Difference between revisions of "Logs:Chelth's Ichor And Other Dragonly Matters"

>---< RP Room: Dragonhealing Infirmary, Benden Weyr, Benden Weyr(#528RIJ) >--<

  It's large, cavernous and tends to the various ailments of dragonkind. The
  cavern, however, has been segmented with a make shift wall made of wood   
  planks separating the back area from the front, thus claiming one third of
  the prior space.                                                          
                                                                            
  Commands: +list, +select <#>, +desc <room name>/<area>=<desc>             
 -----------------------------< Active Players >-----------------------------
  Leova        F   43 5'5"  hourglass, rusty hair, amber eyes             8s 
  M'thiu       M   41  6'2  muscular, dark hair, blue eyes                0s
 ----------------------------------< Exits >---------------------------------
                                      Out                                   
  >----------------------------------------< 13D 11M 36T I10, autumn night >---<

The beginning of the sixth month in turn 36 finds Benden in better spirits, as if the entire Weyr's mood is dictated by the emotions of its leaders. In some ways, it's indicative of a Weyr that's copacetic with each other, in tune and rank and file and all that jazz.

M'thiu's broad frame barely fits behind the desk job he's acquired today, to the far left and back where the front half meets that wooden wall. His long legs poke out through the front end of the table, one foot balanced ontop of the other. He pretends to be working, that pencil of his tracing some words or other, writing something, but the way his feet sway back and forth like a little girl about to get her first pony ride oozes absolute boredom.

Vrianth slides into Benden on the balmy breeze, a prickle of electric interest to the watchdragon and a select few. She's already aloft by the time her rider strides into Benden's dragon infirmary, a clinking sack in one hand: what's going to be costly in the months to come, but what now is just a couple beers. Of course it would have to be M'thiu. He's liable to get his foot bumped by Leova's boot once she's there, at least unless he starts looking to pay attention.

He doesn't pay attention and his foot gets bumped. Once. Twice. Thrice finally rouses him from his boredom dulled state. Even so, he blinks blankly at the greenrider standing there, squints his eyes shut, shakes his head like a puppy just out of a bath, rakes his hand through his hair, and looks again. A sudden smile flashes, reaching high to crinkle his eyes. It's a smile that hasn't gotten much use in the last few months and it shows in how it seems to reintroduce laugh lines to M'thiu's face. "You. It would be you, wouldn't it, to come stomp up to my doorstep and rip me away from my studies."

That third bump, that's closer to a kick. Leova eyes him, fighting down a one-cornered smile, somehow managing not to wave her hand in front of the other dragonhealer's face. "Forcibly, aye. Drag you out into the downpour," of sunshine. "Whole sevenday this slow?"

"Could be worse," says M'thiu. "Could be worse." The flash of brightness fades as the events of the last few months resettle like an ill-worn mantle about his shoulder. "It's getting better though and I'll be glad for a few more days of dull boredom like today. Better than, well," he's shrugging and reaches back suddenly for a silent stretch before standing. His head rolls from side to side and backwards. "Want a drink? I could use a bite. Been sitting here all day, hey. Hey you!" The boy doesn't need a name, he's an infirmary aide. "Mind the desk while I find some grub."

"Could be," Leova can't disagree, even that half-smile slipping. "Brought drinks," she can say at least. "Friend's family's. Though, wouldn't turn down a bite myself." She's got a glance to the boy, no more. A long look around the cavern later, she's set to head off with M'thiu. There's no hurry to broach what else has been going on, better if he does. If he, eventually, does. No sense in wasting the sunshine that's come.

"Drinks?" M'thiu's interested. He's a puppy in all but well, actual species, with that perked head that kens to Leova at the mention of something new and alcoholic, or so he presumes. "Supposed to be some fresh fish in today from down by Nerat way. Kyouri apparently had to trade some favors in to get a shipment here rather than direct to Ista, but it's well worth it if you're the type that likes fish, y'know? Nice stew today, all garlicky, fennel, saffron, it's good stuff. Smelled it earlier," Tasted it too most likely, "How're you holding up over on the great beyond?"

"Beer." It's succinct, amused: nothing outrageous here. "Fish, I can do fish. Saffron, aye? That's some trading." Leova takes the corridors out of habit, the corner that people going the other way often cut, the sharp right turn. "We're, mm. Not bad. My littlest's over his sick up," that's a good reminder. "Even that brown of ours is managing, and it's not like it's Fall."

"And Vrianth?" There's a wrinkled set to his face as he darts a none too casual look at the greenrider. And they're walking and walking. And there's the living caverns. "Downright luminescent yet?"

"Like I'd come here then," Leova says, but amiably. She glances sideways at him. "Joabenth, he holding up?" What with persuading Vrianth to toy with him, again, echoes of Turns ago. If it's a careful question, she's also busy. There's her sack to drop off, once she's found not only clear seats but neighbors she doesn't have to ask to watch over it. There's the line to get into. The soup to dish out.

"You might have missed me," responds the bronzerider with a gleam in his smile. Once in the caverns, he's following after her, a second too late to claim that table (she's already there), and trailing towards the serving tables. "Oh, him. He manages. He already has calculated designs on our new gold," there's a silent beat, the slightest hitch that marrs the fluidity of his speech. "Pretty name, Sunfialth. Glad I'm not a taking my turn at being a weyrlingmaster this time."

"Already?" Leova vents a sigh at that. If she also flicks her gaze his way... after, she's uncharacteristically choosy with the rolls. With seeds. Without. With swirls of color. Without. Without and without seeds. Today, there's no quick fix. "Noticed they didn't spell her name with an 'o,' guess it fits the whole gold thing," is the sort of thing she says in line. "What's up with her?" that's for back at the table. It might just mean her and Joabenth. Might.

"Margaut?" Does he deliberately misunderstand. "Good enough kid, I guess. I doubt she'd want to find herself in bed with a forty year old man her dragon's first go up, but," M'thiu rolls his shoulders back as he waits for Leova to finally just pick one already. He has a large bowl of stew in his hands and tossed in three of those long crunchy cracker-like bread sticks in to soak. "Holdbred. So many of them seem to be. Cora and Kyouri might put a blanket ban on any one with riders over the age of X from chasing. They can try at any rate. I'm not sure if that'd be a good thing for the Benden bloodlines though."

If he'd wanted to provoke a look, he got one. Also, belatedly, a chuckle. "Imagine that. Be as glad to not have our next that way, Holdbred," Leova does admit. Even when she's better settled in her seat, unlike those bread sticks, the plain, ordinary roll she'd wound up with stays untouched. She trails the spoon in her soup, cooling. "'X.' Being kind to the new girl, you think? Surprised they don't just hand-pick a couple star-eyed boys and send them off together, at that rate."

"X. They haven't decided the age cut off yet. But that's well and great for Benden riders. I'd hate to see what would happen if Benden decided to close its borders, so to speak, for all flights." There might be some humored mourning in M'thiu's intonation, that's quickly followed by a sigh and silence. There's food to eat, and he's not so gentle on his mouth as he inhales a few bites of the hot stew.

Leova lets her stew sit, and in the vacancy, glances over at their neighbors. Still there. She settles for, "For certain. Leadership flight... get that." It's quiet. Quieter, "But even with the rotating. Whatever this thing is, it's already here."

M'thiu, for once, doesn't have a quippy response. He stirs his stew, rolls his tongue around in his mouth and winces. Instead of tackling this subject, as quiet as it's gotten, he remarks, "I doubt I'll be tasting much of anything the rest of the day. Maybe not until tomorrow. Shades." That doesn't stop him from eating a few more, slightly more cooled, bites. « He believes Chelth's should retire. » Joabenth shares this, hesitating in a swirl of color. « There is an anomaly in Chelth's ichor. »

Amber eyes don't narrow, but there's a tinge of disappointment to the way Leova blows on her stew, now. Until... « Is there. » Vrianth, even before those same eyes lift. "It's what you get," has some distraction among the familiar reproof. "For being in a hurry." « What do you mean, Joabenth-rider? »

There's a thin line where M'thiu's lips should be, pressed, compressed, drawn in, and then just as suddenly released, brightened in hue for their effort. "You're not a weyrlingmaster anymore, are you? I can't remember the last time we caught up. You're still with that old man of yours?" « It does not seal. Clot. » The terminology comes a half beat after the bronze tries to explain on his own. « M'thiu and his kind, » dragonhealers, « Cannot help but wonder if that is the cause of Benden's misfortunes. » There's a flickering memory, not Joabenth's own, that shows the six eggs on the sands, the three that never were displayed in muted colors. "I couldn't convince you to move out here then, can I?"

Amber eyes darken. "Why, did you dump T'biel again? No, I haven't been for a while." Vrianth is, unusually, silent: just the rising stir of static. "A weyrlingmaster, I mean. Haven't been that." « It cannot help, » Vrianth says at last. « It is not known. » Not gossiped about yet, then. "No, no moving," Leova finishes at last.

"If I had, this," M'thiu gestures back and forth between the pair of them with his spoon, "Would totally make him jealous." His wink is completely unrepentant, and helps to mask the tense pull to his mouth set. "Actually, you find me an honest man, for once in my life. But such details, perhaps another time. You'd like her. I'll bring her around next time Vrianth decides to grace the skies." He is likely all too serious. « B'doran is a good man. » This is absolutely M'thiu double-speaking through his dragon, the tonal qualities and speech patterns differ. « But his time has passed. » "You missed our last gathering. Telgar." Too casual.

Leova does manage a laugh, all that would-be jealousy, if not without constraint. Her brows even lift on cue for his honesty. "I'll introduce her to my weyrmate," might be serious in a different way. So is the way she looks into the bronzerider's eyes. « She protects him. » "What did I miss? Marivne started to say." Distractions happen.

"They try to keep it quiet." Oh they try. But dragonhealers are a sect above or something. "Yuraveth is ill. Well, that's what was implied. No one out and out wanted to confirm it." M'thiu's toe underneath the table might be a little too forward, but there's that gleam again, unrepentant, teasing, and the foot retreats quite quickly.

Speaking of distractions: that toe's well-timed, jolting Leova out of what's becoming an outright stare. Facades are one thing, but this is personal, for all that they aren't her queens. "They wouldn't. Shells, M'thiu. Ista, what about there? The others?"

"Ista's'fine s'far as I know." The breadsticks are being gnawed on. "If you want to find out Telgar's secrets, you'll have to move there. Or here. I mean, for our secrets." M'thiu's jokes fall short this time, in timbre at least. "Are you going to open up one of those bottles or is it for me to enjoy later?"

The greenrider exhales through her nose, not quite a Vrianth-huff. Her nod is sober, her second surprised and near to contrite. "Well, we don't have any new ones." If Leova hasn't great recompense in kind, nor great grounds for hope, at least she can reach down and give M'thiu that ale.