's her!

Brieli just kind of... stares after Wakizian, then shakes her head a little. Finding herself bessedly without company and with a full bottle, the moon-masked young woman slips off into the crowd - and though she's likely stopped a few times in her progress, she makes her way towards the exit. Apparently, she has other plans.

Vienne slips nearer to Jo, just a little sailor boy with his head tipped down so as to hide his features behind the brim of his cap for an extra moment. At least until 'he' can get close enough to catch the other bluerider's eye and let her know, with the appraising flick of her gaze, that Vienne has seen what Jo is wearing. Rather than interrupt her conversation with Z'ian, she just gives her a cheeky little wink and matching smile before heading past.

The only plan ALida has for the rest of the evening is to get quietly buzzed - not drunk mind you - and then wander back to her cot in order to curl up and get some deep, sound sleep. She might even oversleep, for once, and indulge herself.

Kaeden has been around the events in the living cavern for most of the evening, sticking mostly to the perimeter, only occasionally joining the dancing. It's right around this time, however, that he makes his way around toward the harpers, empty cups in one hand, and a flagon of wine in the other. He gestures slightly to ask if there's interest, then starts filling at least one of the cups in the meantime.

"Good luck." Z'ian shoots after to M'ron, definitely more amused now than he was previously, watching as the two riders go off to dance. As for that whole thing about her not being exactly a dancer, the bronzerider cants his head to the side and glances upwards. "Well." He begins slowly before sweeping his gaze over to her again. "If you can suspend your disbelief, I'm actually very good at it. At least, I think I am. I don't trip the other person ''too'' much." He notices the look that passes between blueriders and he stares at the former Igenite as she goes past. "Vienne?" Might be time for him to learn to suspend ''his'' disbelief as he shakes his head.

Being over by the harpers himself, Ceawlin also holds out his glass for a refill, small smile playing on thin lips. "I'll take more," the apprentice-candidate says, before falling silent when one of the harpers speaks up. "It's been a lively party," he comments, either to Kaeden or to the harper's question; it's ambiguous.

With M'ron and Kaitlin occupied and not even quite on the dance floor yet, Jo eyes that sailor boy enough to realize that - yet, that is Vienne. There's the flash of a suggestive little smirk for her as she winks her way, and then she says to Z'ian's guess, "I believe so." Turning to face him now, "I'll hold ya to bein' good at it," she says wryly, willing to let him now lead her on the dance floor. "Who knows. Maybe I won' slam my heels into yer feet, too." It would hurt, the way she's saying it. From there, she's willing to take in a dance or two, talking him up and even passing brief greetings to those she knows on the dance floor.

"Folks are dancing," Kaeden answers the Harper as he hands the man a cup of wine. "That's a pretty good measure, I think." He finishes by topping up Ceawlin's cup before filling another for himself. "Prefer the faster ones, myself, but the night's getting a bit long in the tooth for that, maybe. Time for the giddy little rutters to pair off and all that," he continues, grinning as he mimics a bit of slow-dancing with his hips, while careful not to spill the wine.

"Aye, it has been," confirms the harper, downing much of that wine in a single gulp, then wiping his mouth off with the back of his hand. He's more restrained with the rest of it, sipping quietly. "You're probably right," he confirms, tipping his head forward towards Kaeden. His smirk is indication enough of what he thinks of the young man's remarks. "They always say, start the turn how you mean to continue it. Why ''not'' do so in the arms of a pretty lady-- eh, Ceawlin?" Jaskar, for that is his name, laughs merrily.

"Strange costume. But then..." There other ones, worse for sure. Z'ian keeps her fingers tangled up in hers and pulls the bluerider out onto the dance floor. He'll monopolize her time for a few dances and he won't complain that loudly when she steps on his feet. As long as she doesn't break any of his toes. And eventually when the time is appropriate, he'll let her sneak away to get back to her friends while he makes a quick departure out of the crowds.

With no place for a knot on a costume of winter, Ceawlin's rank remans ambiguous, except maybe to his fellows who might know a familiar face. "Night's definitely getting long," he agrees, watching as people slowly mingle out of the party, "But I'd not say it's too long in the tooth for a fast tune." Says the boy who's not danced one inch on the dance floor. Belatedly: "Thanks." Jaskar's observation gets a dry laugh out of Ceawlin; though toasting the harper, his response is, "I suppose that's one way to celebrate the turn." Pause. "For some people." Less ambitious folk.

Kaeden rubs a hand over his face and chuckles before drinking down some wine, dark eyes regarding those still milling about, some still dancing despite the Harpers' pause. "True enough," he says, agreeing with Jaskar before giving Ceawlin a quick sideglance. "You going to play us one, then?" Kaeden asks, his smile crooked until it's covered by the wine cup once more.

"Ceawlin? ''Hah''." Jaskar chortles at ''that'' remark, though the glance he aims at Ceawlin is affectionate. "We could've used his voice up here, earlier. Suireh-- who knows what happened to ''her'' in the middle of that song." He shakes his head, stretching out tired muscles as he repositions his instrument. "We could do another fast one, but I doubt there'd be many takers, not this late in the evening." He shifts his gaze between one and the other, then adds, "Clearly, our new candidate here has loftier goals than mere ''dancing'', or ''fucking''."

It's hard to tell given the light and the fact that the harper apprentice turns his face away, but Ceawlin's features harden a split second before answering, "Hah." Diverting attention from his singing capabilities, the candidate latches onto Kaeden's suggestion with, "Sure. I'll play you a rousing tune if they," almost sweetly poisonous smile to Jaskar, "are too tired. And yes, I have loftier goals than merely dancing or fucking. Actually, getting embroiled in the women in this weyr seems more likely to devour you than fuck you." Pale brows inch upwards, "Suireh? Didn't she escape off that way?"

Kaeden knocks back the last of his wine, then gives himself a refill before turning away from the dance floor to give Jaskar another glance. "Candidate?" he asks, then turns to regard Ceawlin. "Maybe you'll take over as Weyrleader, then? Settle all the..." He trails off, gesturing at a random knot of riders before he has to finish with a laugh. Changing course, he shrugs, saying instead, "Nice to see folk out and having a good time, right?" The detour in conversation is broken by another laugh, however. "Shells, man. Nothing wrong with a little devouring sometimes."

"Devouring can be fun," confirms Jaskar, with a smirk. "I like a good, strong woman. Eat you alive, but ''man'' the payoff is worth it." He plays a note on his lute, strumming it with idle interest; evidently, he's not yet ready to actually start playing again properly. "I'm not too tired. We'd rather you ''sing'', though. Suireh was halfway through a song, and-- no idea what happened there. Just lost it, I guess. Stagefright?"

Teeth grind. "No one wants to hear me sing," Ceawlin mutters with finality, giving Jaskar a not-so-nice look. "Shells," the harper curses, "I wouldn't want to be Weyrleader. That job sucks. You only get it by chance and you can get bumped out at any given flight." He lifts his cup, drains it, and holds it out for Kaeden. "Sucks. I'd rather earn my way to Master and have my own, never-taken-away rank." Expression turns humorous, "''Devouring'' might not be worth it if you come out messed up in the end." As to Suireh, he shrugs, "Not sure. Something's up with everyone these days."

Kaeden arches a brow at the thorny candidate, though he does go ahead and refill that cup. "Chill, man, I was just yanking your chain," he assures Ceawlin, dark eyes twinkling as he gives the blonde a wide grin. The same grin is turned on the other Harper as Kaed gestures with the wine flagon, as long as he's still holding it. "Maybe the girl had a sudden bout of indigestion," he says to Jaskar before settling in with his own cup of wine again. "Me, I'd be happy just being in a nice, stable position. Know who I am, and who those around me are. I'm with the blonde on the weyrleader thing, though. I mean, even when things go right, they're a mess."

Jaskar has probably had ''just'' enough to drink that he's willing to push Ceawlin. "''Everyone'' wants to hear you sing," he says, in reply. "Or they would, if they knew what to expect." He extends his cup for refilling, and continues without much of a break for breath. "Maybe she did. Crazy girl, that one. Ambitious. Her parents were Weyrleaders here, of course. Makes a difference. ''I'' wouldn't want to be Weyrleader, either. But ''I'' didn't accept Search, eh. You a local, then?" He's eyeing Kaeden, curiously.

Ceawlin's fingers tighten on the glass, and it's really only Kaeden who keeps the candidate from decking Jaskar right then and there. "People can want all they want, it isn't going to happen." It's possible that Ceawlin has some alcohol running through his blood as well, if his flushed cheeks are any indication. "I didn't ask to Stand to try for weyrleader," he mutters, icy blue eyes firmly on Kaeden, "I'm after becoming a harper master." Or, ''the'' harpermaster of Pern, if he has any say.

Kaeden lifts a hand briefly to wave to a small crowd of younger folk heading into the wintery night or deeper into the Weyr, then nods once to Jaskar. "From the Hold," he answers before taking another sip of wine. "Work on the docks. Had a couple crates that needed to get here without their innards smashed to bits, so..." He trails off and gives the Harper a wink. "I escorted them here, then figured I'd stick around for this fancy party. Maybe get to slow-dance a few times, if you get my drift. The Weyr sure is different. Shells," he adds with a short laugh, "if my mum'd seen one of those weyrwomen all cozy with some chick, she'd be packing for Fort or Telgar. Me, though? I kinda like it. Might drink enough wine tonight to make sure I need to spend another night or two. Headaches are bad for riding runners, right?" He takes another sip, just to make sure, then points at Ceawlin in a "shooting" sort of motion. "Hey, it's good to have a plan."

Oh-ho. Jasker picks up on that: "You ''asked'' to Stand. And yet you want to be a harper master. That takes balls, kids." Balls, his expression suggests, but probably not brains. He's more interested still in Kaeden, acknowledging that explanation with a low bob of his head, one that is followed quickly by a laugh. "Weyr-women can be pretty different to hold-women, that's for sure. You should hang around for more than a few days-- I can ''guarantee'' things'll be worth watching, one way or another. Anyway, travelling in winter? There are ''bound'' to be delays. You could stay until spring. Find a pretty girl to slow-dance with for a while."

"Might as well play all avenues, right?" Ceawlin answers, sly. "Besides, I need more work for my projects, and nothing sells quite like Hatching Sands songs." Rhyme and reason, my friends. Kaeden's historical explanation earns some of the harper's attention, but when there's a lull in the conversation, he adds, "Stick around; there's bound to be more interesting things happening." More interesting than the weyrwomen getting it cozy with another woman, that is. To the dock worker's comment of plans, "Well spoken, friend." It comes with the toast of his cup, which conveniently needs another refill.

"All very true," Kaeden reflects with mock solemnity before giving Jaskar a grin. "With all that wind and snow, well... the more slow dancing, the better. Keeps a man warm at night. Faranth knows I can't get away with it at Hold, what with my mum checking in every sharding night." Yes, his life is that hard. He returns Ceawlin's raised cup and takes a long drink before going ahead and topping up any cups that might need it. He then hooks a chair over with his toe and finally takes a seat, apparently done with the dancing idea, at least for the time being. "More interesting, you say. Like finding out what's finally going to shake down with the leadership and stuff?"

"Poor man," chortles Jaskar. "It's ''definitely'' time for you to move on and out, then. You're no Apprentice-- I mean ''candidate''! -- like Ceawlin, here. You ought to have plenty of time and space for your lady friends." Sipping at his wine, he lets out a long, low, contented sigh. "Current events, they're pretty much the perfect thing for a Harper, don't you think?" He's asking Ceawlin, in part, though his gaze remains on Kaeden. "Whoever heard of two Weyrwomen, two Weyrleaders. Two ''brownriding'' Weyrleaders at that. I wouldn't be posted anywhere else for the world, that's for certain. Brieli made K'del ''prettttttty'' unhappy, earlier. I wonder why."

"A toast to that," Ceawlin says, for the first time looking favorably on Jaskar. "I wouldn't be anywhere else in Pern at all," he comments, looking to both Kaeden and his fellow harper, "It definitely delivers here." Cold eyes narrow on Jaskar, careful words following, "Did she now? I wonder what ''that'' was all about." With that thought ruminating, he lifts his freshly filled cup once more. "I'm off. Gotta mingle." Or slip away and see what else he can find out. "Enjoy the party." One squirrely eyed look to Jaskar, "And shut your trap about me singing." Though words are woven of dry humor, a lasting threat forms the bedrock of the tone of his tenor. Then? He's moving off, blending in, being nosy. Exiting, stage left.

"A toast to that," Ceawlin says, for the first time looking favorably on Jaskar. "I wouldn't be anywhere else in Pern at all," he comments, looking to both Kaeden and his fellow harper, "It definitely delivers here." Cold eyes narrow on Jaskar, careful words following, "Did she now? I wonder what ''that'' was all about." With that thought ruminating, he lifts his freshly filled cup once more. "I'm off. Gotta mingle." Or slip away and see what else he can find out. "Enjoy the party." One squirrely eyed look to Jaskar, "And shut your trap about me singing." Though words are woven of dry humor, a lasting threat forms the bedrock of the tone of his tenor. Then? He's moving off, blending in, being nosy. Exiting, stage left.

"No, that's just it," Kaeden explains to Jaskar, laughing, "I haven't lived with my folks since I was fourteen. She just stalks me, man. It's maddening." He pauses to tip a casual salute to Ceawlin as the candidate-Harper makes his leave, at which point it's possible he's spotted a potential dance partner. "Um... I think I might see about making some of those lady friends," he informs Jaskar, voice dropping as his smile goes crooked once more. The last of his cup is drained and set safely aside. "Thanks for the chat. I'm Kaeden, by the way." The young man gets to his feet, stretches surreptitiously, then winks at the remaining Harpers. "And thank you all for a lovely night," he says in parting before heading into the thinning crowd to see about some dancing stamina.

"Jaskar," says the Harper, with a salute-- one that follows both young men as they depart. He smirks. Again.

----

''And all the costumes!''

== Peregrine ==

Peregrine looks to be in her low to mid teens, though it's hard to place her age more exactly than that. Her blond hair is thick and long, and is held together in braid intwined with a blue ribbon that ends at the small of her back.

She is wearing a dress that could have been handed down from her grandmother due to the severe and outdated style. The lace collar is all the way to her throat and the dress itself has little embellishments except a little bit of lace at the end of the sleeves and hem. The hem ends below her ankles so all you can see of Peregrine's feet are the bottom part and tip of her shoes.

Her apprentice knot is in the colors of both the glasscraft and her posting, High Reaches Weyr.

== Azaylia ==

Strapping. At a height of 5'9", Azaylia manages to stave off angular awkwardness with solidity. Bronze complexion is rounded just about everywhere, muscled limbs aiding in the fact that she's robust rather than overfed. Black hair is slowly recovering its length, typically worn in dual buns, though wavy locks often escape to frame her face. Beneath thick brows, doe eyes dominate her visage, brown gaze revealing a notably gentle nature. Rosy lips are shadowed by a slim nose, straight bridge coming to point. Her physique still carries obviously feminine curves; a delicate flower within the body of an amazon.

Fearsome regalia has claimed her, transformation a mix of the savage and the sensual. Corset's grip is possessive, tawny leather shaping femininity into something even more enticing. Bronze flesh peeks through shimmering gilded lace, embroidered sleeves trailing well past her wrists as opulent, though ragged, sails. A wild menagerie of dark umber and brighter metallic hues make up a layered skirt that comes to a jagged, uneven end near her ankles. Visage is framed by pale fangs, cheeks painted a similar ashen gold as mask's proud headknobs sweep back into riled black curls. Eyelids flash brilliant blue and green with each blink, hints of purple whorling in jeweled, festive fashion through the masquerade's gaze. A long necklace carries sizable oval stones, veined turquoise and marble quartz reminiscent of eggs.

== Brieli ==

Long chestnut hair is worn in a high knot atop this young woman's head, tendrils escaping in easy curls that gently frame her heart-shaped face, along with the shiny silvery mask she wears. It covers only the upper half of her face, etched with a starburst pattern and topped with a silver of the moon, rather like a crown... or horns. The brown of her tresses also lightly warms tan skin and colors long-lashed dark chocolate eyes. Cupid's-bow lips curve into a smile often and easily, if sometimes enigmatically. Tall and slender, she has the lean lines and long toughened fingers of someone accustomed to working with her hands. For the occasion, she wears a floaty floor-length column of a strapless silver dress to accent her height and warm tones of her skin, accented with shiny beading at the waist, much like this: http://ic.pics.livejournal.com/iesaryth/50583565/1224/1224_600.jpg <+views available>

== K'del ==

K'del is BLUE. Blue clothes, blue gloves, blue boots. His hair is blue, too, and his face has been painted: he looks downright creepy.

== Taikrin ==

There is something perpetually sullen about the set of this young women's pale face, an impression that lingers regardless of her actual expression. Perhaps it is the lips, thin and with a naturally downward cast. Perhaps it is the eyes, slightly narrowed, in an inexpressive shade of flat brown. It could be in the way overly thick brown brows meet, pointing together harshly over an otherwise unremarkable nose. Her haircut certainly contributes: the dark brown stands have been sheared short rather severely in a boy-cut that's no longer than a few inches. Most tellingly, however, are the lines of scars -- some pink, and some long-healed white -- that trace over her work-hardened hands and lower arms, and even a few across her right cheek and into her hairline.

Here stands a coal miner, albeit the most well-dressed coal miner Pern has ever seen. Her pants are not sackcloth but well-textured black leather bearing thick grey stitches. The black leather jacket that goes with it is also heavily grained and obviously stitched, but beyond that the dimensions have clearly been padded out. There's no way a woman of Taikrin's build could have shoulders that broad, or arms that hefty, or such a decidedly unfemininly broad chest. It's not cartoonish, but the difference in physique is marked. On her face, Taikrin's black leather domino mask calls to mind smudges of coal dust in its irregular shape across her forehead and cheeks. To complete the costume, she has a blunted pick-axe hung from a loop on her belt, next to which is a pouch filled with glows-- and a flask nestled amongst them. On her shoulder, Taikrin wears the complex knot of a wingleader at High Reaches Weyr, threaded with a ribbon of pale brown. She also wears the badge of Glacier wing.

== H'kon ==

The early onset of grey has been most successful in the man's short beard; his more youthful browns still manage to claim the bulk of short-cut hair, except just above a forehead wont to show furrows. Green eyes are softened by the beginnings of crows' feet at their corners, but still stand out against pale skin and a simple, straight nose. His are the callused and scarred hands of a worker, though the marks of punctures, scrapes and cuts are only well visible on the rare occasions when they're held still. He stands shorter than most men, with toned, if not overly broad, shoulders held back in a strict, though not strictly proud, posture.

A heavy, corded sweater, with a good, high, turtle-neck, is maybe a little bit too big for the brownrider's arms, though it seems to fit him through shoulders and chest. Rolling of sleeves, of course, fixes that. Otherwise, basic brown pats with ample pockets, and a warm pair of boots, keep him ready for a High Reaches winter. Or, you know, a wet fishing boat. Whatever.

== Madilla ==

Soft, comfortable, cozy: these are all adjectives that might be used to describe Madilla, whose taller-than-average frame is gently padded in a pleasing way. She wears her curly, red-brown hair cut to shoulder-length, though it's usually pulled away from her pale, oval face. More 'interesting' than outright pretty, her nose is too large and wide for beauty, and her lips too oddly quirked; still, her pale green eyes are full of life, and there are few who'd call her outright unattractive.

Tonight, the healer is dressed in the kind of dress most eight-turn-olds would love to wear: pale pink and frilly, with little cap sleeves and a big sash tied at the back. Her hair is in pigtails, one on either side of her head, and she has tiny little lace gloves on her hands. Her shoes are black and shiny, with no heel.

== Barnabas ==

A mess of hair and ink, the grungy man stands at a tall 6'4. Unkempt brown hair hangs down past his shoulders in a wavy mess, framing and in part overlapping the edges of his face. Brow is heavily pronounced over sunken, burnt umber eyes, casting a shadow across them in all but the harshest of light. Bushy and uneven facial hair covers his mouth, chin, and upper lip. Broad shoulders slouch, rarely supporting his head up to the full potential of his height. Thick arms are worked to size by hard labor, painted with all manner of grimly themed and scar stained tattoos. Chest is burly down to tapered waist, broadening out again to dense thighs that carry him in his casual yet unsettling shuffle.

With a shirt worn and tattered by design, one sleeve is stuffed full to create the illusion of one mishapenly oversized arm. For contrast, the other is stripped entirely from the shirt, leaving his arm bare. Bare however is subjective, as the inked arm is slathered in brown and black body paints, dark lines drawn in along the curves of his muscle to exaggerate it. His face and hair are painted too, the same dusky brown with tinges of black, creating deeper lines in his face. Around his mouth, sharp white teeth are painted to dwarf even his own horrible smile. Dragon? No, watch-wher.

== Wakizian ==

Broad of shoulder, and strong of jaw, this young man of about 17 turns, 5 months, 14 days old still has traces of baby fat clinging to his otherwise muscular form. He stands about five foot, ten inches tall and besides his rather remarkable bone structure, he's just another face in a crowd. Dusky tan skin covers his frame, topped by straight, dark chestnut locks. Though a few shorter locks flop haphazardly from the top of his broad brow, most of his hair is contained by a tan thong as it hangs down his back to reach the bottoms of his shoulder blades. Arched brows peak over evenly-set warm brown eyes. His nose is proportionate, though slightly aquiline. Thin but shapely pale pink lips almost always seem to wear the ghost of a smile, and a slight crinkle in his cheeks suggest hidden dimples.

Long hair is for once not contained in its usual leather thong but left to hang straightly down around his shoulders. In the tradition of males without a masquerade plan everywhere, it seems that a female friend might be missing a dress in Waki's size. It's eye-catching red and made of a simple crinkle cotton. The shoulders of the dress sit on his upper arm and the dress extends down past his knees. Over the top was borrowed a lace-up yellow bodice with baby blue flowers. The bodice is actually quite pretty and appropriately stuffed to give him the curves he naturally lacks. On his feet are a pair of men's brown boots. Apparently there weren't any pretty dancing slippers in his size! On his face is a plain black half-mask. All he's missing is the boots and the lipstick!

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Logs:Song on a String

2013-02-16T18:05:31Z

Vienne: Created page with "{{ Log | who = R'hin, Vienne | where = Harper Hall | what = R'hin sets up a surprise for Vienne. She's not sure if she likes it. | when = Day 1, Month 1, Turn 31 | gamedate = ..."

{{ Log
| who = R'hin, Vienne
| where = Harper Hall
| what = R'hin sets up a surprise for Vienne. She's not sure if she likes it.
| when = Day 1, Month 1, Turn 31
| gamedate = 2013.02.15
| quote = You said you had a lovely voice, and I ''am'' selfish, so--
| weather =
| categories =
| mentions =
| ooc =
| icons = r'hin.jpg, vienne serious.jpg
| log = It's early evening on the first day of the Turn when Leiventh's chilly voice stretches out towards Oswinth. The bronze is concise, but then that's normal, for him: << Yours should wear something nice. Come and join us. >> There's a brief image of the sun setting over Harper Hall, distinctively unmistakable. He lingers long enough for an answer, with an air of patience about him.

There's that hitch in Oswinth's endless buzz, his surprise at the foreign bronze's contact, though perhaps not all that much surprise. Without words, he gives Leiventh tacit acknowledgement of the invitation, and then there's distance as he confers with his rider. << We'll be there. >> And so, as the sun begins to set over the Hall, the blue appears in the sky, an eye for the layout below. << Where should she meet him? >>

There's no surprise from Leiventh, as if he expected such an answer. Or more likely his rider did. << We wait in the courtyard. >> Even down Fort way the weather's still chilly, though there's no snow falling. The courtyard is lit up with glowbaskets, and with the glowing gaze of Leiventh, who's settled on the inner space. A few apprentices pause to gawk, but not for long -- most of them seem in a hurry. R'hin's lounging against the bronze's side, casual pose at contrast with his finery, clothes suitable enough for a Turnover celebration. His head twists to track Oswinth as he appears above.

The blue winds down through the air, landing a little distance away. On his back, Vienne takes a moment to comb the wind from her hair, to adjust the barrette clipping it back from her face. As she slides down, it is not in the most glamorous of dresses: gray, light material cinched at the waist, a cream colored cardigan adding a bit of warmth to something that might not be entirely weather appropriate. But at least there's a little bit of sparkle at her throat to dress it all up and the flight didn't ruin the loose curls in her hair. She stands beside Oswinth for a moment, her hand on the blue's cheek as she look across to R'hin with his casual lean and less-casual attire. She smiles at him.

There's a rumbling, deep greeting from the bronze to the Reachian blue, the gleam of Leiventh's gaze cutting down to almost nothing as his eyes lid over. Pushing straight from his lean, R'hin's openly eyeing Vienne with appreciation, pale gaze intent on her as he strides over to quickly close the distance between them. There's a respectful nod for Oswinth, before he reaches to slip a hand around Vienne's waist. "I'm freezing my ass off out here," he oh-so-eloquently offers by way of low-voiced greeting, amusement in his voice, "And we're late. This way," a nod of head for the main entrance, before: "You clean up nicely. Who would've guess?" His tone is light, amused.

After an answering rumble for both Leiventh and his rider, Oswinth quiet chuff is for his girl. She lets her fingers graze down that blue face and steps toward R'hin's reach, her smile pulling sly. "You should have tried wearing this over High Reaches," she remarks for his freezing ass. It's doubtless she's had a chilly flight and now she doesn't shy from standing close the bronzerider, for what little warmth or shelter his proximity can offer. His partial compliment wins only the twist of her mouth and as her eyes glance off toward the entrance, ready to head out of the cold, Vienne asks, "Are we expected?"

Rather than answer her directly -- because this is R'hin -- he says with a boyish amusement: "Shall we see?" He sets a quick pace across the courtyard, his fingers settling comfortably at her waist. Inside, it's warmer, and down a short, familiar corridor is the entrance to the main hall. The room is packed, mostly with Harpers, but here and there are the knots of others coming to watch. At the front, a makeshift stage has been set up, and a familiar face -- one of Vienne's voice masters -- is currently mid-song, accompanied by a handful of other harpers on instruments. R'hin pauses long enough to orient himself -- and to dart a quick look in Vienne's direction -- then leads her around for a better angle closer to the front.

It is a familiar corridor, familiar hall, and among the many harpers, there are familiar faces. Whether those that look at the two riders do so because they recognize her might be unclear, as Vienne doesn't appear to acknowledge anyone in particular. Perhaps they are more interested in her escort. It's probably not her understated dress, which hardly makes any impact among the finery of renowned masters and self-important students. The bluerider moves along as bid, weaving through under R'hin's direction, and when they reach their position at the front she turns a dubious glance at him. "Late for the performance?"

Daring, R'hin ignores the looks and guides them right to the front, as if they had a right to be there. "Yes," and at her dubious look, he gives her a mocked frown in turn. "Don't make that face at me, Vienne. You said you had a lovely voice, and I ''am'' selfish, so--" he spreads his hands, a completely unapologetic grin on his face. What ''is'' he talking about? Maybe it has something to do with the next song that comes up. It's a familiar tune for her, a pleasant duet well suited to her range -- and the Master's gesturing towards Vienne very obviously as if to invite her to join him.

There's no 'what ''is'' he talking about'. As soon as he mentions ''her'' voice, Vienne knows the score here. She rolls her eyes and the cut of her glance scolds him. If she's any more reluctant than that, she hides it well, except perhaps for the tightness of her smile. Yes, the song is starting and yes, she knows the words, but before she'll answer the beckoning of her old master, the bluerider shrugs her sweater off, pressing it into R'hin's keeping, along with the promise, "You're going to have to tell me why." After. She steps out onto the stage, her smile for the audience shy and apologetic as she stands beside the master and lets her voice twine in to the duet. It is a lovely voice, if nothing so remarkable that the Hall is still sobbing to have lost her, and the master's age does do her some favors, allowing her to sound young and fresh by comparison.

There's certainly no commitment on R'hin's part to do so, but he does take her sweater into his care, pale eyes gleaming with anticipation as he watches her walk out on stage. Vienne's master seems happy to have her company, and at the end of the song, he tells the gathered audience that Vienne is a good sport, and that it's good to borrow her back -- if only briefly. R'hin's not the only one clapping enthusiastically as the song ends and a few more harpers move to take the stage in their place.

Vienne willingly plays the part of gracious and demure throughout the master's kind words, the round of applause, and if there are many who received the performance with enthusiasm, it's that bronzerider her glance lands on, looking very much like she might like make a face of him of some sort. But it's not until she's free to return to her escort that the little tremble of nerves becomes apparent, that she lets the anxiety twist across her features until she can't help but laugh and lift a hand to hide her expression, her flustered smile. "Augh," she sighs out, letting her shoulders slump dramatically. She peers through her fingers at R'hin. "Happy?"

That pale gaze of R'hin's tracks her throughout, welcoming her back with a lean and a murmur close to her ear, "Very," a beat, "I didn't expect you to be nervous," he admits, with amusement. He keeps his voice low in deference to the next performance, though he appears not to be paying any attention to it at all. "Your master seemed a bit bemused, if receptive to the idea. I'm glad he indulged me."

"No?" That admission seems like a surprise to her, not that it kills the awkward laugh that lingers as she tries to find her composure again. "I guess you didn't think it through." There's a light in her eye, her own amusement, and then she smooths some of the anxiety out of her cheeks with the press of her fingers. "Did you want to stay and listen?" she wonders, her back still to the current performance, her voice as quiet as his not to interrupt. "Or is your work here done?" She glances over her shoulder to take her first note of who has replaced her on the stage.

"Oh, I thought it through. I just expected most a harper to be... more sanguine about the whole thing," R'hin admits in a faintly wry murmur. His gaze flickers towards the next performer, as if only belatedly noticing -- then back to her with a visibly guilty sort of look. "The only performances I normally stick around for are Suireh's. And that's normally why I stay at the ''back''." With a glance over their shoulder, he slips a hand around Vienne's waist again, murmuring to those behind them, "Excuse me. The lady needs some air after her performance." More idle murmurings get them through the thick of the crowd towards the back of the hall.

"It's been a long time," Vienne offers as her only explanation, though perhaps he'll note that, on the way out, the bluerider finally does meet a few glances, flashing that apologetic smile again as if she's done them some disservice by performing. And, too, at the mention of his daughter, her eye is cast a little wider, half expecting the apprentice to materialize from the crowd. Though the bluerider doesn't have any objection to putting some distance between herself and the stage, a small satisfied grin continues to curve her mouth. So maybe performing wasn't all bad. As they make their way toward the back of the hall, she leans a little closer to remind him, "You didn't have to go through this trouble if you wanted a song."

"Mm," it's a vague sound in the back of R'hin's throat, and it's accompanied by a quick, brief look at her explaination. Once they're free of the crowd his hand drops away, though still remains close as he guides them towards some drinks laid out at the back. "Perhaps not," the Monacoan allows with a smile, "-but it was so much more ''fun'' this way -- don't you think?" Oh, he's enjoying himself, no doubt.

The further from the stage, the more Vienne's smile starts to fade and as they come to the drinks, it's gone entirely. She has to put it back in place to respond to his idea of fun. "Yeah." It looks like she might like to follow it with something, only instead she catches her lip in her teeth and runs a hand up her arm. It's hardly cold in the hall, full of bodies and hot air. "My sweater," she reminds him, most interested in that than the beverage spread.

Distracted momentarily by the selection of wines -- the downside of being a connoisseur -- R'hin belatedly glances at Vienne. It's with a furrow of brow that he takes in her expression, though he's quick enough to return her sweater, meaning to drape it around her shoulders, unless she reaches for it directly. "What's wrong Vienne?" he asks, head tipped.

Vienne does reach, but takes the drape when she realizes his intention. "I don't know if I should bother," she says with a little shake of her head, that sorry smile turned on him this time, regret tinging it instead of shyness. "It was very nice of you to invite me here and... set this up. I never thought I'd perform in this hall again." Once the sweater is in place, she lifts a hand to tug it close. "Do you have anything else planned?" She might as well ask, though she doesn't seem to have any expectation of an answer.

A flicker of brow marks the surprise that spreads across R'hin's features. "I wouldn't ask if I weren't interested," he says, half self-directed amusement, half chiding. A flicker of glance to the drinks, then back to the bluerider, as he says blandly, "I ''could'' get you drunk and take you back to my weyr, if that's what you're implying." The amusement in his expression suggests he believes otherwise, however, remaining attentive.

"I didn't say you weren't interested," Vienne replies with the quirk of a wan smile. And as for his guess at her implications, she just shakes her head, knowing better and knowing he knows better too. "I don't think that I want to talk about it here. It's a party." She gestures her free hand toward the table, the wine he's been surveying. It's an invitation for him to go ahead and drink, not an indication of her own interest, and after it's done she folds her arms about her middle, demeanor patient.

R'hin glances briefly at the table when she gestures, then dismisses it with a shift of shoulders in the faintest shrug. "Then let's leave the party," the bronzerider says, carelessly, reaching to snake a hand around Vienne's waist with the intention of guiding them to the door. "Why don't you show me the hall? I'm ''sure'' you have some little nook that you used to hide in and watch people from."

Her mouth pinches small, lips hidden, but after a beat, Vienne nods and she turns toward the door at his bidding, a glance over her shoulder for the stage, the gathering, all the pretty dresses and people murmuring about one another. It's a wide hallway she leads him down, immediately quiet in comparison to the great hall, though hardly empty. She pauses at a door and opens it on a classroom, dark and silent. "I still sit in sometimes. I like to listen to the discussion." She doesn't go in, just looking at the black nothing. If she's giving a tour, this is probably a pretty poor stop. "We could uncover the glows if..." If he wants to see?

"Would you have preferred a dance? I would've thought being back here would've made you -- happier," R'hin murmurs in a quiet undertone, before pausing at the entrance to the classroom, glancing from the dark opening to Vienne. It's the latter he studies, in turn. "It's your tour," he says, voice amused; apparently he's leaving the decision up to her.

Her mouth hitches. Maybe she would have liked a dance. "I..." It's a long pause and then Vienne looks back at him, lifting a hand to his arm. With an inhale, she steps into the classroom, slipping away from him to reach blindly for the glow basket she knows is set into the wall. It hardly illuminates the whole room, but it's enough that he won't bash his shins on the benches. "The chairs, tonight, like I'm a toy on a string. I don't know if I can do it."

"You're not making much sense," R'hin says, with patient amusement, but something else, too, a furrow of brow as he follows her into the classroom. He settles into a casual lean against the desk, the dim glow casting a shadow across his expression, though his gaze is intent on her. "Perhaps you're overthinking it, Vienne. But if you don't want Leiventh to talk to Oswinth anymore, then--" he spreads his hands, as if ready to accept such a decision from her.

"I do that," Vienne says freely. "I overthink things. But I can't unthink them." She gives him a little shrug, accepting that reality, and sinks to sit, her hands between the press of her knees. "You asked me what was wrong." Just in case he doesn't remember. Her eyes watch the spread of his hands, stuck there instead of meeting his gaze. "After the flight... you were different. Now I feel like you're just falling into some comfortable pattern. I don't know what I want." It troubles her enough to purse her small mouth. "I don't know what you want."

"After the flight," R'hin echoes her, his voice momentarily kind of gruff, "You know what that's like, when you don't--" he trails off, shakes it off with a shrug of shoulders. He pushes up from his lean against the table and stops in front of her, reaching for one of her hands. "If nobody knows what they want, then I say, just live in the moment. Come on -- I'm sure there's dancing ''somewhere'' on Pern. How about we go find some?" There's a lightness in his gaze as he watches her expectantly.

She slips her fingers from between her knees and into his hand, her grip light as she slowly moves to stand. Her free hand slides up his arm. "Dance with me here," she tells him quietly. With the door open and the hall not far, there's still a bit of music in the air -- maybe it's enough. She cracks a small, wry smile, meeting his gaze. "Live in the moment."

"Here, then," R'hin concedes easily enough, his hand slipping to rest comfortably at her waist. He's an adept dancer, and only needs to pause a moment for his ear to catch the beat of the distant music, before he leads her in an easy, slow dance. "But later; I'm taking you somewhere for real dancing."

Vienne settles into his arms, a little hesitant at first even though this was her idea, but closer as she relaxes. For his promise, she grins, wide and a bit cheeky. It doesn't garner any other enthusiasm, but her the smile might be enough. "Tell me why you set that up tonight." The stage, her song.

R'hin's answer is straightforward and quick enough that it's probably the truth: "You said your voice was your instrument. I was curious to hear what you chose to give up." As she relaxes, he settles into a slightly more complex routine, though he seems apt to keep an eye on her.

"I sang for you that night," Vienne points out. "Maybe... you don't remember." It makes her shake her head, dropping her gaze from his. "Maybe you don't really remember any of it. But I liked you that way. I liked your eyes on me. I liked the cracks. Talking to you." She has to wet her lips before she adds. "I didn't choose it."

A momentary pause from R'hin. "I wanted to see what you were like... as a harper." Which apparently requires Harper Hall, and an audience. Still, he doesn't confirm her speculation, yet there's something a little harder in his gaze, in the tense line of his body wherever it touches hers. Abruptly: "Let's go to Igen. They're always celebrating ''something'', I'm sure there'll be dancing." His fingers are still in hers, and he uses that to pull her along with him towards the door.

''And since Vienne isn't going to Igen, she evades the invitation and they part ways instead.''

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Logs:Safe and Clean

2013-02-16T00:22:22Z

Vienne: Created page with "{{ Log | who = Barnabas, Vienne | where = Greenhouse | what = Bones and Vienne plant a tree. | when = | gamedate = 2013.02.15 | quote = "Everybody's got something that bugs e..."

{{ Log
| who = Barnabas, Vienne
| where = Greenhouse
| what = Bones and Vienne plant a tree.
| when =
| gamedate = 2013.02.15
| quote = "Everybody's got something that bugs em."
| weather =
| categories =
| mentions = Azaylia
| ooc =
| icons = vienne smile.png, barnabas Grumpybones.jpg
| log = Sometimes, when a person is longing for a little warmth and the smell of growing things, the greenhouse will do. Lunchtime has most of the workers off for their meals, leaving one small woman in relative solitude as she sits gingerly on the edge of a trough beside something big and leafy. She's loosened scarf and jacket, but Vienne hardly seems occupied now, just looking up at the rafters, across the rows of plants, enjoying a respite from the windy, sleety world outside.

The deathly grey sleetstorm is a reminder or just how unsuited for human life High Reaches can be. But with the biggest and thickest plants lining the walls in the ever-present warmth of the greenhouse, one could easily mistake themselves as being deep in tropical forest. The king of this particular jungle is the one with a massive planter perched up one shoulder, empty of soil and the small tree it'd one day be home for, but heavy-looking nonetheless. "Vee?" The questioning tone is unnecessary, given the smile on his face. Massive pot is set to the floor with a clunk, and he approaches while clapping his hands free of dust. "How'ya doin?"

It might be a lunchtime lull here, but the scuff of boots and the continued sound of working bodies have made it clear that, despite her personal quiet, Vienne is not alone in the man-made jungle. And then it's hard to miss the tall man with his massive planter. The little bluerider looks up, neck craned to see over the neighboring frond so she can smile back at Bones as he approaches. It's a rather enchanted smile, some wonder in her eyes. "It's always so nice to see you," she muses through her grin, as though the realization itself is a pleasant surprise. Her gaze drops to the planter he's just set down. "Where are you going with that?" But no, she's not offering her help this time.

"Is it?" Nice to see you is a pleasentry that he's used to, but ''always so'' nice to see you? He actually raises a little eyebrow in question. Sarcasm? Didn't seem it, and so he smiles right back at her. "Nice to see you too." Spoken with an honest warmth. "Oh this sucker? He's Gonna be the new home of a Flowering Blackbark Genzo Tree. How's being tiny and cute workin' for ya?"

Nope, no sarcasm, just Vienne's guileless smile. She grins for the fate of the planter. "Do Flowering Blackbark Genzo Trees like company?" she asks, pitched forward in her seat -- to watch, to stand, she's ready either way. As for being tiny and cute? She rolls her eyes and lets out a big, exaggerated sigh, like she's been just dying to complain to someone about it. "Oh, it's so much work. And I have to sleep in this really little box every night to make sure I don't grow." She describes the box with the shape of her hands, something a piece of jewlery would fit in. That small.

"Company? I'unno. They like a nice spritz of water on their leaves, but they don't seem to care if-" The pause is sudden, realization settling in. She means him. "... yeah, they like company." There's no embarassment in him at being slow, just happy enough for the offer. With a deep grunt, he hefts the pot back up onto his shoulder, long arm stretched along it's side to grip the top rim. "You should try being ugly. It's ''way'' easier." Finger points towards the back, letting her know where he's headed before he moves along.

Her brows lift as he begins to explain the care of his trees, but they settle again when realization sets in, deepening her smile. She gets to her feet, brushing behind her a little to try to shake free any dirt she might have picked up from her seat. "I try sometimes," she says about being ugly, continuing her droll account of this terrible life she has being a little doll. "It's really the tiny part that's the problem. That's all anyone sees. It confuses them into thinking everything I do is cute. Watch." She turns toward him as they walk, furrowing her brow, baring her teeth, bringing her hands up with fingers bent like claws. It's a classic face to pull. On Bones, it might actually look threatening. On her, well... He can be the judge.

Bones' pace is slow and careful, both for the sake of keeping the pot secure on his shoulder, and to ensure he doesn't outpace Vienne with his long stride. It falters only slightly as she turns towards him, briefly thinking they might be stopping, but the bluerider pulling her face in motion. At the sight of it, Bones winces and shakes his head. "Yeah, hate to say it but that's fuckin' adoreable." Spoken with a note of playful pity, with the wince swiftly giving way to a smile. "Ever give a second thought to that blue dragon tattoo? I've heard that havin' ink done makes you look intimidatin', hehe."

"See?" Vienne is just so exasperated. It's all a good show until she slips a wry little smirk aside to the tall man with the huge planter on his shoulder. She glances at it again, that vessel, as if something about his cargo that amuses her. Meanwhile, he is bringing up the tattoo and she lets out a laugh. "Then I might just be the tiny and cute girl with the crazy tatoo. Do you know someone who does that sort of thing? I mean, clearly you ''have' known people in the past but... Does the Weyr have such an... artisan?"

"Artisan?" The word isn't all that familiar to him, but it had art in it. He could figure that one out. "Y'know I don't mingle all that much. But I know a guy who knows a guy, which means I guess you know a guy who knows a guy who knows a guy, now." He smirks, having to admit to himself internally that the joke wasn't worth all the syllables. "You're not actually thinking of getting one are you? I had to get absolutely ''trashed'' for my first one just to deal with the pain, and even then I damn near passed out." Now his wince is a little more genuine as he recalls the experience, the slow needling done by hand, each prick hurting just as much as the last.

Vienne puts on her best impressed face. "I feel so well contected," she teases warmly, probably aware that the joke's value fell short of its effort. But as his comments turn more serious, the small bluerider lets her smile fade a touch, even if it doesn't disappear completely. "You don't think I could handle it? I mean, I'm pretty sure I wouldn't want one on my face but..." She shrugs a narrow shoulder in her jacket, not ruling out the possibility. Anything is possible. "If it was so awful, what made you get the next one? Or the one after that?" And also: "Where's our tree?"

Wince put aside at Vienne's query, he adressed the slightly defensive she asked the question. "Hehe, hey now I didn't say you couldn't handle anything. I know all about judging books by their covers." There's a pause as they reach a junction, Bones aiming his thumb to the left turn they'd need to take. "And as for why I got more? I'unno, once I got that one on my wrist... I kinda wanted another one on the other wrist. Then once you've got the two, the rest of your skin starts feelin' a bit empty. They're addictive." Her final question is answered more with action than words, the two ending up at a workbench in a more secluded part of the greenhouse. Next to stacked burlap sacks of potting soil, the pot was set down with another rough clunking noise, and he tugs his razor from a pocket to start slicing open the bags he'd need. "Our tree's right there." He motions with his head as he upturns a bag of soil into the pot, and there at the table is the most pathetic of saplings, it's roots wrapped up in wet cheesecloth, with just enough soil bundled up to keep the thing upright.

Vienne lets out a sigh. "I'm afraid I'm probably little more than the way I look. Sometimes..." And here a good portion of her playful facade falls away for what she might say next, only the words never come. She follows along -- keeping up with him and perhaps more concerned with keeping out of his way, since he's carrying such a load with him -- and her wry smile comes back when he explains about the tattoos. "So really you're saying that you can't have just one. And even if I got one somewhere else, I'd eventually end up with a blue dragon on my face." Despite the warmth of the greenhouse, she folds her jacket closed and crosses her arms. As they reach the potting area, she leans to peer over their tree. She doesn't make any move to touch it, though. Or anything else. She's not getting too close to the bag-slicing, either. "It's so sad looking," she murmurs, sounding rather sorry for the poor thing. With another glance at the waiting pot she surmises, "It'll like the space, though." And just in case that's unexpected, she explains: "My mother's a gardener. She always had plants around. Still does."

The little tree, a foot tall at the most, is lifted by hands that dwarf it's already slim trunk. With great care, a small little space is carved out by Bones' fingers to set the sapling in, and then earth is smoothed over. "It's just a baby, but come back in a few weeks and your jaw will drop." He can't help but smile as he looks down at it, one hand on his hip while the other flips the straight razor back into it's handle. Useful little tool is then slipped back in a pocket. "You were sayin'? Bout sometimes not bein' how you look?" He had been listening.

"Really? Are we talking... taller than me?" Vienne asks with a laugh, staring down at the tiny tree Bones has so gently nestled into its new home, dubious that it could overtake her in so short a time. "Can I water it?" she asks, or offers perhaps, unwrapping her arms and brushing her hands together as though they aren't currently much cleaner than they would be after handling a watering can. As for what she was saying, she's quick to shake her head. "Oh, it's nothing. Just the complaints of a girl with nothing to complain about."

Bones is mesmerized by the little plant, though he overhears her question about height enough to snap himself out of it. "Hmm? Oh. Nah, won't be taller than you for at least a few months." He wanders back towards the work table that the plant had been sitting on, and reaches behind several pruning projects to pull out a simple metal watering can, which he walks towards Vienne with. "Everybody's got ''something'' that bugs em. C'mon' fess up to one at least ''one'' little pet peeve. I'm a good listener, and I won't tell nobody but the trees." He offers his ear as readily as the can of water.

Vienne takes the watering can with careful hands and tips a healthy drink around the base of the newly planted tree. "It's nothing like that," she promises with a quiet smile. There's enough of a pause, silence filled with just the glug of water through the spout, to suggest she's giving real thought to something. It might cast some doubt on whether or not she's telling the whole story when she answers. "I just don't have any reason to believe that I wouldn't cry and pass out under a needle." The watering done, she hands the can back, trying to hold her damp palms such that she won't accidentally smudge her nice clothes. "I've never done anything like that and I probably never will. It's... disappointing."

The can is taken back after the little tree is watered, giving a soft nod in appreciation for helping him care for the plants, even in such a small way. "You think you're boring?" That was his personal summary of her woes. "So what other kinda stuff are you dissapointed you ain't ever gonna do? Three-way? Stealin' marks? Knife fightin'?" There's a smirk at the corner of his mouth, but he seems intent to reign in the sillyness just a touch. "Why's it dissapointing? Is it because you ain't interested in that kinda life, or have you always been a little ''too'' interested and that scares ya? Ha! You got a crazy rebel lurkin' somewhere burnin' to get out?"

"Maybe," Vienne admits, a light laugh that's all breath and no voice. Maybe she is boring. As for his list of supposedly unboring things to do, she shakes her head. "I don't think I'd be good at any of those." She holds up thumb and smudgy forefinger, a tiny space described, perhaps just a tiny height -- it's some kind of explanation. "It's not like that, though. It's not like I want to be a crazy rebel or do wild things. I just feel... untested. But the tests..." With a reserved smirk, her eyes flick over him, about his arms, over the ink she knows he has whether its visible or not. "The tests make you cry and pass out from pain. If you're lucky. Do you have a rag or something?" She shows him her hands, barely dirty but maybe it looks all the more striking against how clean she is otherwise.

Bones' own hands are wiped against his pants as he looks around for the rag in question, at first entirely missing the juxtaposition of how he treats himself versus how the greenhouse guest is to be treated. He catches on to what's happening, and looks down at his slightly smudged hands with a mischevous smirk. "Untested, eh?" He rememberes there's a mostly clear rag sitting on the table, walking over to it and inspecting it. It was slightly damp, but had only been used to clean up spills of water. Perfect. "Well, sometimes to get through those tests, Y'cant be afraid to get your hands dirty." He takes his steps back towards her with the cloth dangling from his hand, offered to her. "Or you can stay safe and clean. I ain't tryin' to push one way or another."

"Safe and clean, that's me," Vienne replies, taking the damp rag to wipe her palms and meticulous little fingers, her smile self-deprecating rather than lingering over her life choices. "Like I said, I have nothing to complain about." And even though her hands are tidied up, she doesn't pass the rag back yet. "How about you? Any complaints? I hear everyone has something that bugs them." For that quip, she lifts a wide, rather cheeky smile to him. And her head tips toward the tree. "Where does our friend go now?"

"Oh I've got tons of complaints!" The tree's fate is once again more show than tell, beastly man in his sleeveless vest wrapping his arms around it in a bear hug, and lifting it from the floor with another manly grunt. "My roomate is going through a crisis of self-worth. My best prospect at lady companionship just snagged herself a bronzerider who's got charm and looks for days..." There's another grunt as he rounds the same corner that brought them there, giving a motion of his head for Vienne to follow. "... and to top it off?" He pauses then, having lugged the pot to it's final destination. There's a patch of empty glass where the snow and sleet is clear and visible, a little window of empty space surrounded by lush green plants. Pot is set down and little tree is shoved into place, plenty of room for it to grow. It's only after it's set he continues. "I don't have any ideas for a costume for that party comin' up! Ha!"

If Vienne is impressed by the pot-wrestling or grunting, it doesn't show on her face. She's just attentive, just listening to his complaints with her chin tucked low and her mouth small. But she's ready to follow him along, heeled boots hardly silent as she keeps up with his longer strides. "Your roommate is Azaylia," she remembers, though not from anything he's told her. And she has no idea who his lady-prospect is. Her eyes turn to the glass, the desolate winter outside that steamy window, the pot settling into place, completing the row of growing things. "So let's go look for a costume. I bet the pots and plants can wait." For all that she might not have tattoos, there's a dark merriness in her eye for the prospect of luring him away from work on such an impulse. It's probably as lively as clean, safe girls get. "I need one too."

Once again left to clap his hands free of any lingering pottery dust, he looks over at Vienne with a bit of surprise on his face. Go look for a costume? "Right now?" He looked out the window with his hands on his hips once again, blankly staring into the sleetstorm as he pondered the prospect, and of how much work there was left to do. There was always ''lots'' of work left to do. "... yeah, alright. Let's go hunting for something to wear. Y'can model something sexy for me." The wink he fires her is more meant to be self-mocking than genuinely flirtatious.

He gets a bright nod for his hesitation, all encouragement, and she offers the rag out to him now, so that he might clean himself up a little. Or maybe just because she doesn't mean to steal it from the greenhouse. And his wink, well, he might mean it to be self-mocking, but Vienne takes it he means to mock her. "See? Tiny and cute. It just overrides anything else I do," she says with a dramatic sigh, a fling of her hand. At least she's not offended by his perceived teasing and her reaction is all in play, since she smirks at him afterwards. A more critical eye sizes him up as she she turns toward the exit. "I'm not sure it would be much of a costume to dress you like a lawless sailor. Maybe... cover your hair and beard with powder and pretend you're an old man? Or get some clothes that are too big and stuff them?" So he can be fat.

Hands slip into the gardener's pockets as he heads to where he left his heavy cloak, ready to brave the heavy sleet in order to go on a little shopping trip with his bluerider friend. "Old guy? Fat guy? Pfft, what do you think I am, some kinda joke?" This grin is unmistakebly one of mockery, one that even Vienne is likely to see through. "C'mon, I'm sure we'll find something. Or at least get the inspiration to whip up something ourselves."

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Logs:Do You Know What You Want?

2013-02-14T02:06:51Z

Vienne:

{{ Log
| who = K'del, Vienne
| where = Lights in Darkness Weyr, High Reaches Weyr
| what = Vienne has a question for K'del.
| when = Day 23, Month 13, Turn 30
| gamedate = 2013.02.13
| quote = "I don't want her to win."
| weather =
| categories = Divided Leadership
| mentions = Brieli
| ooc =
| icons = k'del profile.jpg, vienne arms.png
| log = Lights in Darkness Weyr, High Reaches Weyr

----

A heavy, brocade curtain separates the ledge from the weyr within, which opens up into a long, wide wallow and a walkway beside it. There's easily enough room for a bronze in here; the ceiling is high enough that sound tends to echo. Down the wall beside the walkway, small circles appear to float within the dim light like miniature moons; a high panel of them that's perhaps four or five times as long as a man is tall. They end abruptly as the wall curves around and opens out into the rest of the weyr.

It's a good sized weyr, and laid out nicely with a fine collection of solid, expensive furniture. A niche off to one side offers built-in shelving and a desk set out beneath it, while much of the rest of the space has been taken up by a couch and several chairs, laid out in front of the hearth. It's reflective, that hearth, made up of squares tiled on point, many of which look very new indeed. To one side of that is a dark opening that might be another niche, or perhaps a passageway.

A tunnel leads off from that dark opening - narrow, if still tall. It turns a corner and then opens out into an expansive room set against the other side of the hearth. Most of /this/ space is taken up by a bed that has clearly been made to fit the space exactly, although there's still room to step around to another niche - this one with a plugged basin above and a drain below. There are more of those moons here, too: moons that glow with light from the room beyond.

----

It's another day of relentlessly heavy snowfall; this winter has been just ''miserable''. It's mid-afternoon when Cadejoth drops back to his ledge and lets his weary rider down, post sweeps. K'del heads indoors, and even Cadejoth - generally loathe to sit still for longer than is absolutely required - crawls into his couch to doze. Inside, the bronzerider builds up the fire at the hearth, wandering around on socked feet, his jacket slung idly over the back of one chair.

Oswinth offers some warning. << If he's free, >> is all the dragon says, but that sense of coming is clear enough. The blue manages a landing without too much trouble, just an awkward backwing that seems to surprise neither himself nor the tightly bundled little woman astride him. She climbs down, her glance to the unusually sleepy Cadejoth is paired with the polite check of a nod -- just time for last minute refusals in case there are any -- before she peeks past the curtain to the weyr. "K'del?" she calls, eyes on the damp, snowy jacket and then the man by the fire. She hazards a smile, hopeful. She is likewise snow covered but apparently either she's getting used to it or she hasn't been out all that long, since her teeth aren't chattering away.

<< He's free, >> confirms Cadejoth, with a quiet, whispering shudder of metallic chains, partially frozen over, and oh so very tired. To Vienne, as she passes, he huffs warm air, a welcome of sorts for all that it is made from behind closed eyelids. Within, K'del turns from the fire, giving the bluerider a tired, but not unhappy smile. "Come in," he says, with a wave. "Fire's still only warming up, but it's definitely warmer than it is out ''there''."

"Thanks," Vienne smiles, as if he's doing her a favor by allowing her in. She loosens the scarf from her neck and starts to brush some of the snow off her hat before she realizes with a halt, "I probably should have done this out there..." Her attention drops to the damp puddles and drips she's creating around the entrance, stepping gingerly to see how her boots leave prints behind. It seems like, on second thought, maybe she'll just linger by the curtain. She puts her hands in her pockets. "I wanted to talk to you." There might be something precipitous about the inhale she takes, the steady calm eyes that lift to him.

"It'll dry," is K'del's easy remark: he's probably left plenty of puddles of his own, on these floors, though he's increasingly dry, now. "Only water, right?" Easy or not, there's something suddenly wary in his expression, something he can't completely hide beneath his friendliness. He meets her gaze with his own, equally steady, his chin just slightly lifted. "What's up?" He ''could'' make a joke about her ruining his mood again... he chooses not to.

It probably doesn't help any that Vienne is slow to begin, her glance flitting away momentarily toward the fire, about his weyr, before finding him again. She starts, stops, starts again. "I've been thinking about what you said, about Brieli, about leaving." It might not be much, but she presses herself together to pause, and then steps away from the entrance, heading toward the chair where he's left his jacket rather than the warmth of the hearth. "Do you really feel that way? You'd rather leave High Reaches?"

It doesn't help: it leaves K'del standing stiff and awkward, his hands balled by his sides. His gaze follows Vienne towards that chair, blinking only when absolutely necessary. Her question-- at first, it may even seem as though he doesn't intend to answer at all, because his expression doesn't shift, and his mouth doesn't open. Finally, however, he sighs. "It's hard to imagine there being much left for me, at this Weyr, under her permanent leadership. Don't ''like'' the idea of leaving. ''Hate'' it, even. But... it depends on how it happened, I guess. It's something I'd consider. Why?"

That tense stare weighs on her, keeps her chin low, her teeth worrying at her lip. Rather than answer him, when he pauses, Vienne's mittened hand comes out of her pocket to brace against her forehead and shield her from his eyes. "Don't look at me like that," she murmurs, shoulders hunching. "I just wonder," she tries to explain, that damp mitten sliding down her cheek. "If an opportunity presents itself, if you'll be able to see it." She looks across at him, eyes uncertain, her mouth pressing small as her hand settles with a hold on her scarf.

"Sorry," he says, dropping his gaze abruptly. It sounds genuine, too, and is followed by a half-turn from him, one that sets him to pacing back and forth across the room. "I don't-- what do you mean? 'If an opportunity presents itself'. See what?" His confusion, too, is genuine. Exhaling, lengthily, he lets his gaze sweep the room, though it carefully avoids Vienne, now, and digs his hands into the pockets of his trousers.

This is the trouble with talking to straight-foward people. They need things spelled out. Vienne's brow furrows faintly, but at least her shoulders can relax with the tall bronzerider pacing instead of staring her down like a snake about to bite him. "I'm asking if you know what you want," she says gently, sympathy for his confusion. "I don't know anything. I don't know how things will turn out, for High Reaches, for you. Just... think about it." Already, she turns away from the chair, back toward the puddles that haven't had time to dry.

That much, however, K'del does know: "I want my Weyr back," he says, quietly, not much above a whisper, but audible thanks to the relative quiet of the weyr. "I don't want her to win." He won't stop her from leaving, though-- though his brows do furrow in thought, and unasked questions do linger about the edges of his expression.

She pauses to look at him, and also to wind her scarf back up, though there are small flinches when the cold, damp parts touch the skin of her neck. "I don't have any answers," she tells him, shaking her head a little for all those unasked questions he has. "And I don't know that there will be any chances." All she seems to have is a sorry little smile for him. But Vienne waits there, just in case.

"I know," he says, matching his smile to hers. "It'd make things easier if you did, wouldn't it? If ''someone'' did. Silver arrow answer to everything." There's something self-mocking in his tone when he says that, as he reaches up to scrub at his face with both hands. "Guess it's still worth asking the question, though. Otherwise, what am I fighting for? But there it goes. Keep making me think, Vienne."

Her brows bounce up as a laughing breath leaves her, tacit agreement for how much easier it would all be is ''someone'' had an answer, any answer at all. Vienne winces a little to see him scrubbing his face, to know that she keeps bringing these dark moods to him, and it keeps her feet from carrying her any further for the moment. "It was a little more intentional this time," she admits. "I'm sorry. I don't know if it's the right thing. I don't know that there ''are'' any right things to do in all of this. There's just what happens and what doesn't, I guess." But she has to check: "Are you okay?"

K'del's shrug is easy, and a pretty good indication that some of the tension is trickling out of him, now, bit by bit. "I'm okay," he promises. "And - good. Don't apologise. Do what you have to do. Ask what you have to. I'm ''fine''." He'll stop pacing, too, as if that alone will convince her that he really is fine, that this hasn't really upset him again. His smile is not brilliant, but it is, at least ''present''.

Vienne tries to encourage that smile with one of her own, though it's hardly a cheery affair for her either. "You know where to find me," she tells him, though she doesn't many any pressumptions about the 'why' or 'what for'. There's just a lift of her hand, a muted wave, and then she turns back to the ledge, to leave him with his thoughts and his afternoon's rest.

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Logs:Different Kind Of Animal

2013-02-12T08:18:29Z

Vienne:

{{ Log
| who = Jo, Vienne
| where = Vienne's weyr, High Reaches Weyr
| what = Jo questions Vienne about the last encounter at the bar. Jo puts the moves and Vienne's just not that kind of girl.
| when = Day 17, Month 13, Turn 30
| gamedate = 2013.02.12
| quote = "Since I’m a flame and all, I’ve come to burn."
| weather =
| categories = General
| mentions = H'vier
| ooc =
| icons = jo femme fatale.jpg, vienne bitchface.jpg
| log = It’s not too late into the night for Jo and Tacuseth to be dropping by someone’s place, but then, the bluerider never really was the sort to bother with such courtesies. If she wants to visit, she’ll visit, and she’s doing so now. “Yo, Vi!” she’s calling out as she drops down from Tacuseth’s side, dressed in her black riding leathers with her hair wild and slightly damp to suggest she had just came from the baths. She’ll stand on the ledge for a few moments before heading on in, not even bothering to check if the bluerider has company or is dressed or anything like that.

There's only Oswinth to provide the initial greetings, his surprise at having company tucked away in short order to offer a welcoming rumble and a polite dip of his head to Tacuseth and Jo. The little blue turns to look toward the passage to the weyr, an invitation of sorts, whethr Jo requires one or not. And inside, a little fire is burning in the hearth, providing most of the light while Vienne sits on the floor sorting through her clean laundry, creating neat little piles. She is dressed, not in jacket and scarves, but just a sweater and some slim pants, nice but casual. With the warning she's received, her eyes are already lifted toward the entry as her hands ball up some socks and add them to the others. The smile she wears is light but curious. "Hi."

Tacuseth is far more welcoming than his rider, as demonstrated by the brush of a greeting that’s all bluster and the sound of falling rocks. His is all hot air blasts and grit, a mind presence that could crowd despite his touch being quite light. Jo approaches Vienne and watches her with her laundry, hands falling to rest of her wiry hips as she studies the other. To that light greeting, “Hey yerself,” she drawls with a touch of wryness. “Thought I could talk to ya about somethin’, face to face.” At this time of the night? Her tone gives nothing away, even, though there’s perhaps an odd intensity in her dark eyes that might lend hint to one thing or another.

See, there's plenty to be curious about and now Vienne's eyebrows lift a little higher as she regards the dark woman standing there, down and up again. Given the hour, the look in Jo's eye and the fact that wanting to talk is usually about something rather serious, there's a pause before the smaller bluerider nods. "Sure. Yeah. Just let me..." She starts to get to her feet, gathering some of those piles into her arms so she can carry them toward the trunk at the back of the weyr. Jo can choose whether she wants to follow after her hostess, take a seat in that one chair by the fire or just stand around poking at things, but there is damn little to poke. Despite the time that has passed since she arrived, Vienne still hasn't decorated much beyond a rug and the useful placement of trunks and chairs. There is a small painting on the mantle, at least, showing the coastline of somewhere tropical.

Jo lets Vienne look her up and down, only the twitch of one brow any indication of her amusement. She seems rooted to the spot as Vienne starts to rise, but once she gathers some of the laundry, the convict rider makes her move. She’s suddenly –there- in Vienne’s personal space, and the woman tries to snake an arm about the Igenite’s slim waist to bring her forward and right against her harder body. With the smell of leather and spice, and that laundry probably now crushed between their bodies, the tall woman lifts long fingers draw a strand of hair from Vienne’s face that’s a gentle move in contrast to the aggressive one she’s pulled as she says, “Well, not quite talk,” she notes, her voice low, almost a purr. “Since I’m a flame and all, I’ve come to burn.” She alludes to the words Vienne said in H’vier’s presence that night in the bar, a brow lifting pointedly.

So... neither following her around or taking a seat. Got it. To say that Vienne would not expect this particular turn of events is probably something of an understatement, given that she has a confused sidestep for Jo's approach as if she's concerned about being in the other bluerider's way rather than any oncoming contact. That assumption is swiftly corrected by the arm around her waist. Her back stiffens in surprise and she's all eyes over the bundle of laundry, big blue eyes staring up at Jo and completely unaware that a few balled socks have just gone tumbling away. "Jo," she says, breathlessly started, smile tugging at open lips. "What are you..." Doing? Her laugh is a little nervous, but she doesn't pull away. "No, that's not talking," she agrees with that chuckle, less of a sound and more of a sensation the other woman can feel in that sure embrace.

Jo keeps that arm about to the small of Vienne’s back in firm place, the contact ensuring that the slight woman is against her – well, if only that laundry wasn’t in the way! Her smile is pure predatory along with her husky voice, watching the other’s reaction like a hawk. “I think ya know what I’m doin’, darlin’,” she notes in response to that unfinished question. “Drop the laundry. Can’ talk to ya with it –here-.” As in, here, between them. It’s almost authoritative, her words, too. Then, after a moment’s breath, “That stunt ya pulled back in Snowasis,” she notes, letting humor bleed through. “With those harper words. Ya think there wouldn’ be an repercussions, little temptress?” With ''her'', especially.

Vienne closes her mouth, the smile tugging slyly toward one side to reveal that yes, she knows that Jo has in mind. It just makes her eyes flick about a little more uncertainly, meeting the other woman's gaze, checking the shape of her mouth, falling low toward the protective layer of laundry that keeps them being being bodily smashed together. And maybe she looks a little sheepish for those harper words, lips tucking in between her teeth as her lashes stay low. "So you figure you'll just come up here, lay me out and... see if you can set me on fire?" There's a little teasing in those words, both flippant and quiet as they are. Vienne draws in a long, deep breath, squeezing the laundry that she has made no move to release, and she lifts her gaze again to find dark eyes. "Jo..." It starts out lost, but the small bluerider's expression calms and she smiles sweetly. "Maybe you should sit down."

“See if yer were playin’ around or serious as fuck, yeah,” Jo is bold in her counter response, not moving off the woman just yet. “And, I wouldn’t fully lay ya out, darlin’. Just wanna see how yer drawn to this ‘fire’ of mine, huh?” Easily playful right back, and she’s well aware of the laundry between them as she adds lower now, “So how ‘bout ya drop the protection and give me a little taste of ya, hm?” And it’s all kinds of enticing. All kinds of challenge in those piercing dark eyes of hers. Once Vienne meets her gaze and speaks of sitting down, “What for? Are ya gonna sit on my lap?” she asks in counter, a brow lifting at her in continued playfulness. She even eyes the seat in question, as if that was the last thing she was wanting to do right now.

Not fully laid out? Vienne cocks a dubious brow, not believing that claim at all. But, with her mouth still caught in that smile, a little more sly than it is probably wise to be, the pale woman extracts a hand from the laundry, from between the press of their chests, and lifts it to lay light fingers at Jo's collar. "Jo," she says again, chin lifted a little more, the softness of her voice, the pause of it, lending a gentle kind of weight when she tells her more surely: "Sit down." It might even sound like there's a promise in there somehow.

Test of wills, this is! Jo’s predatory smile still lingers, but her eyes narrow a fraction to the repeat command. Like a canine that sees a meal and has a one-track mind, anything else is taken with slight bemusement. Sit down? What the hell why?? She eyes that sly little smile and the fingers that go to her leathered collar now, the softness of words getting her piqued curiosity as she finally speaks. “Ya aren’ gonna harper me, are ya?” she asks to that, playfully suspicious. “Cuz there’s no need for it. Ain’ scared of little ole’ me, are ya?” Challenge to those words once more, but at least – at least! – she’s sliding her holding arm from behind Vienne’s back, releasing her from her proximity as she takes only a single step back in the direction of that chair.

Vienne is patient, waiting while all those negligible little thoughts try to filter in through Jo's prowling intensity. "Mm, yes," she answer quietly, laced with dry humor. Her voice is teasing, light, as if there's no chance that harpering is on the menu, and yet, at as a harper, it's unlikely she chooses words by mistake, no matter how little suggestion there is in their delivery. "I'm going to teach you all kinds of new songs." That said, she does seem a smidge more confident when Jo takes a step back and Vienne lets her hand drift down the front of her leather jacket -- though without enough pressure to feel anything beneath it -- before both her arms are wrapped around her clothes again. "I'm not scared," she says, perhaps even believabley so. "I'm just going to put away my laundry." Her grin quirks brighter, playful, and she turns again toward the rear of the weyr. Apparently she thinks Jo will actually take a seat.

It’s obvious Jo has to work through her lust-soaked brain to something resembling logic and civility, so the convict rider inclines her head to that and merely states on songs, “So long as they’re songs ya’ll be singin’, darlin’. The kind that don’ really need words, too.” Well, civility only goes far with her, but, with a hand running through her slightly damp hair, she’s finally pushing herself away from the slight woman and letting her get to her laundry. Chair, right. She takes a look around the weyr finally, noting the new additions from the last time she’s been there before she drops herself unceremoniously into a chair and crosses her legs. “Not scared,” she echoes that in a drawl, checking the place out as she stretches her arms over both armrests. “Yeah, we’ll see about that.” Letting her head fall back, “So what didja think about him, anyway?” She assumes Vienne would figure she means H’vier.

"I've been told I have a fine voice," Vienne returns, as if the suggestion that she'll be putting that voice to less-than-scripted use barely happened at all. Barely, because she still has a knowing flash in her eye when she glances back at Jo. The smaller woman doesn't hurry to get her clothes put away, but nor does she linger unncessarily. The truck is opened, items nestled in their spots, and she leaves the lid as it is before turning back. Rather than bending to pick up the escapee socks, she just nudges them with her foot toward the rest of the unsorted clothes that remain on the rug. "I thought that we'd tease him merciless and you could reap the benefits," she muses on the undefined 'him'. A brow lifts, "Did you?" She sinks to take a seat on the trunk, which acts as a low table in front of Jo's chair, her knees pressed together, hands holding the trunk's edge on either side of her legs. "He has quite a mouth on him," she remarks as well, sounding a bit impressed. "I don't think he saw me, though." And with a pointed once-over of the striking, leather-clad bluerider, she explains why.

“Is that what ya were doin’,” Jo notes on what happened with the bronzerider, watching Vienne intently with her clothes. “I was to reap the benefits of a tease directed at ''me''?” She doesn’t answer that question right away, watching the other as she sits on the trunk the way she does. Fingers idly rap against the armrest as if she was barely holding herself to that chair, but when Vienne says the last, “Yer blind to the wiles of a man such as him, darlin’,” she drawls out, noting the pointed once-over with open amusement to lift one corner of her mouth. “He saw ya alright. He was down for the threesome ya were alludin’ to. And he was tryin’ to entice ya to the boys’ side of things. As if I had ya,” and gaze flicks right down her frame, and could be seen as undressing the woman with her eyes. “So no. I didn’ reap any benefits, but I was curious. I see myself in him. Like men that aren’ afraid to say what they want. I’m sure I’ll see him again.” So confident in that, in fact.

"Not directed ''at'' you," Vienne tries to claim, sheepishness in her smile, apology as well. "Perpetrated ''with'' you. But I guess I..." she draws in a long breath and shakes her head at whatever failure she's perceiving there. The drum of fingers lifts her gaze to Jo again, flicking over all that leather as if she can see the invisible shackles holding her in that chair. And though she might be so quick to label the whole thing at the Snowasis as naive folly on her part, she does lift her brows when Jo calls her blind. "No, I don't think so. It wasn't aimed at me. It was aimed at you." There's no jealousy in her tone, if anything, as she smiles on Jo, Vienne looks almost proud, as if the darker woman has achieved something holding the attention of a over-charged man whore. "I'm a different animal altogether."

“And the meanin’ of those words?” Jo prompts now, studying Vienne with interest and curiosity now as she corrects the confusion at the bar. “I can’ even recite them. Flames and being drawn to them. To aims, there’s low laughter and a, “He figured what I’m about before ya showed up. I find it interestin’, and curious, that ya don’ see it as it was, though. Ya give me too much credit. I was just tryin’ to get another free drink off the man.” Knowing her. But then, it’s the last that has her rapt attention, and the convict rider lifts a brow at her and goes, “Really. And what sort of animal is that?”

"I did say that," Vienne admits, glance dropping again as she smiles to herself. "I think it's true, too. You are like a fire. Heat just... radiates from you." But while her eyes are cast downward, they get caught by her laundry again, and so she levers herself off the trunk to kneel on the floor, ready to go back to her sorting. "I don't know," she answers, letting those run away socks now start a new pile. "I don't know what kind of animal I am. It sounds like you think my perception is a little off anyway. Maybe you know better." There's an all-but-silent laugh and a sweater folded efficiently. "But when someone is looking for good time, mine isn't usually the ledge they show up on." She might be saying it about H'vier, but she looks over at Jo, who surely knew this before coming to visit.

“Is that flattery or a compliment, or…?” Jo assumes there’s a distinction between the two, the woman seeming amused by the words. “Ain’ heard nothin’ like that in regards to me.” There’s low laughter, brief as it is, to Vienne’s next, hands lift up off the armrests briefly going outwards before she says, “I doubt it. I’m not sure what to think of ya, Vienne.” Her name, a caress in her tone. “I’m still tryin’ to figure ya out. I think ya like that I am.” Hands drop and she suddenly leans forward in the chair, legs uncrossing as she does so with that lingering little smirk on her face. Does she take anything serious? To the last, this bold Glacier wingrider is stating with her bravado on display, “Ya can always slap me now and tell me to be on my way? Ya won’ offend me, darlin’. Every now and then, my perception is wrong.” Only every now and then, it seems. She doesn’t seem worried about it, although there’s a slight detection of an apology in her voice. Only slight. That’s something!

This time, Vienne's laugh manages to have a little voice behind it. Flattery, compliment, "I guess that depends on how much you want to be like fire," she replies easily, pulling the last few pieces from her laundry sack. And if she inhales a little more deeply when Jo says her name like that, well, perhaps it's hard to notice those things while she goes about her work. "Are those the only responses you're used to getting? Fuck or fight?" she smirks over the dark bluerider, likely aware that the harsher language might seem out of place coming from her. "I don't want to slap you. And I don't need to send you away." She pauses there to wet her lips, to chew them together. "But if... You don't have to stay if you're disappointed." Jo did come in here looking for one thing, it would appear, and it doesn't look like it's going to be available.

“Well, I ''do'' burn all in my wake,” Jo seems to tease, amused by the words given. “And, mostly. Fuck or fight. Had the life I’ve had, life sort of keeps ya pretty basic.” She matches that smirk, though there’s a flare of interest when Vienne doesn’t want to slap her. “Ya said ‘need’,” she notes, seeming to not be out of the loop to word play. “Not ‘want’.” Perhaps there’s a difference? Vienne’s last naturally has a look fitted onto the slight woman, watching her as if she was gauging her responses. Then after a while, “So ya like bein’ hard to get,” she surmises, the incorrigible woman will likely never let up on her flirting. It’s just her thing. “I get it.” Perhaps that’s answer enough, along with the bluerider not making any moves to get out of that chair. “I ''did'' come up here to let ya know Ertrand’s willin’ to commission that jacket for ya, too. Saw him the other day and he gave me swatches.” Hand lifts to dig into an outer jacket pocket, revealing as she lifts it up the swatches of the colors and kinds of leather made before she dangles it in the air between them. Maybe she’s not ''always'' a horndog. Just mostly.

"Who's harpering now?" Vienne retorts, letting her expression brighten as she turns that accusation on someone else for a change. But with the last of her clothing unpacked and sorted, she gathers it all up again and stands. Maybe she should have a reply for Jo's assessment, some wry commentary or hint of explanation, but she just stands there for a moment without either, and then turns to head back to that waiting trunk. It's while she's putting her things away that Ertrand comes up and she calls back, "Pants. I want suede pants." But there's excitement in her voice, and maybe a little hurry as she lets the trunk slam closed behind her so she can return to the hearth and the light and the swatches Jo holds out. She takes them, head bowed as she flips through the choices, and her weight shifts to one side as she stands there so close to Jo's knee, as though it would only take a little encouragement to persuade her to sit.

Jo’s assessing. She’s always assessing the situation, herself – Vienne. “I don’ harper,” she says simply, leaning back more comfortably in that chair. “I just ''do'' harpers.” Right? She watches the slight woman with her laundry, the swatches held out and waiting before Vienne tells her what she wants from the tanner. “He can do ya up right,” she says with certainty in her voice, nodding once the swatches are taken. “Love that man and his hands,” and it doesn’t even sound sexual from her. Imagine that. Of course, she notes Vienne’s proximity, her knee propped and ready…even though no further come-ons come from her lips. Perhaps two could play that game! After a moment, “He’ll give ya a fair price, too,” she adds, seeming willing to speak on the man only. “When were ya thinkin’ of gettin’ this done?”

For the man with the hands, Vienne slips a sly look down at Jo, as if she can't quite believe there's nothing sexual in her love for the tanner and his skills. And as for the games, the leather-clad rider might be taking a gamble. When no encouragement comes, Vienne's posture straightens again and she holds the swatches out, rejects dangling and the chosen one between her fingers: suede, as she mentioned, in gray. "I thought we'd have gone by now, honestly, but I've been sick." And if Jo's other business has been holding things up, Vienne is hardly calling attention to it. "I should just go tomorrow. At this rate, it'll be spring before they're done and I'll be looking for something lighter." Okay, so she's exaggerating a bit about how long it will take to have pants made. She smiles down at Jo without the grin chasing a touch of something remorseful from her eyes.

To that sly look, Jo returns one that looks oh-so innocent. “Hey, what? Ya think I’m scewin’ him too or somethin’ Pshh!” and she waves one hand to that. “I’m not goin’ there with him. He’s business, and ya don’ fuck with business.” Simple as that for her. She watches Vienne with the swatches now, and hearing she was sick, “Sorry ‘bout that, darlin’,” she says, though, it’s hard to tell if the apology is for Vienne being sick or for them not having gone yet. “And he’s pretty good on time, too. But anyway. I did come by to drop off that and to see what ya wanted to come. I can shift some stuff around if ya wanna hit him up tomorrow. Unless ya wanted to hit him up just yerself. And also, to ask up about that night. Ya know.” Pointed look.

Once Vienne picks up that she's supposed to hold on to the swatches, it gives her a fine reason to step away from Jo, to put the samples on the mantle where they'll be out of the way. "I don't want to inconvenience you," she says with a little shake of her head, not refusing company on the trip but not insisting on it either. "And I didn't mean to imply..." Well, it's not like Jo really took any offense at the suggestion that she'd sleep with her favorite tanner. She sniffs a little and slips her hands into her back pockets as she turns away from the fire to meet the other bluerider's stare. "What do you want me to say?" About that night, about that pointed look. "I don't know how to be that person who... drops the laundry."

“Ya wouldn’ be,” Jo counters on being there immediately, her eyes intent on her own. “We’re friends, are we not? Well, I ''try'' to be. I know I can get to be a bit…much, at times,” and that winsome smile’s lighting up her face. “But I’m mostly harmless to my friends, and I’d like to think that we are.” Makes sense to her! As to the implications, she’s already waving that away with one hand again in a gesture that says, ‘It’s cool’. She remains easy, and so there was no offense. But then Vienne turns that stare upon her and the convict rider is all cavalier in her posture and the way she crosses her legs again. After a pause to her words, her taking a long flowing look over the slight woman before her, “Are ya afraid?” Again. She asks that again, simply. And then, perhaps even more thoughtfully, some of the bravado ebbing away from her gaze as she meets Vienne’s, she adds, “Do ya trust me?”

Vienne starts to answer, but the very first sound seems to get stuck in her mouth, creating an akwardward pause before she agrees, "We're friends." She tries to make up for it with a quick nod, though her chin stays low and some kind of discomfort seems to tighten in her shoulders as she stands there. "You're not... too much. It's nothing like that. It's not you; you're fine." She lets her glance flick around the dim, empty space that is her weyr, from the blue chair Jo sits in to the dark shelf that is her bed, toward the ledge, where her blue safety net sits out of sight. But it might just be the way Jo grows a little somber that draws the smaller woman's attention back there. "I do." Her smile comes back, wan and wry. "Does that surprise you?"

To the awkward pause, Jo’s brows twitch to that but she doesn’t question. To her being too much, “I know I am,” she disagrees wryly with a chin drop. “Not something I’m ashamed of, darlin’, I just know who I am is all.” She watches where those eyes go, and when she answers one of her questions now, “No,” she’s quick to answer at first. Then, “Maybe.” Pause. Uncrossing her legs, “Do ya wanna come to me, then?” It’s deliberate, her wording of the question now. It’s not really a command – not like before. It’s Jo, perhaps trying to figure the bluerider out. Or more to it than that.

Vienne remains right where she is, but at Jo's 'invitation' she lets her head drop, almost enough to hide the wide smile the creeps across her lips. "You are a lot," she admits with a quiet chuckle. "But you aren't too much." There's a touch more composure when she lifts her face again, turned so that she can regard the lounging bluerider from the corner of her eye, that smile lingering. "Am I suppose to leap into your lap now?" Her weight shifts to one skinny leg, but it's just so she can grind socked toes into the floor.

“Yeah, yeah,” Jo drawls on not being too much. “Ya say that ''now''. If I’m not too much, I would have my kiss by now. Or maybe, that’s the game ya play, hmm? Or, maybe ya just not interested. Y’can tell me, darlin’,” teasing and playful now, and she raps her fingers against the armrests of that chair. Waiting. And then her question gets open laughter, though it’s short-lived. She lifts fingers up for her inspection on one hand, checking out her nails briefly before answering with, “I wouldn’ say no to it. Ya don’ have to. Maybe I just want to check out yer boots closer?” Yeah. That sounds feasible.

Vienne turns her head, like an aborted shake that only gets to one side and stops before she has to swallow. It could be for any of Jo's claims, about kisses, about games, about Vienne not being interested. The prey could answer and say she is, in fact, interested, but instead she just steps away from the fire, closing those short paces to stand rather uncertainly in front of Jo's chair. That's as far as she gets, though. No leap.

In the silence that follows, when Vienne moves to stand right before her, Jo lifts her head slowly to keep her eyes level with the other’s. It’s only a moment’s breath before she uncurl herself out of that chair now, stretching to her full height with all lean muscle and slight curves to her leathered frame. Arms drop from that languid stretch and she deliberately takes a single step forward, putting her in Vienne’s personal space. Predator stalks her prey, but this time she’s more careful. Nothing aggressive nor possessive is done this time, the woman now simply standing there – her eyes on hers – watching. Perhaps even, waiting.

It might take Vienne a little effort not to instinctively back up, not to allow Jo more room to stand. But personal space isn't the point of this little exercise and so she stands her ground, letting the taller woman loom and stretch and invade just the edges of that space. And wait. She's so clearly waiting. Vienne lets her. She just keeps standing there, her hands still in her back pockets, her face barely lifted to meet Jo's gaze. She smiles and shrugs. "I guess I should call it a night."

When Jo stands there, Vienne doesn’t seem to be making any moves. A knowing smile spreads from her lips as the silence stretches between them before Vienne speaks and the convict rider asks, “It’s still early yet.” No reason to sleep, clearly! But, having been more or less denied before, the bluerider is actually hesitating this time around. To the shrug and barely lifted gaze, “Guess I ''should'' be goin’,” she drawls out then, taking a look around that leads toward the ledge briefly. “I keep forgettin’ folks don’ stay up til dawn like I do. Typical of me. Ya let me know if ya want me along for Ertrand, okay? Otherwise, yer blue and hit up Tac and he’ll show him how to get ya to his place. Not far, really.” She doesn’t make to leave, though. In fact, she’s still standing right there before her.

The longer they stand there, the more Jo hesitates, the more it might seem like the little bluerider, who could so easily be out of her element here, knows exactly what she's doing. For every parting phrase Jo has, Vienne's smile eases a little more, grows sure and sly. "Yeah," she finally says when Ertrand is mentioned. "I should get that done soon. I'll let you know when I'm going." So that Jo can come along, presumably, if she's available. But Jo doesn't seem to be going anywhere and Vienne hasn't taken her eyes off her.

Jo’s hesitation is indeed there, and it’s not something – well, it’s not a position she clearly likes being in. Not this lady of the black leathers! She inclines her head to the words on the tanner, her gaze level with Vienne. The staring match could probably last all night, but the Glacier bluerider after a long moment of followed silence, finally releases her gaze from the woman. Just like that, her flashy bravado is back in place, that smile crooked and a touch curious as she says, “Guess I’ll see ya around then, Vienne.” This time she takes a backward step and runs a hand through her hair, starting to head out slowly without exactly turning her back on her. Not with that rakish gait of hers.

Oh, that smile does make Vienne grin, a happy excitement in the show of her teeth and the rise of her eyebrows. Even if Jo is moving off, even if she appears to be leaving, Vienne grins. And, like a good hostess, she follows, seeing her guest to the exit, slow steps pacing after that swaggering gait, her elbows still jutting out behind her. "Hey Jo," she mentions, a pause her pull her smile in, to wet her lips and pinch them between her teeth. "Are you going to come around again sometime?" It can't have been all bad, right? If she's invited back.

“Friends, right?” is Jo’s answer to her coming back as she heads out towards the ledge to her waiting blue, so very easily. “I might even come by unannounced.” Like tonite. Imagine that!

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Logs:Similies, Metaphors and Analogies

2013-02-12T04:18:04Z

Vienne:

{{ Log
| who = K'del, Vienne
| where = Kitchen, High Reaches Weyr
| what = Vienne inadvertently destroys K'del's good mood. This happens a lot, lately.
| when = Day 17, Month 13, Turn 30
| gamedate = 2013.02.11
| quote = "Can't unmake dough after you've put those ingredients together."
| weather =
| categories = Divided Leadership
| mentions = Azaylia, Brieli
| ooc =
| icons = k'del sad.jpg, vienne glance.jpg
| log = Kitchen, High Reaches Weyr

----

Polished marble and granite surfaces, gleaming metalwork and pale woods characterize the vaulted fastness of the kitchen. Several large hearths gape red-mouthed against the outer wall of the cavern, their fires almost always stoked for the constant cooking the Weyr requires to feed its denizens. Sinks line the wall to one side of the hearths, providing ample space to wash large quantities of dishes, while to the other, cabinetry and a deep pantry provide storage space for items commonly needed on a day-to-day basis.

The remaining wall space is taken up by passageways and extra seating: swinging doors that lead variously to the main living cavern, the inner caverns and the storage rooms, a counter-height pass-through for food service to the Snowasis, and a series of nooks equipped with tables and benches for quick, out-of-the-way meals any time of day.

----

The weather outside is frightful... but it's comfortably warm and cozy in the kitchen, and not even ''too'' busy given the halfway-between-lunch-and-dinner hour. K'del has chosen an out-of-the-way spot in one of the alcoves, where he leans over a scrap of hide with his pen, snacking intermittently on pieces of pastry from the plate set beside him. He looks thoughtful, but not ''too'' intense, despite whatever it is he's working on.

There's isn't generally much call for Vienne to be in here, but today? Today she peeks into the kitchen with a basket of crumbs in hand, asking if there's any more bread around to tide the hungry stragglers over between lunch and dinner. A scruffy cook takes the basket without really giving her an answer and while she waits awkwardly to see if there's one forthcoming, she notices the bronzerider hiding out. It's a glance, and then another. And since the scruffy basket-stealer doesn't seem to be giving her the time of day, she waits to see if she can catch K'del's eye to offer him a light smile.

Evidently, part of writing whatever K'del is writing means glancing up every now and then to search the room - for inspiration? For distraction? It's during one of those sweeps that his gaze catches upon Vienne and her smile; ''his'' answer is a twisted smile of his own, and a slight tilt of the head. He mouths something, too, something that could be 'Hello' but... could possibly be something else, too, if she's not especially proficient and lip-reading.

Eh, it's easier to read lips when you're paying attention and, though she does see his smile, the bluerider takes one more check on the cook and so she misses those silently mouthed words. But she does decide, whether there's going to be bread or not, to intrude on K'del's kitchen hidey hole. She slips into the seat across from him, hands below the table with her shoulders rounded, posture stealing height she really didn't have to spare. After a quick glance at whatever it is he's writing -- just a cursory look to see if it's list or graph or letter form -- she smiles at him again, something quiet and hopeful in it. "Hey."

With Vienne in his sights, K'del seems reluctant to drop his gaze back towards his writing (which just goes to show how very exciting it must be), so it's probably a good thing that the bluerider comes his way. "Hello," he says, repeating himself, perhaps, but at least this time the message will get across. It's a letter that he's been working on, and whatever it says, he makes no move to cover it or put it away: nothing ''too'' private and personal, then. "How're you doing, Vienne?"

Just seeing that it's a letter seems to be enough information to sate Vienne's curiosity, since she doesn't bother peeking for any more details, whether he leaves it all out in the open or not. But she cants her head, her eyes studying K'del's face, a bemused smile her only answer. "How are ''you''?" she asks, the inflection more in the nip of her eyebrows and the pinch of her mouth than in the weight she gives that word. "Are things any better?" Obviously there's been no great leadership revelation, so she must be referring to something a little more internal.

Having the question sent straight back at him results in K'del's smile twitching ruefully; he spreads his hands flat upon the table, and executes a studiously casual shrug. "My keel is more even, my branches less overhung, my-- there ought to be something rider-y in those. Something about eggs, probably, only that encourages thoughts I'm not sure I want." His answer seems truthful, at least on a superficial level - and having made it, he leans back against the bench behind him, studying Vienne levelly. "Sometimes it feels like I've talked and talked and talked until there's nothing that could possibly be unsaid still... but there's always more."

She grins, a bright flash of teeth for his rambling metaphors. "Maybe just that you're... flying smoothly," she supplies. It's ridery without referencing anything too... pregnant. "You do seem a little better, maybe." She's encouraged, encouraging, even if she's not entirely convinced. "I think sometimes that happens when there's something you want to say but you haven't said it yet. Or you don't really know what it is. Like sifting around a bowl of stew for the last piece of beef. It's in there somewhere, you just have to turn up a lot of potatoes and carrots to find it." She cocks a brow at him and smirks, a volley in this game of metaphors and analogies. Vienne doesn't really stand behind her own rambling, though; she let out a quick, self-deprecating laugh and then regards K'del with that same level regard. "Does it feel better to talk?"

"Oh, that one's better," puts in K'del, approvingly. He draws his hands together, twining fingers around each other and then flexing, though his gaze remains loosely focused upon the bluerider. "Like stew-- sure, that's as good a way to put it as any. Yes." Smile twitching, he seems pleased with that new analogy, though he doesn't - immediately - have any more to offer. "Sometimes it does. Eventually, it just starts feeling too much, like..." Here we go, "Like a shirt that's been washed and worn too many times. Everyone's seen it, and it doesn't even look as good anymore."

Vienne seems to like it, this game they've settled into and now her expression teases him for his version with the shirt. "Oh really?" she laughs easily. "Or just a shirt you've worn too many times without washing, and it's comfortable but perhaps not the way you want everyone to see you? Too many wrinkles." She scrunches up her nose, teasing him. But after that, she lets out an exhale and mimics his pose, sitting back in the seat, at ease. "It surprises me that remember my name. Just old training, I guess? I feel like I should be 'that girl who was freezing'." She's grinning, though, amused that it isn't the case, and she adds in, "I think it got me sick, actually." The freezing.

Nose wrinkling, K'del attempts an expression of deep, wholehearted offense, though he can't help his laugh. "What do you take me for, a teenage boy who can't be bothered to do his own laundry?" More serious is his follow up, made as he reaches to pick up another piece of his otherwise abandoned pastry, letting it hover just in front of his mouth so that he can actually talk. "Think I'd feel a little uncomfortable, baring my soul to someone whose name I can't even remember. In retrospect, anyway. Besides - yeah, found it was a good skill to have, when I was Weyrleader. People like feeling important enough to be remembered. You're better now, I hope?" He must assume she is, given there's no audible concern in his voice, and, well, she doesn't ''look'' it. The pastry gets popped into his mouth; he chews, swallows.

"Maybe," she says, for his soul-baring. "Or maybe you just wanted a nameless, faceless someone." Only when he gets to the part about people feeling important, she arches an eyebrow at him, her grin spreads wryly. "So you're in the habit of remembering peoples' names just to flatter them, is that it?" His pastry, however, reminder her of her own hunt for bread and her glance slides off across the kitchen, looking to see if that scruffy man has done anything useful, though at the moment he's face the stove with his back toward them and no bread in sight. K'del's question draws her attention back. "Yeah, I'm fine. It was just a cold. I felt gross and now there's just a little cough that catches me off guard sometimes." Though these things cannot possibly be the cause of the thoughtful expression slipping onto her face. She doesn't explain what is.

"''That'' is not entirely what I meant," says K'del, grinning despite himself; evidently, he's not too concerned about it being taken the wrong way. He follows Vienne's gaze towards the kitchen worker, but instead of asking, gives her a quick nod. "Good; I'm glad. Guess winter at High Reaches can do that to you-- such a change from hot, dry Igen, I guess." It's hard to tell if he notices the expression on her face, or registers it as anything more than idle thoughtfulness. Certainly, he's next remark doesn't seem deliberately focused towards it. "You feeling any more settled? Maybe it'll help when we start having Candidates around, particularly out-Weyr ones: you won't be one of the ''newest'' faces anymore."

Vienne must like his grin, since it seems to fuel her own a little, but she doesn't have all that much to say about being sick or having candidates around the Weyr. Instead, she'll just address her settling in. "I am, I think. Being stuck in my weyr for a few days, I got to reflect a little bit on what it's like here, what it was like at Igen." Which does bring a certain emptiness to her smile. "I think it's becoming... home. Even with the snow," tacked on for humor. The humor is short-lived, though, a question formulating behind her eyes. "Can I ask you something?" she proposes, voice a little more quiet.

It's K'del's turn to look thoughtful, as she explains, his blue-eyed gaze narrowing, but not in a suspicious way. He exhales, rather as though he's letting the breath out when he'd really rather be talking; afterwards, he sucks his cheeks in, and nods. ''His'' reaction to the humor is an idle smile, and one that fades quickly enough "Of course you can," he says. "What is it?"

"You mentioned... talking to Azaylia," Vienne recalls, a hand slipping up onto the table, palm placed flat as if to illustrate it as her starting point. She doesn't ask after that event, however. What she wonders is, "Is she your... preference? In all of this?" She doesn't let her glance cast sideways to see if anyone is listening, so perhaps she's not terribly worried about that, but her voice does remain low, just in case the topic is not one K'del is eager to explore with an audience.

K'del gives a hesitant nod of confirmation for the statement that begins Vienne's question, his head stilling afterwards as he presses his twined hands against the table, sucking in a breath. If he's worried about being overheard, he shows no sign of it, in his answer: his voice doesn't change. In the end, he speaks quite plainly. "Brieli and I don't especially get along," he says. "I've no doubt that she's a capable woman, but I don't especially trust her. There's more to her than meets the eye; pretty sure there's a lot we don't know about her motivations. Yes, Azaylia would be my preference. She's still got to grow into her leadership capacity, but the potential is there."

"You aren't the first person I've heard... talk about her like that. Brieli." Vienne presses her lips between her teeth, her gaze lingering on the table between their hands. "I'm not sure I understand what the fear is. But, I can't really say I know anything about her. Not everyone pours their heart out to strangers." She flashes him a smile, teasing but warm. Adjacent to the topic: "So, when you imagine Azaylia growing into the position, who do you imagine is guiding her?" Off to the side, scruffy man tries to catch Vienne's attention, holding a fresh basket of bread up for her to see.

This time, K'del can't return that smile, and instead bites his lip, looking - for a second - deeply troubled. Evidently he's able to shake off that concern, because by the time he opens his mouth again, he sounds quite even and unbothered. Equally, however, he doesn't remark on Brieli. "In an ideal world, won't deny that I'd like to be there," he admits, openly. "Be lying if I implied otherwise. Realistically, though? Not sure having one person to guide is necessarily the best plan, either. Prefer she took guidance from a lot of people with different opinions, people she knew she could trust. Imagine she could even learn from Brieli." Though he sounds a little less certain of that.

"Well, sure," Vienne is quick to agree. "In a truly ideal world," as opposed to K'del's own personal version that puts himself in the big chair. "There would be all the right kinds of people to guide her, experts, wise men, optimistic, soft-hearted voices and cautious, hardened voices, representatives from every corner who would make sure she always has all the information she needs at her fingertips. Wouldn't it be nice." Her tone is dry there, perhaps even cool, because that's just not the world she sees around them now. It's only a second later that she softens again, aware of the trouble that tried to claim him, the uncertainty still hanging around the edges. "I shouldn't have brought it up. I just... I heard some things and I'm not sure who I should talk to." She lets her own concern leak through an apologetic smile, and she finally does look over at the bread man just in time to see the basket heading back out to the living cavern.

Vienne's cool dryness makes K'del's expression twist, rueful and more than a little sad, though he acknowledges her point in the way he dips his head forward. "No," he says, abruptly, and quietly firm. "No, you can ask anything you like, bring up anything you like. Can't always promise an answer, but I don't mind things being raised. Rather think about them than not." One of his hands finally disentangles itself from the other, and lifts to run through his short-cropped curls, a gesture he barely seems to be aware of. "Far as I know, they're still communicating," he says, as though there could possibly be a reason why they wouldn't be. "So either of them would be fine, I think. I mean, ''I'' would listen, but I don't know if I have any say in anything - any voice." Which doesn't mean he's not curious, given the way his gaze lingers.

Hopefully the bread won't disappear too fast out in the living cavern, though there's something in Vienne's posture that suggests it's calling to her, a readiness in the way she holds herself. But her gaze is back on K'del, caught and following the unconscious hand he runs through his hair. For all his insistence that she can say whatever she likes, for all that she must see the hints of curiosity in his face, the bluerider just regards him silently for a long moment, only half-seeing him. "I'd rather think about things than not, too," she muses distantly, clearly thinking about something right now. But her attention sharpens again, focusing on him, and she sounds a little sorry when she says, "I think one of them is going to have to come out on top, K'del."

K'del's front teeth come to rest on his lip, worrying at the parched skin there. He's silent for longer than he needs to be - silent long after Vienne has finished speaking. "Yes," he agrees, almost more a sigh than a word. "It was easier, before the flights; easy to be joint leaders. But that can't be sustained, now, not with Turns until the next flight, and factions, and-- just have to hope that the ''right'' one wins." It seems to make him desperately sad, sending his gaze towards his hand on the table, the mostly empty plate. The other hand drops back to join them, fingertips resting atop the back of his hand.

Vienne's hand joins, too. She reaches across the little table to lay her palm across K'del's hands, head tipped to the side as she looks up at him. "Hey. However it ends up, that's how it could have been anyway if the flights had been just a little different. Even if it's not the outcome you want, it won't be the end of the world." She gives his hand a little squeeze and smiles gently. "High Reaches will survive. You'll survive." The way she looks at him searches for something.

Surprise shows on K'del's face when Vienne's hand joins his, but he doesn't pull away from her - and more to the point, he lifts his gaze back towards hers, nodding. "Yeah," he agrees. "Know that. Know that... whatever I think of Brieli, she's not out to destroy the Weyr, not really. Pretty sure if she becomes Weyrwoman I'll be transferring out, but... that's fine. Really, as long as it gets sorted out one way or another..." But he still seems sad about it, and probably rueful for the sadness: he knows. "It's all ridiculous, and I care too much."

Well that news does seem to effect the bluerider, pinching her mouth, drawing her brow. But she's hardly in a position to comment on his life choices or throw stones at someone for transferring to get away from their troubles. Vienne pulls in a long, deep breath and withdraws her hand. "I'm sorry to hear that. Sorry that it would be so... irreparable. I didn't realize things were so bad between you." Now it's her turn to chew at her lip, to let her eyes drop away from K'del to allow him some privacy for all that sadness.

Conscious of Vienne's reaction, K'del attempts to laugh, as if to try and ease away his own emotions, and make light of it all. "Can't unmake dough after you've put those ingredients together," he says, in an unofficially light tone. "Never going to have flour and water and yeast again. So - well, that's how it goes, I guess. I'll be fine, one way or another." His analogy doesn't make ''direct'' sense, but clearly his thoughts are moving in other directions. His hands lift from the table, disappearing beneath it to rest-- on his legs? Somewhere out of sight, anyway. "Anyway. Good luck with passing your information on, to... whomever."

There a bit of tension in her jaw, something she'd like to say, but Vienne lets that impulse pass without a word, and shes shift to the edge of her seat, ready to leave the bronzerider to his letter and whatever else he needs to do. "I'm sorry." Because when she got to the table it was all even keel and smooth flying, and now she seems to be leaving him sad and distracted. "I hope it all works out for you." Something else shows up, some other comment visible on her face, but she gets to her feet without sharing that one either.

"I'm sorry, too." That, at least, is genuine, even if the tight-lipped smile that K'del offers with it is a little forced. "Have a good one, Vienne. I'll-- no doubt see you around." It's hard to know if he's catching the nuances of her expression; even if he is, he makes no effort to probe for more information.

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Logs:Hanging out with Patient Zero

2013-02-09T08:26:17Z

Vienne:

{{ Log
| who = Vienne, Z'ian
| where = Vienne's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr
| what = Z'ian has sunburn, Vienne has a cold. He brings her chicken soup and they play cards.
| when = Afternoon
| gamedate = 2013.02.09
| quote = Deception is the local dialect.
| weather = Light snow.
| categories = Divided Leadership
| mentions = K'del, H'kon, Brieli, Azaylia, Tiriana, Teris, Ezalea
| ooc = I made up a new suit in the playing card deck. Behold and enjoy Vienne's player mocking me throughout the scene and me not even realizing it~
| icons = z'ian8 zian8.jpg, vienne arms.png
| log =

Close To The Ground Weyr, High Reaches Weyr
The rest of the weyr is small and somewhat battered. An attempt at sound-proofing remains in the form of a heavy canvas sheet hung over the entranceway, though the elements have done some damage to it. There's a dragon couch large enough for - perhaps - a decent sized brown, and past it, via a narrower passage, the living area. Within, there's room for some chairs and perhaps a desk or table, though it's currently empty. At the back, an even smaller cavern, barely large enough for a double-sized mattress, has been carved free: a bed built straight into the stone, with walls on three sides and a tattered curtain providing complete seclusion.

----

Some people have been having a better time than others. Some people have spent their time on sunny beaches with beautiful women and some people have been visited by ghosts from their past and then slapped upside the head with the inevitable illness that comes from moving to a new place and experiencing their first real winter. And yet both of these scenerios have landed Z'ian and Vienne in the infirmary, one for a bit of after-sun care and the other for something to deaden her miserable cough. Thankfully the sun-burned man took some pity on a skinny, sick little bluerider and offered to bring some soup up to her weyr. So now, Vienne is home, wearing what might as well be all of her clothes, at least all of her cozy stay-home-sick clothes. She's curled up in her chair by the fire looking feverish and bleary-eyed, wrapped in a blanket with a cup of her recently prescribed tea in her hands. Oswinth is on his couch, staring rather fretfully toward the curtained passage that leads into the weyr. He's the one who is usually under the weather. Not her.

The small bronze lands gracefully on that low to the bowl floor ledge, sending a consoling warble to the concerned blue. During the visit he'll try his best to keep the other dragon entertained, even if the talkative and sometimes rambling thought process of the older dragon may be difficult to get used to at first. Z'ian looks better for that after-sun care, he's at least not poking at his skin repeatedly in some sort of sick, morbid fascination. He's done the proper detour for the food, bowl of hot chicken soup well-lidded thanks to an overzealous member of the kitchen staff. He gently raps his fingers on the wall, even if a real announcement of presence probably isn't warranted under the circumstances. "I've got good news. You're not going to die!" Holding the bowl up high. "At least not from starvation. I even brought a spoon." Which he produces from his jacket, it looks clean enough.

Oswinth will no doubt try his best to be entertained. It is, if nothing else, likely that Tsanth's rambling thoughts will keep him occupied, confused at times and intensely curious at others, but occupied nonetheless. He's not beside himself about Vienne, at least. Just disconcerted. Vienne herself is caught between being sheepish to need the delivery service, grateful that there is one and compulsively welcoming, as it's polite to be. And also sick. So she smiles warmly, even if she has to raise a fist to cough in the middle, and leans forward to set her tea down on the trunk she uses as a table. Her smile is just a little more wry for Z'ian's glorious declaration. "My savior," she gets out, once the coughs have abated. "Thank you so much. Did you eat? Do you want tea or something?" It's the least she can offer him, and her lips purse, knowing that it isn't much. She really does not have a good record as a hostess here. There isn't even a second chair for him, at least not by the fire.

He does something of an unconscious sweep of the area with his eyes, taking in the sparse furnishings of Vienne's weyr. "So do we subscribe to the same interior designer? It does help to have a table, but I appreciate your multitasking furniture pieces." Z'ian comments teasingly as he crosses the room, delivering the life saving soup. He waves aside her offer of tea as he unceremoniously drops onto the floor of her weyr, seemingly content to make himself at home right there. "Don't worry about it. I ate before I even went to the infirmary, so I'm full up for at least a couple of hours. Do you know who gave you the plague? Should we visit them later and take revenge?" That the bronzerider is currently hanging out with Patient Zero herself and very well get sick also? Hasn't occurred to him yet.

Vienne does try to stop him, a hand held out as the bronzerider drops to sit. "I... There's another chair," she tells him, pointing toward the back of the weyr, where said chair is currently covered with clothes. "You can move it, if you want. Just... just throw all that stuff on the floor..." She doesn't sound certain about it, and not because she's worried about her thing but rather because: "I am so bad at this." It bewilders her, though only until she coughs again, careful to turn her head so that Z'ian doesn't get any of it. At least he's eaten and she can show him an apologetic smile for her poor hospitality. "I don't know. Maybe... Has K'del been sick? I don't think it was him, though. I think it was the freezing rain." She wiggles her shoulders around in the bulky warmth of her oversized sweater, as if she can still remember how chilled she was that night. "I'm not sure how to get revenge on rain."

"That sounds like a great plan. I'll throw your ''clothes'' on the floor for you to pick up later." Z'ian doesn't sound like he thinks that idea is really a good one. "But I think I like mine better. Where ''I'' get up and just leave. And your belongings are still clean and folded." He has a lopsided smile for her bewildered reaction to her supposedly bad hosting. "I don't think he has, he looked great the last time I saw him. Well, until later. But that was a different kind of sick." Lopsided to wry and deviously amused he goes. "I heard you don't get sick from weather. It just makes an already there problem worse. Only solution I see is for you to go and cough on ''everyone'' you've been in contact with the last forty-eight hours. ''Except'' for me. I'm innocent, obviously."

"No, they're not..." Vienne is about to explain about her clothes, but she stops herself, since he's still talking and seems comfortable on the floor, and by the time he mentions leaving, she looks rather mournful, all glassy eyes and sad little mouth. "Are you leaving? You can - I don't want to get you sick - but I wish you wouldn't." It's a little more forthright than she might usually be, but: "I've been stuck in here all day. I'm so bored." She takes a deep breath, then, and inches herself forward carefully to pick up the bowl of soup and that probably-clean spoon. She's slow to dig in and just settles the whole thing in her lap for now, unlidded, letting the chickeny steam waft up at her. "What... kind of sick?" Because maybe it ''was'' K'del who brought this on her.

Z'ian shoots her a quirky grin, mouth pulled to the side. "Not yet. I figured I could keep you company for at least a ''little'' while." He's very generous. Her weyr is warm enough with the hearth going, warm enough for him to delicately pull his riding jacket off. There's a momentary lapse in his usually jovial expression, wincing as the material pulls on his tender skin. "Too bad we don't have a deck of cards. We could play War or something else that's sort of mindless. I could go for some mindlessness." Folding it over he lays it across his lap and glances down at each arm. "Hung over sick. We got out of here and went to Ista few days ago. So I'm pretty sure it wasn't him that got you. Unless a hangover means something different than I think it does." Teasing again, always.

Vienne is about to eat -- she really is, spoon in hand and everything -- but when Z'ian mentions wanting cards, she pauses to stick a socked foot out at the trunk. "In here. There's a deck. Do you want to look? Or... hold the soup and I'll look?" She makes a face for feeling horrendously limited by the general achy weakness that's gripped her. Being sick is gross and frustrating. It makes it hard for her to wholly appreciate Z'ian's light, easy teasing. "You went to Ista?" she repeats back at him, her expression closer to a thoughtful pout than anything else. "Is that where you got the..." With her spoon, she gestures at him, his red face. And then finally she uses that spoon to put some soup in her mouth. If he wants cards, he can flip the trunk open himself.

Z'ian moves onto his knees and drags her trunk a little closer to him, turning it around so he can pop the latch and open it. It's always a little awkward going through other people's belongings, but he manages it without making too many jokes. Or any at all. Even if he does hold the third hair brush he encounters up with a questioning look. ''Really?'' "Ah, found it!" The hair brush is dropped and he picks up the pack of cards, closing the trunk triumphantly. "Yep, Ista." He answers distractedly as he slips them out of their sleeve and begins to shuffle them. "Where I got...? Oh." The bronzerider clears his throat. "No, that isn't where I got the sunburn from. That was a different day. And not with K'del." He begins to deal the cards out, sitting cross-legged across the trunk from her.

It's a trunk of odds and ends: books, knick knacks that have nowhere to go, a half a bottle of something. And those hairbrushes, for which she cracks a wry, sheepish smile to his questioning glance. Her words are more defensive than embarrassed, though. "I'm a girl. I have hair. It needs brushing. Plus, that one was a gift," she adds in with a lift of her chin toward the one he holds up. Though he does manage to find the cards and begins his dealing, Vienne remains comfortably nestled in her chair, making slow, plodding progress on her soup -- the pace of a person with a gnawingly empty stomach and yet little real appetite. "I had so many sunburns as a kid." And despite that, and her Igen past, she's still the pale sort. "Have you tried putting snow on it? I bet that would feel good." But after a beat, she also muses, "You're out of the Weyr a lot. It seems a lot of people have business elsewhere." It appears she hadn't really thought about it until just now.

"I think it's just a girl thing to collect brushes. I only have one." Z'ian makes a big show of raking his hair with his fingers, hair that's getting entirely too long at this point. It's easy to deal for war, you're basically just splitting a shuffled deck. He pushes her cards across the trunk to her and neatens his up before drawing his first card. Two of aces? He frowns. That's not a good start. "Are you from Igen or did you just impress there?" The bronzerider questions curiously, waiting for her to draw her response. "It does feel good to put snow on it. But you can only submerge your body in snow for so many minutes before you start to lose feeling." His mouth curves, smile threatening again until her remark. "It's been a long month for me. Two months. Doesn't look like next month is going to be any shorter. Who else is out of the weyr?" He asks, real casual like.

Rather than keep him waiting with the cards, Vienne sets her bowl aside and scoots to the edge of her chair, keeping the blanket tucked about her waist. She reaches forward to turn over a card, but it's reaaaally hard to beat 'two of aces'. Or maybe it's hard to lose. Either way, she smiles now, the slow reveal of her teeth. "You know, not many people have asked me that," she remarks. "I just impressed in there. Five turns ago. Oswinth is pretty young." And then also, "It hasn't really been anyone particular - leaving the Weyr. I just... there's a lot of coming and going. Not just wings headed out for drills but individuals. And people I'd expect to see around more, but don't. Igen wasn't really like that as much." She gives a little shrug of her narrow shoulder. "Long months?"

So, so hard to beat. Z'ian settles into the easy rhythm of the game. A card down, lost or won. The pile neatened again as his paper thin resources come and go with the tides of the game. "I like to ask questions." He fires back, glancing from the surface of the trunk to her face with a quick reveal of teeth. "Where were you searched from? Like, where did you come from before that?" There's a certain element of curiosity that comes with the things he asks, a genuine sort of interest in them. "High Reaches has a lot of people that seem to have business elsewhere." He comments, his lips pursing momentarily before flickering his gaze up to her. "Family business, mostly." Which is true, overall. "How're you faring with all the big Weyr intrigue? A fair bit different from Igen there as well?"

Vienne laughs, even if his comment about questions isn't really that funny, and sadly, the chuckle just ignites another bit of coughing, so there's a pause with her head turned before she can swallow hard and answer. "I was there already. I was posted - a harper. I hadn't been there long, though." Meanwhile her eyes mostly watch the cards, taking her wins when they come and sneaking another spoon of soup when it's his turn to claim his rewards. "Like, family ''business'' or ''family'' business?" she wonders, letting her inflection do all the explaining. She stretches her back again, a tense hunch and then relaxing, though not, it would seem, because of the Weyr intrigue. For that she grins, "It's ''intriguing''," teasing him with that word. "I've been trying to understand what's really going on. Igen's dramas didn't have quite so grand a scale."

"Where did you come from before the Hall? Or is that where you're from?" Z'ian doesn't make a big deal out of the actually being a harper bit. Just a piece of information filed away in his brain somewhere. He watches sympathetically as she coughs chunks of her lungs out. Her next gets his lips pursed and pulled to the side. "Uh, both? Father in failing health and mother ''slightly'' overwhelmed by the chores involved with taking care of a very small herd of llamas. Welcome to the Reaches." Llamas. He smiles and rolls his eyes before snapping his next card down. Four of clubs? Narrowing of the eyes. How is it possible to be this bad at war? "I think what's going on is a healthy case of chaos and internal conflict as the result of upending centuries of tradition and reason onto its head. Really pretty simple even on the grand scale." His smile is wry, he knows what she's getting at. Really. "Where do you fall in all of this? Or are you staying way the fuck out of the way?"

A thick swallow holds another cough at bay, but Vienne has her fingers to her lips anyway, just in case. "Ista," she answer tightly from behind her knuckles. "Weyr." More information for him to file away. Anyway, she's much more interested in what he has to say, and her brows lift high. "Llamas? Really?" There's a quick flick of her glance over his face, picturing him anew on some mucky farm with a bunch of hairy llamas. It makes her smile. "I can honestly say that I have never set foot on a llama farm." She tucks her grin away as she takes his four - really, when you start with two of aces, you can only improve, right? "I'm sorry about your father." And then there's a pause for more soup while he waxes about the Intrigue at High Reaches. Maybe it's the pairing of his sweeping recap and harsher language, maybe it's that wry grin he gives her, but Vienne smiles back, a little more shyly this time. "I'm just a bluerider and no one knows me here. I'm pretty sure I'm not in the way. But, if you want my opinion," and he did ask, "I think they'd better sort it out before even more hands start showing up to stick their fingers in the pie."

Z'ian looks up at her again, intrigue picking up the expression on his face. "Ista Weyr. Did you hang out at the bars there? It can be a pretty wild place." Because Vienne so gives off the impression of being a hard-partying-bar-hopping woman. Her lifted brows and interest generates a quick laugh from him. He nods his head and smiles crookedly. "Really. We weren't ''always'' cotholders. We were at the main Hold for turns, most of my teenage years. But just before I impressed they'd managed to scrounge up the marks and made some deal for this crappy bit of land and now... Llamas. If you ''ever'' want to meet some..." He lets the offer hang there. But clearly, he'd rather they be raising some other animal. Maybe one that doesn't spit quite so much? "Don't be." He's a touch uncharacteristically short on the topic of his father. The Weyr is an easier subject, easier than something personal. "You never ''know'' who can get in the way. Who suspected H'kon?" He cants his head and shrugs his shoulders. "I can agree on that. I heard rumor that someone is trying to get Teris to return from Telgar." Taking a breath he adds, "A rather querulous goldrider that transferred out a few turns back. If you hadn't heard."

"When I was a child too young to apprentice? No, I didn't hang out at the bars," Vienne says with a wry little laugh and the shake of her head, her smile wide and easy. "But I do know about them," in case that look he gives her means he thinks she's just too prim to have a clue. Of course there's still the chance that, even now, if she did her hair in braids maybe, a bartender would look twice before agreeing to serve her. Anyway, "It sounds nice. Having a place of their own, being independent," she muses on his family. "Oh, though having to leave the Hold when you're a teenager..." She wrinkles her nose. "Plus, is it just them now?" Ok, so maybe the little farm holding isn't all it was cracked up to be. But she does catch the terseness that rejects her sympathy and so she's willing enough to let it drop, turning her attention to reshuffling her cards for the next round. "I heard a rumor that Igen is planning on putting forth their junior. She was here a while back. Ezalea." She swallows against the soreness in her throat and adds, "If they'd just called both of them junior flights and kept B'sil in charge, or someone else maybe, perhaps it would have all been simpler. Now, I feel like they're going to need someone to step up as senior if they want to avoid having another gold brought it."

"Of course not when you were a child. I meant more like when you were visiting family or friends, something." Z'ian replies with a wry amused look. He pops another one of his losing cards onto the table. But he doesn't pry much further into her personal life back at Ista Weyr. "Yeah, I think that was sort of the point. My father was tired of being an odds and ends kind of man." His fingers hover over the next card, "It is. They get help around shearing time, couple of kids from down the road. I visit as frequent as I can. Without losing my mind." He flashes her a smile for that last and puts his next down. It's higher than the ones before it, he looks mildly triumphant. "Igen too? Ezalea sounds familiar. I think she came here and trained for awhile, but then she was gone again. When Tiriana was here." That piece of news makes him look troubled, a touch. "It ''would'' have all been simpler. But several people all went for a power grab at once, without a thought as to how that would play out in the long run." He exhales as he neatens the pile of cards. "I hope it's Azaylia. Even if I'd rather have H'kon than Taikrin. Too bad there isn't some sort of mix'n'match option available." That last is his vain attempt at humor for the situation.

She smiles at him; maybe she knew what he meant. But it's easy enough to let tales of Ista fall aside, and tales of the llama farm, too, though her smile is decidedly conspiring when he mentions losing his mind. "I love my parents," Vienne will say. "But being home makes me feel... too big and too small all at once." As for his winning card? "Oh, very nice." It's easier to congratulate him on his most important triumph than spend too much time thinking about Igen's burgeoning ambitions. "That is how it feels," she agrees. "Everyone reached for the same crown and now if anyone lets go, they forfeit. I have a feeling that no amount of shouting from the outside is really going to have any effect, no matter whose voice it is." And then a good and proper coughing fit claims her, until she's twisted to the side and holding onto the arm of the chair. When she manages some control over it and dabs the water from her eyes, her question is: "Why Azaylia?"

"Ditto on that feeling." Z'ian can agree whole heartedly. His next card is a winner too. Well, this is just amazing. Maybe the tide is finally beginning to turn for him. He flashes her a bright attractive smile for her congratulations. "Thank you, thank you. I'll remember you when I give my celebration speech." That next card, not so much. Sighing he shoots her a 'what can you do?' look. "I'm not sure what anyone from the outside can do. I hate to say that it might be a matter of waiting to the next goldflight." One of the cards has a tattered edge, he fingers the loose bit. "I don't like the feeling I get off the other one. Not to mention those rumors that leaked after their big four way 'leadership' meeting. That she was planning to have someone out of the weyr win the flight or... fixed it or something. I knew that didn't make any sense. She didn't realize her gold was rising? ''Really.'' She threw Azaylia to the wolves while she plotted out the perfect solution her own problem. Do I want to see her as our senior? No." He shakes his head. "Azaylia is ''honest''."

He might sigh, but when the cards start to fall in her favor again, Vienne turns a suggestive look on him, a silent 'oooh' drawn out while she plays her winner, letting her smile become utterly smug when she sweeps the cards her way. "I don't think there's going to be any waiting for the next goldflight. Plus, with the luck this place has, it would probably just end up the same way. It's not like they wouldn't be due at the same time." The little bluerider lets out a snort, because she isn't ''really'' serious, and because the whole thing is the kind of mess that deserves a snort. What is more serious is this rumor. "I hadn't heard that," she admits, her turn of the cards slowing at her expression grows distant. Whatever she's considering now, she only asks, "How did she throw Azaylia to the wolves?"

"Don't take away one of my few precious rays of hope, please." Z'ian comments on the goldrider flights. Not sounding exactly like she's crushing his spirit but more or less saying it for effect. He meets that suggestive look when she sweeps her cards and raises an eyebrow at her, a tiny smirk pulling up the corners of his mouth. "Maybe blueriders could win both flights. And you thought you weren't important." He narrows his eyes and gives her a mock meaningful look for that jest. "It isn't obvious?" It's not phrased to make Vienne sound stupid, but more to highlight that he himself thinks it's quite obvious. "Azaylia and Hraedhyth have to deal with the wolves at the weyr. The chaos, the emotional turmoil. The day of the flight and all the days proceeding before. Meanwhile, this girl, has the idea that her dragon is rising too. Tells no one. Meets with ''whoever'' and arranges to be out of the weyr at the same time with some lark about being ''ill''. So that her dragon won't get caught by our bronzes." He takes a breath before concluding, "Now, what if a bronze had caught Brieli's? Not H'kon's brown? Would she have a greater claim to be Weyrwoman? If they'd both been caught by bronzes would she have contested because they rose at the same time? What's Azaylia to do ''anyway''. Confused. She's two steps behind to begin with, while this person likely pretends to be her friend."

Vienne has no pity for him, not when he losers the pairing of cards and not when she squashes his hopes. He'll just have to be strong enough to carry on. And as for a future full of blueriding weyrleaders, she rolls her eyes. "If Oswinth was the only dragon to chase, he'd still..." She doesn't finish it and the jovial teasing in her eyes is clamped down before she actually disparages her lifemate. Out there where the dragons sit, the blue has a moment where he would prefer if everyone would just ignore that almost-comment, thank you very much. Vienne does him the service of moving on quickly. "N'rov?" she suggests in place of Z'ian's 'whoever'. "She said they're together. But I don't see how that's throwing Azaylia to the wolves. Maybe Brieli did know, maybe she did plan it, but with Hraedhyth rising, she'd have had to leave anyway." There's still something processing behind her expression, though, some machinery moving that hasn't yet turned out a product. "Do you want a weyrwoman who's two steps behind? And if they aren't friends, what do you think Brieli is waiting for?" The questions are thoughtful, too busy musing over the possibilities to have much in the way of preference perhaps. And then she's coughing again.

"Who's N'rov?" There's maybe the barest inkling of recognition to that, but nothing significant. Her further explanation clears that up and he just rolls his shoulders. "Maybe? I don't have the answers. I'm a spectator at best." Z'ian shakes his head, adding mildly: "Yes it is. She knew and she left. She pulled the strings for herself and kept it a secret because for whatever reason, 'Reaches dragons weren't good enough. Azaylia had to deal with ''everything'' else while she kept herself insular and ''safe''. He leans his elbow onto the trunk and brings his hand up to cover his mouth. He spreads his fingers and speaks through them, "I'd rather she not be tripped up by someone deceptive and given the chance to lead properly." The bronzerider produces a lopsided smile just then, shaking his head. He's pushing the thoughts out. "Look, I could be totally wrong. What the fuck do I know, ''anyway''? Could be she's just along for the ride now." He drops the last remaining card in his pile. Another loser. He sighs mock-dramatically. Managing a laugh he throws up one hand. "Congratulations. You're not going to starve ''and'' you're a winner. "

Vienne struggles to control her cough while Z'ian talks, nodding along for him to continue even as she struggles to control the spasms in her chest. In the end, she manages to find a break long enough to reach for her tea, a sip helping her regain her composure. And only after that can she shake her head. "I don't have any answers either," she admits, clipping it with a harsh swallow. When he brings his hand up to his mouth, the bluerider's head tips to one side, sorry for things that aren't her fault. "Sometimes I feel like... deception is just the local dialect. Or suspicion is." Her mouth tightens around those words, regretting them. But a quiet has fallen over her, and she has a hard time meeting his gaze, even though he puts on the dramatics for his last, losing card. She starts to gather up the deck before a small smile finds her lips again and she glances back at him. "Oh yes," she says with dry humor. "I definitely feel like a winner."

"It wasn't always like this. At least it never felt like it before to me. Deceptive." There's something in his voice that's regretful for that. Z'ian is back to shaking his head, one hand giving it all a dismissive wave. He breathes out and ventures, "Sorry I dragged you into my vortex of suspicion and paranoia. I've been getting much too swept away with it all." As she gathers up the cards he leans over and reaches out, snagging the sleeve for them and tossing them over to the cough ridden bluerider. "Next time I see one of my friends I'll make it a point to keep my big mouth shut." It's an easy sort of self-deprecating humor accompanied by another lopsided smile. "Even if you don't feel like a winner. Act like one. It's the new rage. The new black." Well he can't himself from making at least one terrible joke about it all. His jacket is close by on the floor, picking it up he begins to shrug it back on and catch the buttons.

His apology, the humor in his smile, they make Vienne pause in sorting the cards back into her sleeve, hands stilling as she looks at him, her expression gentle, thoughtful, instead of equaling his jokes. "A lot of things have happened here, troubling things. I think that makes people wary. They worry about who they can trust. Not all deception is dark at heart, just like not all honesty is kind. Maybe I'm naive," she'll admit with a shake of her head to take the weight out of her own words. "But one way or another, there will be weyrleaders. Not everyone will love them, but we were never meant to choose them in the first place." She tries to take a breath, once it's all out, and of course, coughs again, but that's her parting thought for Z'ian, some attempt to offer a more moderate spin on everything that's happened and their place in all of it. "Thank you sitting with me. On the ''floor''," she points out with a flare of her eyes toward the spot, just for empahsis. "I really appreciate it. It wasn't until I got sick that I really felt like I didn't know anyone here well enough to call them friends. And you... helped." Which might not be the same as calling him a friend now, but certainly, "I owe you one." And for that, she will give him another wry little grin.

He twists the last button into place, tipping his chin down to make sure that they're all lined up properly. "Hopefully it sorts it out soon." Is the only other real comment that he has left in him. Z'ian drags himself to his feet and stuffs his hands into his pocket. "I don't think that you're naive." There's a flicker of his eyes down towards the floor he just got up off of. "Hey, well. Anytime you want a man that talks way too much to come and sit on your floor? Now you know who to reach out to." The bronzerider flashes her a smile before beginning the first step backwards. "Don't worry about it. I have to get back. I hope that you start to feel better, try not to cough up too many of your organs, alright?" He'll stay for parting remarks, but otherwise it's a quick departure for him out to her ledge and his waiting dragon.

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Logs:Sharing Is Caring

2013-02-08T02:21:31Z

Vienne:

{{ Log
| who = Vienne, K'del/ST{{!}}Vanalis
| where = Snowasis, High Reaches Weyr
| what = Vienne has a visitor from Igen.
| when = Day 5, Month 13, Turn 30
| gamedate = 2013.02.07
| quote = "Frankly, it doesn't matter to me one way or another, who has the power. It'll never be me, and I'm okay with that, really. Why wouldn't I be?"
| weather =
| categories = Divided Leadership
| mentions = Ezalea, Tiriana
| ooc =
| icons = vienne serious.jpg
| log = Snowasis, High Reaches Weyr

----

The Snowasis is rarely quiet, and even then, the high-ceilinged former weyr is kept from echoing by the fantastical booths tucked into its convoluted perimeter. The secluded seating spaces have been shaped from the truncated stalagmites that escaped the smoothing of the main floor, and are both softened and separated by colorful hangings that are thick and opaque enough to make each corner its own private nook.

Some of the smaller stalactites still roam the ceiling, their jagged teeth tracing a bumpy, inverted spine to the hearth. There, a thick rug with a low klah table and comfortable armchairs and couches sit, their upholstery and cushions changed sporadically to match the season: bright, light colors in the summer, fresh greens and yellows in the spring, warm autumnals in fall, and clear, rich hues for winter. Small tables litter the rest of the cavern, enough to fit up to four people each, while stools stand along the smooth wooden bar behind which is the passthrough window to the kitchen. Glass-paneled cabinetry behind the bar provides a clear view of the available liquors, the many colors reflecting the soft light of glows tucked into strategic niches around the cavern.

----

Today's combination of snow ''and'' thunder-and-lightning may well account for the look of horror on Vanalis' face as she hurries into the protective enclosure of the Snowasis, looking rather like she'd prefer to have fled already. The Igen greenrider - a former Wingmate of Vienne's - strips off her coat with a shudder of distaste, and heads for the bar. Plaintive, and coming across almost as sodden mentally as she must be physically, Javayth seeks out Oswinth. << You must have somewhere warm and dry for a visitor to shelter. We came to visit, but I'm afraid I don't like this much. How do you manage? Poor Oswinth. ''She'' went to the bar. Yours should come and say hi, otherwise this whole trip will be a complete waste, and that would be sad. >>

Hopefully Javayth doesn't really notice, but her initial contact with Oswinth does create a moment of panic in her former wingmate, a sudden mental frenzy that errupts briefly then stills for him to answer, slowly, lest he say the wrong thing. << There are... many... overhangs. That are sheltered. >> Because if she's suggesting anything else, he either doesn't recognize it or is too startled to admit it. << Vienne is near there. She will come... >> Pause. << I'm sorry about the weather. >> It turns out that Vienne must indeed be close because it's not all that long after that she steps into the Snowasis, shaking the winter from clothes and looking around for the familiar face. "Vanalis," she calls, mitten held up to catch the greenrider's attention. She has a smile ready, a little brighter than usual, given this unexpected surprise, and takes up the neighboring stool at the bar. "What brings you ''here''?" Where it's gross and snowy and cold.

Luckily for Oswinth, Javayth is disappointed enough at being denied a cozy spot in his (warm, dry) weyr that she fails to even really think about his panic. Sulkily, << I wish I had someone warm to cuddle up to. Igen is better. You should have come and visited us at Igen. >> Never mind that it was Vanalis who initiated this visit. Never mind that it's not as though any of them were best buds. Javayth? She lives in her own world. It may not take long for Vienne to arrive, but when she does, the greenrider has procured a mug of something hot which she lifts in greeting. "I'm regretting it, believe me. How do you ''cope''? We wanted to see how you were doing. Catch up on the news. See if everything is as fucked here as it sounds like it is, from Igen."

Oswinth stammers, just not in speech but in the shorting of the kinetic buzz that accompanies his words. << You... You could. My ledge. It's... >> It might sound like an excuse is forming, but in the end, he shows her an image of his ledge, so low to the ground it's barely a jump to reach it. Sometimes it's hard to be polite without being a pushover. And meanwhile, Vienne gives a dramatic shiver, mostly for show, though perhaps a little honest as she unbuttons her jacket to make herself more comfortable. "With an empty purse. I swear, every mark I had has gone to filling out my wardrobe. They tell you it'll be cold, but they don't tell you just how much ''stuff'' you need to deal with it." She puts in her order for klah; the warm mug is just a necessity. "I'm doing all right. Slowly getting to know people," she says, a little more shy with the attention turned on her. "Things are... interesting here?" She lifts a brow. Hopeful? "I doubt I know anything more than anyone else. How is Igen?"

<< How sweet! >> Javayth arrives on Oswinth's ledge a few moments later, a shivering, snow-covered ball of energy, who will make herself quite at home. << It's so lovely to have friends at a time in need. >> "Well, you must know more than ''us''. All we know is that Nimae's really troubled, and there's been talk of the ''weyr council'', and everyone keeps saying that it's everyone's business because, after all, didn't all this happen because the weyr council stepped in last time? ''I'' heard that Ezalea offered to come back and take over." All those words leave the greenrider quite without breath for a moment, but her expression is winning... and also eager: what can Vienne add to ''that''?

Though Oswinth all but shudders to have the green barging in, at least he manages to hold his ground -- if standing stock still and watching Javayth with wary whirling eyes can really be considered holding his ground. << Make yourself comfortable, >> he tells her without any real feeling. Some distance away, it's Vienne who takes a deep breath on his behalf, a wry apologetic smile shown to her old wingmate. "She's as friendly as ever," she comments on the dragons, a brief aside for the interaction happening back at her weyr. But the bluerider does listen to all Vanalis has to say, even if she bites her lip when the weyrwomen's names are mentioned. "Well, no, I don't think it can really be pinned on the weyr council," she hazards. "There seem to be plenty of factors that have nothing to do with them." She drinks deeply, buying herself another moment before discounting Ezalea's offer. "I'm sure there are junior weyrwoman all across Pern who would happily offer to 'take over'." The smile she flashes for Vanalis is polite and sweet and empty, but then the supposedly-traitorous outcast would hardly be eager to see any of Igen's goldriders invading her new home.

Javayth is undaunted, or perhaps entirely oblivious. << Do you know what would be even nicer? >> she says, airily, as she drapes herself across the ledge. << If a handsome male dragon would put his wing over me. Would you mind, terribly much, Oswinth? >> Vanalis is not ''quite'' as flutter-headed as her green, despite her propensity to run at the mouth, and right now she has an expression of intensity. "Javvy? Well, of course. She's missed dear Oswinth. It really isn't the same without him. Anyway-- I just wanted to make sure you knew. I ''know'' it may seem unlikely, but Nimae's really focused on this, and I'd hate to see your new situation here turned-- Well. It would look bad. Everyone knows Ez would love the triumph of coming back, taking Tiriana's Weyr. Everyone's worried, you know. Brownriding 'Weyrleaders' destroy the fabric of our society. Someone will try and fix it." Beat. "I wonder if they'll start wondering, here, if you're a spy for ''Igen''."

Oswinth does as he's bid, stiffly extending his wing, gingerly allowing it to barely make contact with Javayth's hide. It is by no means resting on her, and he turns his head away as if something really interesting has caught his eye. Really. And Vienne's jaw becomes just a little more firm. "Well, I'm living here and I can't say that it's a situation worthy of panic, so I sincerely doubt it will have much effect on the fabric of society all the way on the other side of the continent." She's about to roll her eyes at Nimae's excessive concern, at Ezalea's meddlesome tendencies, but by then Vanalis is winging the word 'spy' around and Vienne sighs heavily. "Great. First I'm a spy for the hall and now I'm a spy for Igen." Igen. She might even look a little disgusted by the notion. "Well, I'm sure now that you've visited, someone will come up with the idea. Thank you for that." The bluerider is wearied by the prospect, but at least she doesn't seem surprised. And she doesn't actually seem to hold it against Vanalis, so it's unlikely she thinks that was actually the greenrider's intention. "Wait, what would look bad?" That comment was almost overlooked, but now has her full attention.

Both of Vanalis' hands go up, defensively, though she has to set down her mug in order to achieve that. "I'm just a greenrider," she says. "Not a former Harper, or anything. Just here to share the news, and check up on you. ''I'm'' not the kind of person anyone would ever think of as a spy." The glance she aims at Vienne seems to suggest she's not convinced of the bluerider's innocence, though she's quick to cover it up with a rueful smile. "Well, I meant - if Ezalea came in and sent you away again. Or told everyone to watch you. I mean, I assume you haven't been telling people what was said about you. Or maybe someone here will recruit you. I'd pass you information. I already have!" Javayth's low mental sigh is not quite as full of pleasure as she'd probably prefer it to be: Oswinth is not terribly obliging, as far as she's concerned. << Perhaps you're just too small, >> she says. << Do you have any nice neighbors? A good sized brown? I could invite them over. You wouldn't mind, would you! >>

Vienne is quick to shake her head in apology, to let her eyes drop to her mug. "I appreciate it. I do." Or at least she'll try to be appreciative that Vanalis is checking up on her. It might be a little harder when she's also dangling the ugly past over the bluerider's head and not mincing her words. "It's not exactly a secret," she points out in regard to whether or not she's mentioned anything to her new acquaintences. "Anyone could ask around and find out the things people have said about me." She doesn't bother to mask the fact that it makes her sad. "I don't need anyone to pass me information," no matter how the greenrider might look at her. "But I am grateful for the heads up. For your concern." And Oswinth is grateful for an excuse to make himself scarse. << Perhaps that... is the problem, >> he admits, withdrawing his wing, feeling the sting of Javayth's obvservation. << I'll see if I might find one for you. >> A good sized brown. He slips away from her, intending to go on this hunt personally. It might take a while. A long while.

"Vienne..." Vanalis is probably attempting to communicate something through the intensity of her stare, and that so-deliberate long-suffering sigh. It may be that she, herself, is not entirely sure what that something is, because she chews at her lip rather than continuing, and takes a long time to actually reply. "Just look after yourself. You and that weird-ass blue of yours. We were wingmates, and to me, that means something. Igen's playing games again, and you're involved, whether you like it or not." It's surprisingly heartfelt. << You're abandoning me, >> pouts Javayth, never mind that it was her own complaint that brought this on. << You always were strange. Most dragons would be delighted. What's wrong with you? >>

The truth is that if Vanalis had been one of those overtly suspicious people who made Vienne's last months at Igen so unpleasant, the bluerider would not have bothered with the friendly greeting. Still, it's not easy for her to set aside her own suspicions and take that stare, that sigh, or those words, at face value. She looks back at the greenrider with her expression calm and her eyes searching. "I don't see what I can do about it. It's not like High Reaches doesn't expect some attention from the council. Of course I don't want Ezalea here..." she says with a quick tight pinch of her mouth to show her frustration. There's a 'but', but then she's already expressed how little power she has over the situation. "Is there something else I should know? Do Nimae and K'yan really intend to put her forth as an option?" Now it's Vienne who does the staring, careful eyes watching the greenrider. << No, I'm not, >> Oswinth hedges, even though he's clearly about to take off. << I'm finding you a brown. >> He's delighted, really he is, and he even pauses to let his jaw drop in some twisted attempt to display his feigned excitement. As for what's wrong with him... Well nevermind that. He's winging off. And if he sits up on the ridge to look for a good brown, well, that's just an excellent vantage point.

Vanalis shrugs, retrieving her mug and blowing at it, though it surely can't still be too warm to drink by now. "''I'' don't know," she says. "Only a greenrider, remember? But that's what the word is - that they're going to try and make a move." She's looking elsewhere, now: staring out over the Snowasis as though she suddenly finds it terribly fascinating. "It'd be a coup for Igen, to win that won. Everyone knows Nimae's had a hankering to be seen more like what's-her-face at Monaco. We're not known for political power, but-- I'm just ''saying''. You're the Harper. You work it out." Javayth's pout is not physical (that would probably be less than attractive, somehow, and that's clearly not acceptable); the mental and emotional lingerings of it follow Oswinth up towards the rim. << A bronze would also be nice, >> she adds, not giving up so much as attempting to use the opportunity. << You can tell them how lovely I am. >>

<< I will do exactly that, >> Oswinth confirms. And if he seems a little less uncomfortable now that he's escaped from his own weyr, well, that's just because he's so very focused on finding a beau to make Javayth's visit more pleasant. "I'm just a bluerider," Vienne has to remind, even if saying it brings back memories of all the times she felt compelled to defend herself. It leaves a sick taste in her mouth. It's no more pleasant that having to ask, "If you hear anything else, would you..." She can't quite say it, can't quite make the request. Vanalis will just have to figure it out. And then just-a-bluerider lets out a private, dark little laugh, a perverse thought crossing her mind. She shakes it away quickly, choosing instead to check again: "And you're just here to tell me these things for my own good? You wouldn't like to see Igen weilding more influence?"

It certainly couldn't have anything to do with Javayth. She's too pretty to be annoying! Even if she's now nudging Oswinth mentally very few minutes, just to check on his progress. Vanalis is biting her lip again, lifting her gaze back towards Vienne in a way that makes her look... concerned. Genuinely so, apparently. "I'll let you know," she promises, sounding a little uneasy, which may well have something to do with Vienne's dark laugh. She lets out her own laugh, though hers is definitely more along the lines of 'uncertain'. "I was hoping you'd have interesting gossip for me to take back home," she says. "Sharing is caring, Vienne. You know that. Frankly, it doesn't matter to me one way or another, who has the power. It'll never be me, and I'm okay with that, really. Why wouldn't I be?"

"That," Vienne says, lifting her mug in a toast for Vanalis' comments on power. "Is a stance I can get behind," her smile a bit more wry now. She takes another drink but can only shake her head after that, sorry to disappoint the Igenite. "I really don't have any gossip. There are four of them in charge. They seem intent on working together. People are as confused as expected but trying to make the best of it. No one thinks it's ideal, but no one wants it to be this way forever anyway." And she won't mention anything about that one who made herself wingleader, but it's not like that should be a cause for concern, right? "I guess, if you want gossip, tell them that I'm terribly sick and having a miserable time with the snow. I'm sure that will satisfy at least some people."

Vanalis lifts her mug in reply, abruptly grinning, even if it wavers slightly - mostly so that she can look thoughtful - as the bluerider continues talking. "I can tell them that," she agrees, suddenly showing her dimples. "Javayth will probably tell anyone who listens about how infamously Oswinth treated her-- sorry about that. If you ''do'' hear anything interesting, though, you'll tell me? We'll trade. Gossip for gossip. Juicy stuff."

"Yeah, I'm sorry," Vienne adds in quickly, though perhaps just sorry for Javayth's disappointment rather than Oswinth's behavior. "She's so confident," she says, sounding impressed by the green. "He never quite knows what to do." Which is not the same as Javayth being terribly pushy and Oswinth being rather horrified. That's not the situation at all. That is not why the blue chooses to hang out in the snow and feed Javayth pictures of potential suitors from his sky view. Vienne knows he's up there and she grins, laughing but a bit at her lifemate's method of coping. So it's a warm smile she give Vanalis when she nods, "Sure. I doubt I'll have anything interesting to say. I'm really... I just got here. Who tells a stranger anything?" After drinking again and pushing the empty mug away, she pauses, "Though perhaps next time we'll mee somewhere warmer. It's good to get away from the snow." And for now, she slips down from her stool.

Fondly; "She always has been." Vanalis smiles as she talks of her lifemate, though there's a knowingness to her expression: she knows what the green is like. And how picky she is: so far, none of those suitors have been appropriate. It's likely that none ever will. That's why we never give Javayth a choice. "Maybe," allows the greenrider. "But sometimes being an outsider makes you safe, too. Because you don't already have a side. Theoretically. Anyway, it was good to talk to you, Vi. We'll meet and have drinks. Somewhere warm. Like you said. I'm ''definitely'' not stepping foot back in this Weyr until spring, and even then..." Beat. "Look after yourself, ok?"

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<comments />

Logs talk:"Merchant Work"

2013-02-08T01:39:08Z

Vienne: Comment provided by Vienne - via ArticleComments extension

<noinclude>Comments on "[[Logs:"Merchant Work"]]"
----- __NOEDITSECTION__</noinclude>

[[Azaylia/Comments|Azaylia]] ([[User:Dragonshy|Dragonshy]] ([[User talk:Dragonshy|talk]])) left a comment on Fri, 08 Feb 2013 00:39:40 GMT.

<comment date="2013-02-08T00:39:40Z" name="Azaylia" signature="[[User:Dragonshy|Dragonshy]] ([[User talk:Dragonshy|talk]])">
._. ...uhm.
...Just ''what'', exactly, does Azaylia have sleeping on her couch?
Good stuff. It's a surprise and yet not. XD
</comment>
[[Zian/Comments|Zian]] ([[User:Zian|Zian]] ([[User talk:Zian|talk]])) left a comment on Fri, 08 Feb 2013 00:43:08 GMT.

<comment date="2013-02-08T00:43:08Z" name="Zian" signature="[[User:Zian|Zian]] ([[User talk:Zian|talk]])">
Yes, I love this. ^^
</comment>
[[Vienne/Comments|Vienne]] ([[User:Vienne|Vienne]] ([[User talk:Vienne|talk]])) left a comment on Fri, 08 Feb 2013 01:39:08 GMT.

<comment date="2013-02-08T01:39:08Z" name="Vienne" signature="[[User:Vienne|Vienne]] ([[User talk:Vienne|talk]])">
Awesome! I love all the sailory talk. It means nothing to me but it sure sounds good! XD
</comment>

Vienne

2013-02-07T15:26:49Z

Vienne:

{{HrwProfile
|picture=Vienne.jpg
|position= Bluerider
|dragon=Oswinth
|craft=
|birthplace=
|mother=
|father=
|siblings=
|children=
|friends=
|playedby= Anna Kendrick
|livejournal=[http://bluevienne.livejournal.com/ bluevienne]}}

== Description ==

She's a delicate little thing, really: short, thin and fine-boned. There's always a bit of heel on her shoes to feign a bit more height, or at least that's probably the aim. Slim as she is, she could hardly be described as anything other than small. And girly. Her brown hair is often artfully tousled whether it's hanging about her shoulders or swept into an updo, the kind of styling that would befit ribbons if she was so inclined. With a narrow face, small mouth and a slightly toothy smile, her eyes are probably her better feature: wide, doe-eyes, slate-blue. Her attire, be it snuggly sweaters or prim dresses, is rarely anything but feminine. It might not always flatter her frame as much as she'd like -- being short-waisted with a bit of a bust and slender limbs, her figure is a little boxy -- but the quality of her clothing hints at some upscale sensibilities.

== WYSK ==

*...recently transferred from Igen Weyr to High Reaches.

*...was a Harper and still maintains her relationships within the craft.

*...looks more decorative than functional.

*...has a chronically unfit lifemate.

== History ==

The daughter of successful parents, Vienne has always wanted to stand on her own feet, to be her own independent person away from their long shadows. She apprenticed to the Harper Hall, where she was a dedicated student and eventually a promising journeyman, with a leaning toward the more political and philosophical portions of the craft. While on an early posting to Igen Weyr, one thing led to another and she impressed a nerdy little blue named Oswinth. Not exactly thrilled to give up her old life entirely, Vienne was driven to continue developing as a harper despite life as a dragonrider. This might have been just fine if all she'd wanted to do was teach kids their learning songs, but instead it turned out that she ended up reporting some things to the Hall that the Weyr wasn't happy with. And so it might not really be entirely her choice that she's come to High Reaches now. And, really, it was all just a big misunderstanding, but here she is.

== Relationships ==

*[[Ainslee]]: It's so nice to know someone else who's new here, though I think she fits in better than I do.
*[[Azaylia]]: The way everyone talks about her, I was expecting someone different.
*[[Barnabas]]: There's something simple and free about him, but I'm not sure that I buy it entirely.
*[[Brieli]]: I'm impressed with how well she's holding things together.
*[[H'kon]]: I like how odd he is, how serious.
*[[Jo]]: Gorgeous, exciting, what's not to like?
*[[K'del]]: I feel bad for him. He's in a tough spot.
*[[Kh'mic]]: I can't tell if he's a dumbfuck or just screwing with me. Entertaining either way.
*[[R'hin]]: Figment. Or he would be except for those chairs.

== RP Logs ==

{{RP Logs | name = {{BASEPAGENAME}} | columns = 3 }}

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

{{Icons}}

{{HRW}}

[[category:Characters]]
[[category:Riders]]
[[category:Blueriders]]
[[category:Snowdrift_Wing]]
[[category:High Reaches Weyr]]
[[category:High Reaches Area]]
[[category:Greater Pern]]