Difference between revisions of "Logs:Barbs and Bedtime Stories"

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.

Found deep within the Snowasis, nursing a whiskey on the rocks, a quiet Alida looks out upon the usual throng within the bar with her characteristic taciturn manner, not much of anything coloring her neutral expression. Green eyes that are just a hint less focused than normal as they rove upon whatever the guard finds of interest in any particular moment.

Rotten weather and unnerving nooses appearing out of nowhere have a way of making the denizens of 'Reaches flock to the Snowaisis this evening. Wakizian is one of the many, finished with chores and cleaned up from the day's labors that is just meandering in, weaving through the small clumps of weyrfolk and riders to get to the bar. He has to wait a few moments for his turn to order a drink and receive it, but then he's in search of something else: a place to sit! The shuffling of the crowd pushes the candidate towards where Alida sits. A few moments later he's turning about and stops just before her table, where there just happens to be an empty seat - one of the few to be found. "Mind?" He asks, gesturing with his beer to the seat.

Perhaps that's the reason Alida's in here tonight...though really, she likely doesn't need a reason. No matter, the female continues lifting her drink to lips while peering at nothing in particular...until Wakizian's face swims through the crowd of people...and almost immediately, the gal's features tighten up, become an approximation of High Reaches' chilly atmosphere. With his inquiry of the blonde comes a small bit of a sneer, her greens as cold as the woman's expression.

"Oh, Faranth," Wakizian swears in exasperation. Yes, it's gotten there. To the point where she doesn't need to snark out loud for him to know that's where this night is going. "You're not even in a good mood with a drink in your hand? What are you?" With that demand, he drops into the chair and chugs half his beer. It's pre-emptive - you know, so when she hits him or something it doesn't slosh everywhere. The candidate's look is mildly annoyed, like an avian who's been startled into having fluffed plumage. Once he's seated, his eyes look anywhere but at the guardswoman.

Quickly tossing back the rest of her whiskey, Alida clips off a chill rat-a-tat gunfire answer for Waki and his attitude: "I don't usually sit with gits that insult me." A lift of chin and a definite glare into the Smith's eyes show him that not only is the guard still cheesed-off at Waki, but also that she's a bit buzzed. Not drunk, but definitely not fully sober, either, the palest-blonde's attitude speaks of her own set of ruffled feathers, as well as a certain pugnacious obstinance.

The fact that she's deigned to respond to him warrant Wakizian's attention back from the pointed ignoring he'd begun to do. Beer is set down on the table top and arms are crossed on his chest. "How on the sweet green fields of anywhere other than 'Reaches did I insult you?" Because asking what kind someone is isn't insulting at all... Ha. "All I've tried to do from the start is be willing to be a friend if you ever wanted one." He sounds as though he believes what he's saying, though the emotion on his face is still annoyance. "Besides, you're the one that said you weren't a girly girl, and guards have thick skin," He grabs for his cup and takes another swig before adding, "So if I accidentally or intentionally insulted you, aren't you supposed to just smack me upside the head and move on with your life?"

"Stupid, dense as-an iron slug Smith..." Alida grumbles off, that 'Smith' sounding like a dirty word the way she emphasizes it, the blonde's lips peeling back a little to show the bright clench of even, white teeth. Eyes narrow at Wakizian, one hand clenching her empty lowball glass as she fires another round at him after his own rant, with "I promised not ta fight...so I can't slam yer empty head into a wall, like I usually would." Another glare is followed by the guard's dropping of gaze to her ice-cube holding, empty glass...but quickly enough, 'lida decides not to toss the leftover water in the other candidate's face. It'd be a waste.

"I said smack the back of my head, not drive it into a wall." The way Wakizian's phrasing flows, it clearly states that there's a distinct difference between the two. "You've a good chance of being fine and learning a lesson after the first, versus getting jarred well enough to be a half-wit if you even survive. You wish me dead?" This is a genuine question, brown eyes holding no jest nor merriment in them. His jaw, too, is set in a way that indicates this question is serious and requires an answer of like kind.

Xhaeon has arrived.

The somewhat irate guard continues glaring at Waki across the table, her fist tightening some around her nearly-empty glass. "Are you tryin' ta get me tossed outta' candidacy?" A hint of dangerous coo is sheathed subtly within the woman's ophidian tones, her form leaning in a little over the tabletop towards the Smith. Green eyes blaze slightly, the guard's jaw set. To the Smith's words of wishing him dead comes a shaggy, dark hint of laughter which doesn't touch the blonde's eyes, something rational within her reminding Alida to ease back, ease off before she might explode. As she slowly, stiffly settles back into her chair, the female clips off low around a dark little smirk, "If I truly wanted ya dead, you wouldn't be here havin' this conversation with me."

"Then perhaps it'd be best for you to stop saying things that a less-- well, that another's set of ears might hear as a death-threat. In case you haven't noticed, folks are a little twitchy since that noose showed up." Wakizian's tone is not exactly friendly, but the way the phrases are delivered, it's likely meant to come across as a bit of friendly advice." He picks up his beer, staring down at it for a moment. "In a Weyr, there's always someone to hear what you don't mean to have over heard." The candidate seems to have relaxed a touch from the previously tense moment, because his baritone is more casual now.

"That noose-- it's bizarre. What kind of place has people that does things like that?" That would be Xhaeon's familiar borderline-bass baritone, as he slides in next to Wakizian, a not-so-silent, not-so-subtle fortification of his fellow crafter-candidate. He doesn't go quite so much as to slap him on the back, but it's tempting. The chestnut-haired man quirks an eyebrow as if noticing Alida belatedly, inclining his chin in a silent nod, flagging a hand towards the nearest bartender.

She's about ready to let Waki have it with at least one barrel again when the Smith's mention of that perhaps disturbing noose of rope in the living area takes sudden precedence in Alida's mind. The transition from focusing on her own vast irritation with the individual seated across into the focus of a 'professional' occurs with what might almost seem like a soundless click. It's not that 'lida's turned off her anger, but instead shuffled it to some back burner of her mind. Maybe it's a guard thing. No matter; the heat in her gaze is receding, the gal's bristling manner subsiding as she purposely choses rationality over instinct once again. With the sound of Xhaeon's familiar voice nearby comes the slow relaxation of the blonde's grip from around her glass, the thing then lifted up to lips so she can toss back the very last dregs of whiskey and ice water within while staring up at the standing male's features.

"Your brand new posting." Wakizian replies, dark humor seeping into his words. "Actually, it happened a while back, too. From what they're saying, it's the same time of year and everything. I was at the Hall when it happened, but I got an earful when I got back. So many theories it'd make your head spin." The apprentice offers this to the journeyman, his smile touched with gratitude. He's both aware of the save and glad for it. "You two hear and really good theories for this time 'round yet?" He shifts on the bench to afford the other man more room before eyes bounce between Alida and the other Smith awaiting answers.

"I deserved that one," Xhaeon replies to the younger Smith with an easy humor. He orders something that isn't exactly his usual - a shot of Southern rum on ice - and settles down with his short glass to slouch unbecoming of his typical nature on the chair next to Wakizian's. "I haven't heard anything about it, yet. Other than you mentioning it," he accedes; "It could be... difficult for an outside to predict? Maybe there's a killer amongst us." His eyes, amused, seem to land on Alida for no obvious reason, other than the coincidence of his words.

She too recognizes it for a 'save,' but perhaps strangely, Alida doesn't push matters, the young woman slowly settling back into her chair at the wall, and gazing off into the space between Waki and Xhae, her gaze a little far off at the moment, her one glimpsable hand idly turning her empty lowball glass this way and that. If it were possible, a hint of smoke might be seeping from the holder's ears at this moment. For the sudden lock of the amused Xhaeon's eyes to her, a low chuff is offered, though those intense, clear greens don't really focus fully on him. She's currently in the land where cops tend to go when confronted with a mystery...even if the guard's more of a tough than a detective.

Wakizian grins at Xhaeon, "Well, I gotta get them in while we're still wearing the same knot, right? If Hatching comes and we don't walk out with dragons, you'll be able to assign me extra duty for smart-talking to my betters." He listens to the older man's response about the noose and lets his eyes follow to look at Alida. His brows raise slightly and the expression on his face is childishly I told you so, as though Xhaeon's look validates his thought that some might think her making death threats. As Alida offers no response, he turns back towards Xhae, "So. Nervous about hatching? Dragonhealers are saying it'll be soon." Another glance is thrown Alida's way, though the intent of this one is not clear.

"Eh." Xhaeon has a one-off shoulder shrug for the thought of assigning Waki punishment duties; "It isn't as if you're that far off from walking. Just have to put in the time. If a dragon doesn't nab you first." The last is mildly teasing, grey eyes shifting to Waki again after checking to make sure Alida isn't an active threat. To Wakizian's last question, he leans back in his chair, expression thoughtful. "I'm a little sad," he admits, "And a little glad. That it'll be over with, soon." He doesn't look nervous, and he apparently skipped right over that question in a moment of introspection.

It appears as though Wakizian's and Xhaeon's traded words flow around Alilda like airstreams, the blonde remaining quiet, centered as she ponders over the many things she's learned about the Weyr and certain of its folk while she's been here. Absently, her lower teeth begin to occasionally file over her upper lip as she concentrates further, one short nail upon her index finger starting to softly 'tink' at the glass in her grasp, now and then. It might seem odd, then, how those far-off greens drift over to meet Wakizian's own glimpse when he peers at her, the guard's features chilling out again, though they're controlled, and not leaking anger, this time. When Xhaeon's done speaking, her alto notes in clipped, cool fashion to the apprentice Smith, "So... Are y'gonna apologize t'me, or do I need ta waste my own precious time 'n effort tryin' ta either avoid you 'r keep myself from slappin' you one upside your rude fuckin' head?"

Ceawlin has arrived.

Snowaisis is seeing its share and then some of frequenters tonight. Nothing like an unexpected noose as an excuse for a good hard drink! Among the patrons are Alida, Xhaeon, and Wakizian, all seated at a table. "Yeah. Thraland," The Journeyman he works under, "-said he wanted me to take the exams this turn, but didn't expect me to walk for another one or two. But not so far off." There's a bit of nervousness to that response, more than in what he says next of the hatching. "I'll be glad to hear them hum. Why sad, though? That's sort of a--" He waves a hand trying to capture the essence of what he's thinking, "-odd feeling to associate with Hatching, I think." At Alida's question. The lad drums his fingers on the tabletop once and then gets up, heading to the bar with no warning. He's soon back and stands to the side of Alida's chair, not too close - not within swinging distance of what's important! "Alida, I'm sorry." He probably doesn't know what he said, but the apology sounds sincere enough. "Please accept this as a token of my apology." From behind his back, he brings out a hand that holds in two fingers a small sprig of fresh mint.

"Thral would know what he's talking about," Xhaeon comments, nodding along. The tall Smith would be the first one to admit that he's not familiar enough with advising to be able to ably gauge someone's tracking towards promotion in any more precision than 'probably soon', 'maybe someday', or 'omfgwtfnever'. Xhaeon, in vast contrast to Wakizian's mellowness, looks ridiculously offended at the Parsian's words. Disgust crosses his features for his fellow-smith's grandiose gesture. He takes a sip of his rum, leans back, states to the next person coming by (whoever that may be): "And now we know why they call her a fardling harpy that's never getting laid."

The talk of dragons and eggs seems to glance off of Alida's chill shield of intolerance, the young woman continuing to stare quite directly at Wakizian, even as he chats with Xhaeon. She doesn't appear in the least fazed when the apprentice stands up and strides over to the bar, the guard just lifting her empty lowball glass and staring into its empty depths for a few moments. Xhaeon's look of disgust comes a chill little smirk upon one side of her mouth, which smoothly transitions into an almost bland expression...except for the blonde's upward roll of green eyes for a moment. Cue her laconic alto, "Whazza' matter, sweet? Didja' finally figure out that *you* gettin' inta' my pants is a no-go? Or maybe y'just came to the realization that you prefer boys." A gentle waggle of her once-drink-holding hand is given upon the air to Xhae. "Don't feel too bad, either way. The Weyr'll soon bring ya around, I'm sure." Wink. Ahh, and then Waki's returning, and bearing a snack of the sippy kind. With his wary approach of her, and especially that honest apology of his... Well, the harpy bitch queen of the Reaches looks up in into the younger Smith's eyes, her gaze so deep and intense it might actually scare some folk. What finally emerges from her lips, however, is not something acerbic or cutting, but a voice touched with a certain hint of honest formality...the vaguest trappings of an almost-oath about it. "Thank you. Accepted." A small inhale presages the Parsian woman's small slump of shoulders, and she finally releases that anger somewhere, which enables her to murmur to Waki, "I thought it was you..." as she accepts that sprig of mint into the opposite fingers of the hand which takes up the glass of booze.

Ceawlin, seeking refuge in the Snowasis, happens to be that unlucky person whom Xhaeon comments to as he walks by. At first, the harper played ignorant to the little drama unfolding between the other three Candidates, but this. This is too much to not stop for. So steps slow, icy cold blue eyes regarding first Alida, then Wakizian, and finally rests upon Xhaeon, something like consideration lurking sharp-featured, entitled expression. After all that's said, though, tenor marks words as sardonically droll: "Sweetheart, I don't think he," chin-nod to Xhaeon, "is thinking about getting into anyone's pants right now." Sly curve tugs on thin lips, "'Cept maybe a certain -- Oh, hohoho," whatever he was about to say is cut off as someone else nearly runs into him, earning a scathing look of indignant fury as instrument is jostled. "Watch it you little troll! That's expensive."

There are many reasons why Wakizian is an apprentice and Xhaeon a journeyman. Most of them are practical, like exams, time in service, practice, and so on, but some of them are because of moments like this. Wakizian tries not to look overly impressed by the older man's words. Some still shows on his face, but his expression is schooled by the time that Alida's thanking him. "Thought it might help for Hatching. And since we don't know when--" He shrugs, then slides into a seat, eyes watching the exchange between Harper and guard, Harper and unfortunate passer-by. This is getting good! is written all over his attentive face.

Alida's words prompt an eyebrow to lift, and Xhaeon's expression to slide back into amusement. "If I preferred boys, I probably would want to get into your pants. Did you steal the ones you're wearing from Nicky?" His eyes drift towards Wakizian, unhurried. "They look like they come out of the his closet, don't they?" This line of inquiry is cut short by Ceawlin's arrival (a wolfish grin hidden in a sip of rum). He glances up to the blonde candidate. "Hey," half-alarmed at where some of that was going, "Don't--" Relief, a little, when the Harper's cut off. "Hey." That's to the person doing the jostling - an assistant cook that sneers at Xhaeon but is quick to move off brusquely, without an apology to Ceawlin. "Is your stuff okay?" Telgar tones pitch upwards towards Ceaw, a dark grey glare following after the cook. Did the barkeep give Xhae tequila instead of rum?

Nothing like a Harper to make things worse! Or maybe better, at least in one respect? Ceawlin's droll reply to Alida (and indirectly, Xhaeon) earns her fellow candidate a sudden grin that shows off some of the young woman's even, white teeth...which surely should've been knocked out Turns ago given her nasty personality. The guard winds up snickering for a few moments as the newly-arrived candidate rounds on the guy who nearly ran into him, the whole affair at the table now resting a little more easily on the prickly female. And then Xhaeon's riposting in his own fashion, and the cool-as-a-cucumber gal blinks at him, then replies again after a small pause, "That's supposed to be an insult?" Headshake, eyeroll, grin. Wakizian's words directed to her incite the often testy female to give him a strange little almost-smile and a dip of her plaited head, that mint sprig first crushed between finger and thumb, then deposited into her drink. She doesn't drink, for the moment, instead holding her now-fragrance-smeared pair of digits beneath her nose and inhaling of the potent, minty scent left behind...the effect steadying the guard in some fashion, evening her out. At least she's more relaxed, less obnoxious, perhaps even faintly mellow, after a fashion, at this point...and the large sip of her whiskey soon taken likely only reinforces this.

Pern really did end and in its place an alternate reality sprung up for Ceawlin's chilliness of the past sevens towards Xhaeon has been eradicated. "Yeah, it's fine, but that little troll isn't going to be." Growl, grump, grind teeth -- oh wait. There's other people. Wakizian is assessed, but categorized as harmless. The short boy takes a spot up against the nearest table edge -- preferring to stand in the company of taller folk -- and raises one pale brow to Alida. That keeps rising, and then falls into a frown of confusion. "I surely," Ceawlin enunciates to perfection, "hope to Faranth you know where those fingers have been," to Alida's finger-sniffing oddity of a behavior, alluding to -- well. Use the imagination! "Anyway, why worry about who's screwing who when you can talk about the fact that we all woke up to a noose in our 'caverns." Bomb, dropped. Gossip machine: go.

This is better than watching a ball game! Wakizian's brown gaze bounces wherever the conversation goes. It really must be an alternate reality: Xhaeon and Ceawlin friendly, Wakizian silent, Alida putting more than a grunt and three words together. The world has gone mad! The younger Smith's expression is one of keen interest as he watches and listens. He can't help but grin at Xhaeon's question about Alida's pants - to be fair, they might have actually come from the same stores at the Weyr for all he knows. But rather than choose a side, he gives a shrug to go along with his amused grin. Brow does wrinkle at Alida's question of the definition of an insult, but, again, says nothing. At Ceawlin's comment about noose. "Happened once before, a while back. I was at the Hall for it." This may be old news to the two others sitting there, but his words are for the Harper; he's a helpful fanboy! "Heard all about it after. Nothing ever came of it before... but who knows about this time..."

Xhaeon crooks a brow at Alida; his expression says it all without words really needing to be said: is that the best you can do?. He shakes his head, downs the rest of his drink, rises to his feet. "Waki--" he starts, stops, shakes his head again, offers something of a crooked grin. "Try to stay out of trouble?" Isn't that RICH? Before he leaves, he squints at Ceawlin's talking point, and gossipengines back: "I think it just means," beat, "We have a murderer in our midst." He shoots the selfsame significant look towards Alida that he did earlier, can't help but snort with laughter, and turns to disappear into the crowds -- well, as much as a man of his height can ever disappear. He's lost around a corner, though, and soon enough he's really gone.

Quipped laconically back to Ceawlin's words of her minty fingers is Alida's offhanded, "Contrary t' popular belief, they've neither been up my ass nor takin' up sailor's knots." A knowing bit of a dark little smirk is given to the junior Smith for his decision to remain neutral, the woman's greens then focusing more intently on Waki to note his silent wonderment and watching of the rest of them. "Will wonders never cease?" the holder murmurs mostly to herself around a thin bit of a smirky smile, her thoughts paralleling Waki's own, until Xhaeon gives her that 'look.' To it she replies, "Shit in, shit out." Shrug, sip. With the return of the conversation to the noose in the cavern, the guard's eyes intensify again, her ears and eyes paying critical attention to everyone at the table...which makes it inevitable that she notices Xhae's mention of 'murderer' and his turn of gaze upon her coinciding. Unlike many others, who would likely bristle, demand a recant, or glower at him... the guard simply stares flaty, then sipping her drink. Not a word or gesture is offered to the retreating journeyman, simply the continued stare of those inscrutable greens.

"Murderer..." Ceawlin hisses, flashing tight smile to Xhaeon for some unspoken humor shared between the two Candidates. Then brows are quirking again, this time at Alida's quick denial. "Sane people usually don't smell their fingers like they're coated in heady substance," dead-pan delivery comes with only a hint of dry humor. Ahhhh, innocent, innocent Wakizian. "That it's come again, should be cause for," harper pauses, considers Alida, Xhaeon's retreating back, and then Wakizian, "concern." Pushing away from the table's edge, he shoulders instrument. "Else we might all be slain in our bed." Pause, for dramatic effect. Like telling a campfire story in abject horror: "This time." Yes, just call Ceawlin, The Instigator.

"I'll try," is answered to Xhaeon's request. Of course, the older Smith saw just how well Wakizian's attempt was going when he arrived. His eyes follow the Journeyman-candidate's towards Alida again, and then back, raising a hand in a wave as he takes his leave. The talk of fingers has him puzzling. Poor, simple rule-abiding Waki who only dun kissed his third girl ever just the other day is lost. Eyes blink and flit from Ceawlin to Alida. Then Alida's words register and his eyes go wide, "Wait, up your a-- People do that?" He boggles and picks up his beer as his cheeks turn crimson. He's quick to grasp for bringing another topic to the fore and so the noose, or the topic of it, is once again taken up. "I'd say so." His face darkens. There's a downside to being a fanboy: you believe the Harper you're a fan of. "Oh shells," he gulps. "I had thought about what would happen if someone came in and smashed up eggs, and I thought no one could do something that-- that--" He doesn't need to say the word for the idea of heinous to be the obvious. "But what if, instead, they just come kill all the candidates?" His baritone rises, laced with unease.

"Oh, but they *are*, and I *do*, my overly-dramatic Harper..." Alida ripostes in a drawl around a small smirk to Ceawlin, the young woman then waving her fingers upon the air between them. To his nose - if it's a decent schnoz - the light scent of peppermint wafts. A sudden cough at Waki's response to her words of fingers up butts keeps the blonde from laughing into her whiskey, his blush simply smirked at while she takes a good sip. To the Harper's latter words is snorted a factual-sounding, "Ain't gonna happen... at least not on a mass scale. Serve no purpose, and it'd leave a potential murderer too open ta being discovered." Unlike Harpers and their tales, a guard has to be much more pragmatic when speaking. For Waki's benefit (will wonders again never cease?) the Pars guard mutters, "Most candidates'd be unlikely targets, *if* this a murderer. Too unimportant, too not-in-the-know."

And here is Ceawlin, to feed the fires of Wakizian's fear. "That would be the best way," so logical does his tenor ring, "to hurt the weyr, I should think. Other than, well, you know." Rough allusion here to the murder of one of High Reaches Weyr's goldriders. "Anyway, you all sleep well, sweet dreams, and hope you wake up in the morn," the harper sing-songs. Alida's fanning fingers gets a nose-wrinkle, before turning serious words to the campfire stories. "Anyone with a will can murder us in their beds. Just because it might expose them doesn't mean it can't happen," once again the harper's logic prevails. "Some people," hairy eyeball to Alida, "Are just plain insane. And speak for yourself, little guard girl; not all candidates are," Waki -- poor innocent Waki! -- is considered before cold, blue eyes turn back to the girl, "sheep." Grip tightens on his instrument and the harper turns to casually stroll away. "Sleep well, Waki." Forgive Ceawlin his fun, he's not the -- ahh -- most sympathetic boy!

Wide brown eyes flick from man to woman and back again as the conversation goes along, Wakizian's expression growing more and more distressed. He even gasps aloud as the Harper says 'you know', "You don't think--" He may be a sheep, but apparently one smart enough to follow where Ceawlin was going with that, "-that the goldriders might be in danger?" He bites his lower lip. He's far too distracted by his growing feelings of apprehension, concern, worry, and helplessness that he doesn't see Ceawlin go, or respond to his farewell (though rest assured it'll come back to haunt him right around the time he tries to close his eyes). Once the Harper's on his way, the Smith turns his scared gaze to - of all people - Alida. "Alida," He begins, his baritone a little shaky, "I need you to teach me how to defend myself. Or someone I care about." He's asked before, but the motivation now is clearly different, and more urgent. "I'll trade you, your training me for me making you any weapon you like."

Now *that* cheeses Alida off some: purposeful fear-mongering. A stony look is offered to Ceawlin, and as he offers his hairy eyeball and comment to her, the guard ripostes "You got any reason t'be pushin' this viewpoint, Harper? Aside from pure Harperness, that is." To his second comment, "Not *this* one..." is clipped off almost casually, a "...little boy," factored in afterward. With the Harper's walking off comes her concentration upon Wakizian again, the blonde noting his growing concern, her eyes rolling slightly at everything that brought this on. "Listen, Waki. Yer gonna be *fine*. Personally, I think the whole noose incident's just a ploy ta get people upset, lookin' fer reasons ta accuse one another. It's mental manipulation... don't give into it, okay?" She sounds so rock certain. And just as the guard's about to say 'no' again to the Smith's request... he's making that offer. And, wouldn't you know it...Alida feels both generous enough and wanting enough (of a new sword) to finally sigh and reply, "Okay, okay." Eyeroll. "Just a few basic moves that'll help you stop, divert, escape. NO craft secrets." A pause, and intense green eyes stare into Waki's browns, insisting on his full attention. "We *never* spoke uv this. I *never* taught you anything without the Weyrlingmaster's okay." Understand?!

If only it were that simple! Don't be manipulated, Waki! But, alas, the sweet Smith is an easy mark for just that. Especially by any Harper who can play at all. So despite Alida's efforts to put Wakizian's mind at ease, the concern remains implacably on his face. The only relief (and it's mild at best) comes when she agrees to teach him. "I promise. I won't say a word. There are some others that sneak out for lessons they don't want anyone knowing about at night. I don't expect I'll be getting much sleep now. Maybe you can teach me for a bit after lights out? There's tons of caverns not in use, probably some with reed mats and the like so we won't--" He says this not thinking, then corrects, "-so I won't get hurt so much." Some lessons, he knows, are painful, and accidents do happen.

That's what she figured, but Alida had to try. "Later tonight, then. 12th hour, when everyone but the watchriders 'n night staff 'n such are sleeping. Each night until the Hatching... a different hour. I'll inform ya at different times each day." To keep her from looking obvious, or suspect." The rest, like Waki says, is pretty much up to her. "Wear easy-fitting clothes." Glare. "And *don't* sprain 'r fracture anything."

Wakizian nods once, "I'll find us a place. Different places, even." Given that he's the weyrbrat here and that finding hidden or not frequented places is a necessary skill for growing up in a Weyr, he claims the duty readily. "I won't. I'm not as delicate as I look." This last is added with a touch of humor, since he looks like what he is: a Smith who has an exercise regimen. Not the least bit underdeveloped. He finishes off his beer, before leaning across the table to murmur quietly the directions to the first locale. Then he's sliding off his chair and giving a nod of farewell before heading for the door, eyes bouncing warily at the faces occupying Snowaisis as he goes. Right now it's just mild concern. Wait a few sleepless nights and then we get to the fun stuff: paranoia.

"Sounds like a plan..." Alida murmurs around her drink, the young woman watching Waki with intent coolness...while deep down inside, she too is wary, a little unnerved. A soft snort for the young Smith's words of his own form, and the young woman then quiets to listen to, commit to memory those directions, her pale head bobbing in quiet understanding as Wakizian takes off. A lift of her non-drink-holding hand to him ends in a long, deep sigh...the guard sitting back to continue thinking, observing, drinking... and smelling the scent of peppermint.