Difference between revisions of "Logs:In the Living Caverns"

You meander through the archway, into the living cavern. Living Cavern, High Reaches Weyr(#1000RJs) The impressive living cavern is seemingly as large as the bowl that cradles the hatching sands. Rivers of polished wood tables and benches arrow towards a raised platform crowned with a compact version of their sturdy design. Neatly crafted pegs, some fancifully carved, are tapped into holes in the wall and support clothing dangling like lazy sleepers. Woven baskets, both useful and decorative, hang along another wall. Bundles of autumn foliage in brilliant reds and oranges mixed with sprigs of crimson berries have been thrust into the baskets on the wall. Pickling spices and the tang of smoking meat fill the air. Banners worked with the designs of Holds and Halls beholden to the weyr cascade down the walls high above, interspersed with several brilliantly colored tapestries. Drudges move briskly about the room, unlidding plentiful glow baskets to help banish the thickening dusk. The clatter of pots and pans signal the approaching evening meal. Contents: Th'res Thiana Jemah Tray of Bubblies(#6808V$) Firelizard Perch(#5030Jae$) Obvious exits: Kitchen Bowl Lower Caverns

Th'res raises his eye brow at his sister who is as usal acting weird. Though he keeps up the quite conversation with his fellow wing mates at the Avalanche table.

Thiana sighs as she look back over at her twin thankful that not as normal a large outburst did not follow bread being thrown at her. She however does get up with her hides in arm as another little piece is throw from one of the younger and ratehr immature candidates and moves to a different table not wanting to deal with this today.

Thiana Klah brown hair with flecks of golden red falls in slight curls to this girl's mid back and curves up at the ends inwards. Falling around her face not captured by any pins or ties the soft curls seem to have taken on the habit of inhabiting her vision. Longer almond shaped, soft gray-blue eyes and surrounded by lighter but long lashes on top and bottom. Her eyes are placed around a slender long nose which is dotted with freckles on pale ivory coloured skin. The sprinkling of freckles spreads down to her cheek and longer shaped face with thin but pouty rosy red lips adding to the colour contrasts. Like her face her 5'8" body is tall and lanky though grow into it's self shape wise giving her a rather womanly but small figure. She has long well worked leg which show just a bit under a simple brown pair of pants with a black leather belt securing them. Her shapely top and obviously often used arms are hidden under a similar brown coloured tunic with gold threading of dragons or various sizes. Black ankle boots are on her feet for protection but are mostly hidden cause her pants are to long like someone was expecting her to grow more, even at the apparently age of 18 to 19 turns. Around her neck on a silver chain hangs three diamonds clustered in a heart shape. The necklace shines and dances about Thiana's neck. A knot on her shoulder marks her as the High Reaches Weyr Steward. Carrying: Pete

Near the hearth, apparently having finished her meal already, sits a candidate with long knitting needles in her hand. Her fingers work at an idle pace, perl-stitch-crossover and whatnot, though blue eyes flick rapidly across the diners, catching sight of one or two people who look to be finishing up and keeping tabs on them. Satiet's needles click and pause as she recognizes the steward first by knot and then by face, from a distance and inclines her head in more or less a sign of respect.

Th'res grins abit and passes two marks over to a blue rider who has a very sly smile. Standing he makes his way over near the hearth to retreve his riding Jacket and nods to the Cadidate saying "good evening"

Th'res Klah brown hair has cut the top into short layers that just brush the boy's temples. The back has been neatly trimmed, thanks to the Weyrlingmaster, to hang just even with the lads jaw line. His two almond shaped, soft blue eyes are neatly placed on each side of his slender nose. His lips are thin, though they do have a small pouting look that rest peacefully under his nose. Cheeks adorned with a small smattering of freckles. Two thin, round ears rear up out of the layered brown hair. Standing 5'10", he is a slender youth, with shoulders that have broadened to give the lad a square frame. A long abdomen that is now firm from all the exercises that have been his pleasure to endure. His arms are showing signs of becoming corded with muscles, his legs as well are starting to gain muscle definition. If you had to hazard a guess, his age seems to be about 18 Turns.

A medium brimmed hat covers the top of his head, and shielding his eyes from the sun. Dark brown riding pants cover his legs, they aren't overly baggy but don't revile too much either. His shirt of the day is a soft blue, with pockets on the chest. His riding jacket is set to match his dragon's hide, if he lays down on it he might just blend in. a blue and black HRW knot threaded with brown. It's tied in a way to denote him as a Wingrider of Avalanche wing. Carrying: Xaine's gift

Thiana waves to the candidate that waves to her and then catching sight of her brother again smiles at him warmly and waves somewhat girlishly, "So how are you Satiet right...so I may have got that wrong..."

Once again the clicking needles halt and Satiet glances up through lashes studiously. Momentarily a faint smile emerges, and she also inclines her head towards Th'res, though the respect is marginally less, "Evening, sir." A hand frees from the tangles of yarn towards another free seat, "On your way out, or getting some bit of warmth before leaving?" Her gaze slants out towards the bowl, returning to study Th'res quickly, "Though it's not so very cold out yet. Winter's coming soon though." Her small talk is said in a softly-pitched alto, but still distinct over the conversational din of supper. To Thiana, she grins dryly, "Better than Rylla at least, she gets me and Amarie confused from time to time, though I'm not sure why. We don't look -anything- alike." And from the sound of it, it's a good thing too, in this candidate's opinion. "I'll well enough. Dinner was filling, I'm sure I'll be gaining some weight while here. The Weyrs eat much better than some of the smaller holds."

Th'res smiles at Satiet, a shy but warm smile making him seem younger than he really is, "just making sure my art case doesn't get overly warm, it cracks the leather". He grins over at his sister and calls "that good of a day to day sis? you look like some one stole your favorite stylist again"

Thiana rolls her eyes at Th'res and sticks out her tounge, "Oh I still have that one with me of course love." She shakes her head and shrugs, "It's a fine day."

Satiet glances downwards, as if seeking out the case, and then back up. "You're an artist then? My father says art is, no pun intended, a lost art, but I suppose with the Interval you can be a rider and do your art at the same time." The warmth and openness of her words contain a hint of something that keeps the other people at arm's length distance from her verbally. "It must be nice to have that kind of free time," she notes, casting the steward a quick, questioning look. "Stylist? Ma'am?"

Th'res nods to Satiet "oh it is not so much free time, as I find that you can do more if you sleep less" yup the workaholic returns. "And as far as the art, well I let those who keep my works be the judge of them."

Thiana shrugs at this, "My pen really..."

"Oh." A pale rose colors Satiet's cheeks, and she shrugs back, though a questionably genuine smile curves her lips. "I thought you'd meant a stylist. One of the candidates gives fairly nice haircuts, even if she's a bit of a wherryhead when it comes to intelligence. She's passable enough though and I'm sure she'd love to mess with your hair if you'd like. But a pen, I've no idea really." Her needles begin to move again, the ball of pale blue yarn slowly getting smaller. "Some of us, sir, need sleep to remain as beautiful as they are." The alto lifts up, albeit cheekily, and a wink is tossed the rider.

The wink from the candidate promps a laugh from the Brown rider, it is a rich sound of waves dancing against the rocks on a summers day. "Well as no doubt my clutch mates will tell you, I am neither beautiful nor one to sleep in. Caritha used to toss things at me for waking them up on time for weyrling class."

Thiana chuckles at this, "He was apparently really bad that way."

"Caritha. Semirath's rider?" Satiet's brow peaks upward in askance, a smirk emerging soon after. "I can see that she'd value her sleep, and probably needs it, I'm sure." Her gaze drifts to the art case, chin lifting curiously, "I'd love to see some of your work sometime, I've no eye for art, practically heathen in how much I know about pictures or.. paintings? Do you paint, or sketch or some other art form?" Her inquiries sound interested enough, even if her eyes glaze with the beginning trace elements of boredom. "How have we been lately, ma'am?" She latches herself onto another topic with an incautious, wheedling beam for the steward, "None of us been getting in trouble, much yet?"

Th'res nods to Satiet, though being Bitran by nature has caught the ladies tone and says "yes well Caritha did value strange things that are beyound my understanding as a male." he nods to Thiana waiting for the answer to Satiets question.

Thiana chuckles at this and rolls her eyes, "No one in big trouble just a few candidates who think they are funny..." She sighs.

"That's good then." Satiet replies, that smirk lingering on her lips. "It's a pity that we aren't making your life more difficult then. If you'd like, I'm sure a few things could come out for you to get upset and very coordinator like over." Blue gaze skirts across towards the brownrider and nods. "I'm sure. Caritha's the one with the Igen weyrmate? She mentioned it once, I think. Some girls aren't very hard to understand at all." And she apparently takes that to explain it all, as her conversation dwindles off to tie off one end of the yarn, reaching down into a basket for a darker blue ball. Quick loops start off the next color and off she is knitting again.

Th'res raises an eyebrow at Satiet "oh so someone finaly roped down Little sister, and at Igen no doubt." he grins at Thiana "do remind Qort that we need to take a trip to Igen and find the lucky rider."

Thiana giggles at this, "yes Sir."

Linnea wanders in from the tunnel to the bowl. Linnea has arrived.

"Little sister?" Satiet's eyes light up a bit at the new information, her brows both lifting fractionally. "Caritha's your little sister? And the rider's name is P'wert," she fills in helpfully, "Similar to twerp, but not quite. Rearranged letters make all the difference," she mutters. But a quick shake of her head brings back the distant smile on her lips. "See, girls aren't very hard to understand at that. Truly."

Th'res smiles at Satiet "well not by blood but we view each other as brother and sister. Were as close as the real thing" He moves abit to get away from the fire and set his art case down on the table before refilling his mug with klah.

Thiana curses under her breath as another piece of bread in throw, "Okay that is it." She picks up the hides and starts to pull her blue cloak over her shoulder, "Don't make me report you to S'rist you little monster."

Th'res rolls his eyes and says to the candidate that is not being yelled at by the steward as he walks over to the candidate table and leans over to whisper somthing in the young mans ear. after a few moments of conversing the candidate shoots out of his chair as pale as a sheet and runs into the kitchen. Soon after dishes start to clang as there are being washed at a high rate of speed. Th'res looks pleased with himself as he moves to sit back down behind his art case.

An girl of average height, mostly hidden behind a raised klah-pot, makes her way toward the drink station, blue eyes peeking around the edge of the pot taking stock of those who are in the room before they can see her. Noting Satiet, Linnea's pace increases, though she pauses, frozen midmotion, as Thiana curses, thinking it might be aimed at her.

"Take away his bread." Satiet advises dryly. "Send him to bed without supper, it worked for my brothers." And her, but that's easily left out. "He's no big loss anyway, a bit of a lunkhead, not very bright. I'm not even sure he'll understand if he's being scolded, but take away his food? And he'll be caterwauling nicely." The candidate in question is given a knowing smirk, her attention refocusing on her knitting. It's a little late in the dining hour, most of the diners clearing off the last bits on their plates, and near the hearths the dark-haired candidate sits with Th'res and Thiana within conversational distance. "Ah, so you love her as one would love a sister no doubt. Sibling, fraternal kind of love. Cute." For now, Linnea remains unnoticed - lucky her.

Thiana smiles and chuckles as her brother does this, "What did you say love?" She asks and moves over to place a hand on her look alikes shoulder.

Th'res smiles at Thiana "oh I just told him that if he didn't start doing his chores for the day I would have him help me scrap the star stones clean of all the firestone ash that is up there from turns pasted" he smiles at the newly arrived candidate and says "good evening".

Linnea, as a long moment passes, notices the muscles in her arms shaking and threatening to spill the klah-pot refill down her light-colored blouse, and thus it is warily that she lowers the pot. If she doesn't look at Satiet, and doesn't do anything to attract attention from the punishment-doling siblings, she might be safe. Hence she reaches the table without further incident, and, keeping her head down, changes out the old pot for the new. Drat. Spotted. And...spoken to? Her head slowly raises, and she replies, snappily, "Good evening! Sir. Ma'am. And Sattie."

Satiet's nose twitches violently, followed by a twist of her lips struggling to remain expressionless. "Satiet," she corrects mildly though insults remain unspoken in her pale eyes. "Evening, Linnea. Did you find any of that black dye yet? If you haven't, I've sent word to my mother to see if she has any in store. Or black thread for that matter." Finishing up a row of knitting, she uses the free needle to gesture towards the seat across from her, "Sit. I don't think I've seen you since breakfast." She teases wryly, "Avoiding me, are you?" The hapless candidate that's sent in a scurrying motion towards the kitchen is given a dark look, that slides towards Th'res and then the candidate coordinator.

Thiana looks back at the candidate giving a look towards her and her brother, "What?" She asks quickly.

Th'res glances over at Satiet and gives her a cunning smile, yup he isn't as simple as he clames to be. Turning his attention back to Linnea just observing for the moment as he leans close to Thiana to whisper somthing to her.

Linnea offers Satiet a graceful smile, and she repeats, "Satiet," in an obedient and indulgent tone. "How did I forget? I'm just so absentminded today." She straightens the pile of cups near the klah, then glances toward the whispering duo. "I'm not so sure I should sit...there might be other chores I ought to be doing." The unspoken is that she doesn't want to be yelled at like the other bad candidate, probably, and she muses at the cups. "Wonder how they stand up like that? All in a row. How the people who make the cups know to cut them so they nestle just so and don't fall over." Naw, she's not avoiding Satiet, no way!

Th'res smiles at Linnea "oh no you can sit, it seems that all the work is being taken care of for the moment" he says as he watches his new favorite candidate scurry around cleaning up dirty dishes.

"It's not so terribly difficult when you're -you-, Linnea, to forget simple things." Satiet offers with as much grace and indulgence offered. "You must be terribly busy to try and remember everything. Sit." Neither commanding or insistent, it is, in fact, a request that's unused to being denied. "The brownrider was showing us just how easy it is for us to get into trouble, and doing a fine task of it, and the Steward was regaling us with stories of her pen, I think, and how we aren't getting in quite as much trouble as we shold be." She glances back at Th'res and then smiles in an insipid fashion, "I don't believe you've introduced yourself yet, sir, and I'd dare say it's not very polite to converse with strange girls, whether you know their station in life or not, without a proper introduction. Satiet," she starts off and then gestures to Linnea's dwaddling figure, "Linnea."

Thiana smiles at this and takes her seat again.

Th'res smiles and stands saying "Do forgive me ladies, sometimes my manners seem to slip as I spend most of my time in the air riding sweeps and working with younger Weyrlings. Th'res rider of Brown Qortenenth."

Linnea looks hopefully at Thiana, as if she'll contradict what the rider says, but she doesn't, and woefully, Li marches toward a seat. "Are you sure? I mean, I can restack these cups, count them or something?" Reaching for something, now, she's drawn toward Satiet like fly toward spider. "Well met, sir brownrider sir. As she says, Linnea of River Bend, just down the way." After a few more steps, she smoothes out her skirt, frowning at the damp patches from dishwater spills. "Steward? Ohh. Would you know where I can find elderberry, dried? It makes a fantastic dye, and I haven't found any in stores."

Thiana smiles at Linnea, "Oh just sit down and relax hun. Thing will not fall apart if you do and how much do you need and for what?" She asks and moves to sit down beside her brother and leans her head on his shoulder.

Th'res smiles and says to Thiana "Sister dear, do we still have any of the sented oils for the dragons? Qort seems to want some."

Satiet watches the ongoings with another of her smirks, withdrawing into her knitting again but keeping her head tilted to keep abreast of the conversation. "Well met, Th'res, sir. The pleasure is mine." Though nothing of the sort was remarked on in the first place. "Don't fruit dyes made by amateurs wash out quickly though?" A stitch is stopped just for the girl to look up at the other candidate with a lopsided grin, "I know next to nothing about dyes, but it'd seem easier to buy the dye and have it be permanent than risk it fading after all your hard work."

Linnea cooperatively does as she's told, taking up a seat near Satiet as she's been directed. Her hands play in her lap, fingers twining together almost nervously, and she conquers that by sitting on her hands to keep them still. "I guess no elderberry. Ohh, scented oils, though. Can you imagine the whole dragon smelling good? Not that they don't already, but..." That one trails off as Li stares at Satiet. "I just want to repair the rug in the candidate barracks. It'll fade out anyway. Better the touch of an amateur than the waste of good dyes just to have firestone belch left on them."

Thiana hums at this and bites her lip whispering in her brothers ear and nods at him, "I'll find it for the brown lug." She smiles and stands up starting to grab his hand and saying, "come along with me?"

Th'res almost chokes on his drink as he glares out into the bowl and then shaking his head at Thiana "I can't dear, the Brown lord says it is time us to start our sweeps"

Thiana hums at her brother and asks playfully, "Can I come?"

M'rek has connected.

Th'res walks outside to the bowl. Th'res has left.

Thiana smiles at this and nods her head, "always Th'res." She wraps her cloack a little tighter around her and waves to the girls, "See you both later."

Thiana has left.

Satiet watches the pair leave, her lips twitching with withheld mirth. "I can't tell if they're related, or somehow interested in each other." Obviously, she's not up and up on their relationship, but that's of secondary importance. With Linnea left alone with her, the girl turns her charms onto the other candidate. "We missed you at breakfast this morning. But no worries, I've saved you a few muffins back in the barracks. Mix it with some of the tea Joilin's mother sent her, and we can have a right tea party later on." Her needles begin to clack against each other again, the pace quickening as she begins to settle into her work. "I don't see why you'd want to refurbish that rug. Like you said, it'll get dirty again anyway. It seems a lot of work to bother with."

Kegan strides into the cavern from the lower caverns. Kegan has arrived.

Linnea raises one forlorn and recently sat-upon hand, a few fingers helplessly waggling as the two leave her mostly alone with and at the mercy of Satiet. "So. That was exciting," she ventures. Leaving that to hang for a moment in silence, she straightens her posture and smooths her skirt before mustering a reply. "I just want to. So people can learn from the lessons it might teach. I don't know. It seemed like a way I can contribute." Joilin's tea is doubtfully assessed, Li's expression shifting from thoughtful to suspicious. "I can't tell either, about them. Maybe they are just affectionate with each other? Seems like family could get lost in a place like this." Does that tone sound hopeful?

M'rek strolls into the living caverns all polished up from the top of his shaved head to the toes of his boots. He waves before he moves over towards the serving tables and gives the klah pots a dubious sort of look. After a moment's hesitation he gets a clean mug and pours himself a full cup of the strongest looking brew and then turns to those gathered offering a general greeting of, "Evening one and all."

Sarcasm clouds the girl's pale eyes, and she glances at Linnea dubiously. "I heard most weyrfolks consider the entire Weyr their family. Presumably because half of them can't tell who their father is, and the other half doesn't care to know. It works out nicely in the end, I suppose." Satiet's work doesn't stop as she speaks though her neck strains up to try and peek at the serving tables. "Say, you wouldn't mind getting me a glass of juice, would you? I've been sitting here all night trying to finish this blanket for my mother 'fore her Turnday, and I'm quite parched." Expectant doesn't even begin to describe the dark-haired girl as she continues on with her words, believing that her request will be carried out with little argument. "If you'd like to waste your time, I can't stop you, but maybe you'd like some help. Get it done with faster so you can spend your time doing other things. I'm not handy with a sewing needle, but I could keep you company. No point in sitting in the barracks all lonely like you were last night." Seated at the hearth, she catches the greeting from a familiar voice, though can't quite see the owner of said voice yet as a group of people block her view. "Evening, sir," she greets nonetheless.

Kegan slowly makes his way from the lower caverns, eyes half closed, hand stifling a wide yawn. From the state of his hair, he apparently just got out of bed. He's not but a few steps into the living cavern before he stops and looks around, letting his eyes adjust to the cavern's light.

Linnea's wave of goodbye fades away, and she starts to lower her hand. "Good evening, sir," she says, then folds her arms over her chest. "I most certainly will not fetch you a glass of juice. It'd better serve you to get up and fetch your own. Then you'll be giving your neck a chance to stretch and that would stop you from feeling all stiff and sore later." Li tries to save her harsh words in the face of authority type figures, though she wilts somewhat toward the end of her quietly hissed retort. "It's for your mother?" Shock in her voice, as if she can't imagine Satiet thinking of anyone else but herself. "Who's he?" she wonders, figuring Satiet will know, and dipping her head at the black-clad man.

M'rek looks around for the mysterious 'Sir' and then laughs and looks into his mug before making a face at that brew he despises so muchly. He tilts his head a little bit and catchs up on the banter and then smooths a hand over his best dress jacket. There's a look towards the way Kegan comes and a nod for him before M'rek looks curiously around, almost as if he expects someone to show up.

Kegan Looking to be in his early thirties, Kegan has generally pale features even though he spends most of his time outdoors. His hair is tousled black and frames his face. Light green intelligent eyes stare out from under thin brows, his nose is slightly crooked, and his smiling lips thin. He's just a little under six feet tall and is typically dressed in mostly clean trousers, an old, but hole-free, shirt, and comfortable wherhide boots. On his shoulder he wears a Journeyman Herder's knot, the cords weathered and frayed.

M'rek Tall and broad shouldered, M'rek is impressive of form. The pale skin of his face is marked with a long healed scar that snakes down his left cheek for at least two inches. Other than the mark, his features are attractive enough if on the rugged side of handsome. His eyes are a dark and moody black that seems to spark all the more for their shadows. This twenty-six turns old male has had all the hair on the top of his head shaved off, leaving him smoothly bald. His eyebrows are jet black, so possibly that was the color of his hair. The clean look of his pate is interesting, certainly a change for the man.

M'rek wears a dark blue shirt of some impossibly soft and gleaming material that is half covered by a jacket of a very fine grade, supple leather. The jacket is jet black and has a notched collar that seems to suit M'rek's style. Tight black leather breeches match the jacket and go a step farther with diagonal slashes of midnight blue leather that trail from hip to polished boots of black. The belt around his waist holds a large knife and is fastened with a buckle that is shaped like a dragon. There is a High Reaches Weyr rider's knot on his shoulder with a thread of bronze to indicate the color of his lifemate.

Kegan's eyes focus enough to catch the wave from M'rek, so he returns the gesture with a feeble wave back. Pleasantries completed, he strides to the tables and searches out the pitcher of klah, filling a mug with the dark liquid, some of it lapping over onto his hand. "Shards," he mutters as he shoves the meaty portion of his thumb into his mouth.

"He's a devil of a man. Trouble, in other words, according to himself. Which, granted, may not be a very good source for self-judgment." Satiet ignores the rejection of her request, continuing to knit placidly, except a pointed throat clearing cough interspersed in the silence. Her knitting goes to an end, at least for now, the needles placed across her lap, and the soft blue shades spread across her knees and then over her lifted legs. Looking pleased, she grants Linnea a quick grin, her pale eyes brightening at the mention of her mother. "It is. Her Turnday's coming up, and it's the first time I've ever been apart from her, and I'm sure she'd like it on the little fisher boat she and my father go out on. It'll keep the cold out at least, and look pretty while it does." And of course, the aesthetic quality of gifts is far more important than their practical nature. But her inflection changes abruptly as she casts M'rek another look, now that the people have moved off, and an involuntary smile emerges on her lips. "Why don't you go offer him a drink of brandy and ask him yourself if you really want to know. He likes his liquor." Looking past M'rek, she notes Kegan's entrance along with a number of other people with vague nods. "Evening, sir."

Linnea almost laughs at Satiet's explanation. "He calls himself a devil? Watch out, then, lest you be writing home news of a different shade to mom to go with her turnday blanket." She frowns for a moment at the dishwater circles spread out round her overskirt, then as first the dark-clad man frowns at his beverage, and again as the green-eyed tousled man burns himself on it. "Shells. Should've waited until that pot had cooled more before bringing it out." She half-rises, ignoring Satiet's advice and taking a few steps toward the table where Kegan is stationed, "Would you like something chilled to put on that? A slab from the juices or milks? That looked like it hurt, and I'm probably to blame."

Kegan waves off Linnea's concern with the hand not in his mouth. "I'm fine," he says tersely before blowing across the red portion of his palm. "My own fault," he adds, in case the woman continues to think she is at fault. He looks even more dour than normal tonight.

Kegan has disconnected.

The bronzerider, who's really more like the devil's messenger than the devil himself, does seem to be sober and all dressed up this evening. M'rek even looks like he's behaving himself. At least he's not doing anything that's obviously going to land him with extra sweeps or under the thumb of his Wingleader in some other fashion. He looks at the mug of klah he's poured and makes a face before he turns a little on his heel and starts to pace a little bit, across the flow of the serving tables and then back again, muttering something to himself that includes, "...our bargain..and so forth..and you owe me. Or. No. You had no right..yes..that's better. hmm."

"You're so immature sometimes, Linnea," the alto remarks, a hint of disdain surfacing in her voice again. From her vantage point of the hearths, the visible line of sight around her to the serving tables clear, Satiet watches M'rek with no little interest, finally calling out towards the oddly clean man. "You look distracted, sir. And might I even venture, that you're actually sober? Given up drink in favor of impressing a girl with some nice clothing?" Needles are picked up again, ready to start weaving in and out of each perl and knit, but before she can begin she glances at Kegan and Linnea.

Linnea frets, wringing her hands. "If I'd allowed that to cool properly, you've been safe from yourself," she explains. "Here, take a cut of ice." She moves around the back of the table, draws a broken piece from under a juice pitcher, and holds it out, dumbfounded by M'rek's pacing and apparent talking to himself. "Has he a firelizard I can't see, or is he in his cups early this evening? Or maybe, he fought thread so amazingly, and when he got attacked by the mean one that left him the scar, it burned up part of his brain and now he just talks to himself?" She chews her lip at Satiet's insult, but squares her shoulders and tries to ignore it, in favor of looking at Kegan eagerly, completely unaware of his dour mood, hoping he can provide some of the missing information in her unofficial unscientific enquiry.

M'rek must be up to some particular deep trouble to be so dressed and scrubbed. He comes to a halt hearing Satiet's voice and he looks around, picking her out with his dark eyes before he makes enough steps in her direction that he can speak to her without having to raise his voice. "Aye, well, I'm distracted enough and I suppose you could consider it to be over a girl if not for a girl. Aye, I'm sober as well. So far. The night's still young, after all." There's a passing glance of interest to the knitting and then as he's able to pick up Linnea's words he laughs, "Just talking to myself. Sometimes you have to get the words just right beforehand so you don't lose them if you get phased by something. Or someone. I very well could be missing part of my brain though. I doubt anyone would argue over that. So. What are you ladies up to this evening? Plotting the fate of the weyr?"

"The sailors at home, the ones who get knocked around frequently tend to be a bit slower in thought than those quick enough to dodge an incoming fist. They'd even need to write down what they wanted to say to girls should they ever get it in their minds that anyone would even -want- someone dimwitted enough to get smacked around." The words of advice seem misplaced, if not for the significantly dry look Satiet affords the rider. Linnea is given another look, one that starts to border on exasperation, and she shakes her head, "You need to stop being so fussy, Li. Grown people can take care of themselves." Apparently needlework is shot for the night, and the girl begins to pack her things into the small basket by her feet. "Making sure to stay clear of trouble, for sure, and perhaps plotting, in our own ways, the fate of the weyr, or in Linnea's case, attending to every need of the Weyr. And you? If it's not a girl that's roused you out of a drunken stupor, perhaps it's a boy? I didn't think you'd fancy them in that way, but.." she shrugs, "I'm not a very good judge of rider preferences as yet."

Linnea passes off the ice to the rather unwilling and still mostly-asleep Kegan, then she drops another sliver of it into the steaming hot pot of klah, which causes it to splash about dangerously while Li makes warning gestures at anyone who might consider coming close. That disaster averted, she scoots around the long end of the table, slowly returning to stand near Satiet as a moth comes to a flame. "I completely understand that. You're not addled just because you like to practice to get your words right." A pointed glance is given Satiet, see...this man has sense about talking to oneself. "We're, ah..." The discussion of rider preferences halts her tongue, and it sticks, quieting her. "Uh."

M'rek shifts the mug that he's not drinking from one hand to another and then laughs softly at Satiet's words. "Oh. Is it quick thought that leads to avoidance of a fist? I always thought it was quick motion without the need of thought." His smile is teasing and wry, "But then maybe you'd know more about brawling sailors than I." His eyes are full of some kind of mischief. "Aye. Well. It's not a girl that's roused me from my stupor for the duration of the evening thus far, at least not in the sense that you're thinking, Satiet Lass. But. Man. Woman. What does it matter as long as it's someone who can hold your attention? It can be hard enough to find someone interesting enough for that." Now the look on his features is mirthful, easing the worry that must have been settled around his eyes as he looks to Linnea, "Now. Many would say that I am addled. And they're well deserving of that opinion. I don't always make sense to most people."

"Well, the two of you are clearly well matched for the evening's duration then, addle-brained and.. well, someone pretending to be addled?" Satiet remarks, though to which title goes to whom is unclear. She reaches down to gather her basket into her lap, and then shifts it to her arm as she gets to her feet fluidly. An easy amble gaps the distance between the hearth and the serving tables, where she pours herself a mug of chilled juice, and lifts it to hail M'rek. "Whatever it is that's gotten you dressed to look more or less human, I approve. Not that your drunken self isn't amusing to chatter with about girls named Kasedy and the like. At least then, you hold my attention. Sir." If M'rek is mirthful, she is entirely too amused now, and her good spirits display itself by fashioning a real life, honest to goodness, friendly smile Linnea-ward. "Try not to do anything I wouldn't do, and have to write a letter home to your mother about it. Have fun." Fingers wiggle around the handle of the mug, the slight girl weaving her way in and around small pockets of people to get to the exit.

Linnea shakes her head, albeit very slowly. "No sir, you make perfect sense. I think. At least, your advice and your turns of phrase make sense." That enough of a giving-in, she ponders the actual words for a moment longer, looking at Satiet speculatively, as if to point out that the mysterious dark-clad man didn't exactly specify what drew him out, and in sober condition, too. "I hope whatever you seek, you find." Sage words of advice, to follow those given by Satiet. "I'll...do that. Try to avoid things you'd do, I mean." Deliberate misinterpretation brings a smile to her lips, and she gathers up the abandoned empty klah pot and heads for the kitchen with it, "Refill duty, if you'll pardon, sir. Good night, Satiet."

You wander through the archway, into the lower caverns.