Logs:Weyrs Are Strange
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| RL Date: 5 August, 2010 |
| Who: Aemos, B'tal, Silarra, Uillean, W'chek |
| Type: Log |
| What: Weyrs are confusing! And full of people who weren't born in them, apparently. |
| Where: Living Cavern, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 26, Month 5, Turn 23 (Interval 10) |
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| 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 little on the early side for dinner, but something about the gray weather seems to have encouraged an earlier-than-usual mealtime for many. The living cavern buzzes with activity; empty seats are few and far between. And yet, over to one side, there's an entire long table with only a single occupant: a curvy, dark-haired woman whose imperious expression does an exceptional job of diverting traffic away from her horde of empty chairs. This is earlier than W'chek is usually back from his afternoon's work, for those people who might possibly people-watch enough to have observed him. Nor does he usually come down to dinner alone, these days. But even so, here he is. Part of that may be explained by the way the relentlessly ordinary-looking young rider goes, pours a cup of klah--and gets nothing else before he sits down. That sitting, of course, happens to be at the empty table. Because it's there. And empty. Green eyes rise from the sparse meal Uillean has in front of her; she pauses, apparently either flustered or feigning it terribly well. "Excuse me," she says, sounding apologetic, in a cultured kind of way. "I prefer to take my meals alone." Her sculpted eyebrows lift in a way that seems to encourage a response - and presumably a departure - though she says nothing more. Silarra strides in shrugging off her riding jacket as she makes her way through the door. It's tossed over her arm as she moves off to collect her own plate of food. For being such a little thing, she doesn't hesitate to pile it on, stacking a roll up on top before she's scanning the cavern. The bronzerider gets comfortable in his chair, takes a drink, regards the woman over the mug carefully. "That's good for you. Fantastic, even. Good thing I asked." He's not getting up. Not even making the faintest motion in the direction of getting up. "I would really prefer they were serving my grandmother's lamb stew tonight, and that someone would bring the whole thing to me smiling, with a glass of good wine. I'm glad we've cleared that up." W'chek lifts his mug to her as though in toast. Uillean turns pink, visibly uncomfortable, now: how terribly awkward, he just doesn't get it. "You misunderstand me," she says, in a low, but still very pleasant kind of tone. "You are sitting at my table. I would prefer not to take company with my meal. Perhaps you can find a seat somewhere else?" She even lifts a hand to indicate one of the other tables nearby where, indeed, there is a single empty seat. "I'm sure that one would be equally comfortable. I am sorry." And it's about to get even better. Whatever her feelings on W'chek, he's a wingmate now, right? Once Silarra's secured a mug of klah, she's heading off in that direction. The greenrider takes a seat without asking either of them about it, just starts settling in. "Busy night here, huh?" Aemos walks into the cavern, his clothes covered in a bit of dust, he quickly makes his way over to get some food, then klah then finally turns to the caverns to search for a seat. "You're not Tiriana," W'chek observes, as though this weren't obvious. "And you're not Teris. Which pretty much exhausts the list of people who could sit at this table and make me actually care enough to leave." He's now almost making a show of just how comfortable he is in his chair, with his own klah in his hands. "Evidently," to Silarra, casual. "My weyrmate's due down in twenty minutes. Figured I'd grab a drink, meantime." That pink flush turns pink-er... and then pinker still. Uillean's hands clutch desperately to her mug, as though it were a stress ball, not that it seems to help anything. Gaze shifting from W'chek to Silarra, and then back again, she seems at a complete loss of words, though her mouth hangs open. Finally; "You are not very polite. I am being very nice about this. I would like my space. There are other seats. Surely you could oblige a new person - a lost and overwhelmed new person - and take a different one. /Surely/." Aemos,spotting some empty seats, makes his way there. "Mind if I take a seat?" he asks the riders, giving Uilean a small glance. Silarra looks over to Uillean for a second before she raises her eyebrows and turns a rather amused look over to W'chek. "Ah. She's new. That explains why she would expect either of us, or most anyone else here, to be /polite/." Silly newcomer, her tone says. Aemos gets a quick look before she shrugs. "Go ahead. It's not like they're assigned for only one person to get to take up a whole table full in a crowded room." She'll pause to start cutting up a piece of meat before she adds, "Saving dinner for when B'tal get here then?" "Right. Because everybody accommodated me when I got here--no, *wait*." W'chek is really doing well at perfecting the sarcastic tone. He sets his mug down, and now favors Uillean with a long look. "The dinner arrangement is communal. That means everybody comes down here to eat. If you want to be alone, you go and get something and you take it back to your own room. If you want quiet but not alone, the night hearth. You do not get an entire table to yourself at suppertime, not even if you're Lady Reaches yourself." And as though that speech weren't even there, to Silarra: "Usually do." Aemos gets barely a look and a dismissive yeah-sure wave at the table. By now, Uillean's knuckles are white with strain, but she does manage to keep her expression and tone relatively even when, after a deep breath, she says, "Thank you for the explanation. As I said, I'm new here, and I don't yet understand how everything works." If she manages to make the implication, with this, that a great deal of bother would have been saved had he explained this first... well, that's just icing on the cake. She sets her mug down, now, smoothing fingers between fingers, as she adds to Silarra, "My mother always said it was rude to talk about people in front of them. Is that also different in a weyr?" Terribly pleasant. Less pleasant is the glance she makes in Aemos' direction - the dirt! Goodness. Aemos takes a seat, and digs in. "It's more rude to talk behind their backs isn't it?" he comments between bites and a sip of Klah. Silarra gives Aemos a quick bit of a smile for that before she turns back to look over to Uillean. "See. That assumes that I would care whether you think I'm being rude. Since I don't, does it really matter?" The young greenrider says with a dry tone of her own, before she's distracted by digging into her dinner. "I apologize. Long day." W'chek may have an easier time finding his manners here than Silarra will. "Probably rude to talk about people either way, but nobody here's got any manners. You adapt. Sort of." He picks his mug back up to drink again, and pushes his chair out a bit so there's room to stretch his legs out between him and the table. "Not sure where you're from, that you'd ordinarily get a whole table to yourself. But no. Not around here. Not at mealtimes, anyhow." Uillean doesn't frown, but there's a definite furrowing of her brow at Silarra's remarks; Aemos' too, for that matter. But W'chek - gracious, /mannered/ W'chek - earns a genuine smile, at last, one that brightens her entire face. "Apology accepted - and thank you. I'll make note of that," she says, without answering anything to do with her origins. "And the manners. Not that I've any intention of abandoning mine, however long I'm here." Finally, she picks up her fork again, wielding it gracefully as she dips back towards her greens. Aemos raises his eyebrow, continueing his meal. Silarra gives Uillean another look between bites of her meat. "Where /are/ you from? Not weyrbred, I'd take it." She'll shift in her seat. "Not that I am." They're all sitting at a table together, and Silarra goes back to her eating, in a rather less graceful form than Uillean's. Eventually, /finally/, B'tal is making his way into the living cavern. There's only a precursory glance around before all of his attention is focused rather determinedly on getting himself a healthy plate of food, then a drink. And now he can go about actually finding W'chek. It doesn't take long but he eyes the bronzerider's company as he approaches. "Hey," is offered tentatively as he sets his plate down but hesitates to sit. "Should I-- Am I interrupting anything?" "You really don't plan on it. And then next thing you know--" W'chek just shakes his head--but then there's a greenrider there. Who he is, at long last, smiling at without hesitation. In public. It's just absolutely shocking, right? "Oh, look, you got me dinner," he offers up with a broad smile to the greenrider as B'tal sets down the plate. "I think you might be hungry, too, huh?" Uillean looks utterly confused at what W'chek has to say, but is apparently too polite to ask; she's too polite, too, to watch as B'tal arrives, and hurriedly turns her attention away from the pair, which at least gives her the opportunity to consider Silarra again. "No," she agrees, rather firmly, "I am /not/ weyrbred. I'm from Crom, most recently via High Reaches Hold." She tips her nose up, even her whole face, as though she's anticipating a reaction, and wishes to show how little she cares. And Silarra is nothing if not obliging there. "Ah. Well then, that explains it. I almost drowned there on turnover." Silarra adds in a rather matter of fact tone before she turns to smile to B'tal. "Nothing that doesn't deserve some interrupting. How are you today?" She's really almost polite there. And Silarra is nothing if not obliging there. "Ah. Well then, that explains it. I almost drowned there on turnover." Silarra adds in a rather matter of fact tone before she turns to smile to B'tal. "Nothing that doesn't deserve some interrupting. How are you today?" She's really almost polite there. "What?" B'tal says, glancing at his plate and then at W'chek. "You didn't start?" He looks, well, lost for a moment, not wanting to give up his own meal and not wanting to disappoint the bronzerider either. As he waffles between sitting and not, a brief glance is cast toward Uillean then his attention shifts toward Silarra and he offers a small smile. "Good, thanks." "Nabol," the bronzerider says with a self-gesture that is presumably intended to serve as some kind of an introduction. Then a heaved sigh, a roll of the eyes, upwards. "Sit down. I'll get something. I didn't want to eat before you got here." W'chek does stand, leaving his klah mug on the table, and pats B'tal on the shoulder as he steps past to go fill a plate of his own. 'Nabol' brings something of a glint to Uillean's eye, and straightens her posture even further. That W'chek departs so soon after doesn't leave her time to respond, but she afixes an appraising glance on his departing form nonetheless. After a few moments, she turns back towards Silarra and B'tal, the latter of whom gets a moment of consideration before, to the former, "I heard about that incident-- how /awful/. At least you seem hale and hearty now." "He is a big boy capable of getting his own plate of food." Silarra says dryly to B'tal before the small woman turns a smirk on Uillean. "Oh, I'm too tough to let a little bit of freezing water keep me down. And I'll claim this whole area of Pern. In a wagon. Was probably born in one." "He is a big boy capable of getting his own plate of food." Silarra says dryly to B'tal before the small woman turns a smirk on Uillean. "Oh, I'm too tough to let a little bit of freezing water keep me down. And I'll claim this whole area of Pern. In a wagon. Was probably born in one." B'tal glances after W'chek as he finally does sit himself down. Then he's shooting Silarra a quick, sharp look before glancing down at his food that he's apparently not going to touch until Whit gets back now. And he doesn't look at Uillean again. He might be making a point of it the way he looks everywhere else once his blue eyes wander away from his food. Yes, yes, capable of doing so, and W'chek does indeed return with food, another pat on the shoulder for B'tal--evidently this is supposed to pass for something affectionate--and he sits down to start eating. "Everybody around here's got a story. Most folks aren't even from the Weyr. Number of kids folks have here... a lot less than most places. Plenty of people without any. So everybody comes... from somewhere else. And promptly loses their manners and becomes weyrfolk, somehow. I don't know how it works." "A trader," says Uillean, in response to Silarra's comment; her tone is neutral, and really, the whole statement is pretty useless. More interesting to the dark-haired woman is B'tal, and his apparently deliberate efforts to avoid looking at her. Interesting enough that she keeps watching him, her eyebrows just barely raised, until W'chek's return. "Such a strange system. Not terribly self-sustaining, but I suppose it must work. Well. You are here, after all, and--" Silarra, who earns a bob of the head in indication, "and I suppose I am, also. For now. Uillean - by the way. My name is Uillean." "Silarra. Liniath's rider." Silarra states in return before she nods. "My family are traders. But I have crazy family here, too." B'tal's sharp look actually gets a smile in return before she looks over to W'chek. "Ah. See, my mom might just tell you that I never had enough manners to start with." Once W'chek is settled and eating, B'tal starts in on his own food. And he was /very/ hungry if the speed with which he eats is any indication. It's also a handy distraction from the way he looks uncomfortable with Uillean looking at him after he's glanced very briefly in her direction. "'m from here," he says between bites. While his weyrmate might be shy, W'chek is not. "Seems to work out one way or another. It is strange. Everything here is strange. Everything--" Another inexplicable bite mid-sentence, and he seems again to remember his manners at least long enough to chew and swallow before he starts talking again. "Takes getting used to. Still not, some of it. But you know, you end up with the dragon and they don't let you go home again, no matter how much you try." A wry smile there at the end. "A pleasure to meet you, Silarra," says Uillean, with what is apparently genuine warmth in both tone and smile. Though, once again, she glances at B'tal (as he speaks, even!), she keeps most of her attention for W'chek, nodding briefly as he speaks. "I suppose they would not, at that," she allows. "I am glad, then, that I am both too old, and plainly unsuitable." /Not/ going to be her lot in life. "My father did warn me that those born at the weyr might not approve of me, that it might take some time to find my place. I am sorry that you think ill of my home." This last is to B'tal, directly - even pointedly. "I can just imagine Liniath's opinions on life as a trader if we tried to go back. I'm sure they would be quite amusing but not entirely positive." Silarra states with a half grin on her face before she nods to B'tal. "One out of four. Sounds about like the right ratio of growing up here." B'tal pays loads of attention to his food but he can't help but be aware of when he's being talked to. Especially that last of Uillean's. He glances up uncertainly and gives a small shake of his head. It might not be entirely clear what that means but that's evidently all he's going to give about that. "Teris was born here, too. And Z'yi, I think." Not that it proves any sort of point. "And Tiriana is weyrbred." Names, right. While they're naming them: "I'm W'chek." Another shoulder-pat for Bety. This is getting to be a habit. "B'tal." He wasn't hoping to do his own introductions, was he? W'chek's managing to eat quite briskly without paying the least bit of attention to what's on his plate. "I think the only thing you can do to warrant disapproval from weyrfolk is have some kind of a moral compass. Aside from that, you should be fine." Genuinely taken aback by B'tal's non-answer to her remark, Uillean's silent for several seconds longer than perhaps she needs to be before, smoothly, she says, "I admit, the idea of outsiders - those not /of/ your way of life - becoming your leadership is a peculiar one. Though from the sounds of it, both your Weyrwomen are internal?" She doesn't pause for a confirmation. "W'chek. B'tal. A pleasure to meet you both, also. I'm afraid my moral compass and I may need to risk disapproval; I cannot imagine going without." Her expression, briefly angelic, fades back to thoughtfulness. "If you'll excuse me? My quarters are not yet unpacked." Silarra is working to polish off her plate between comments. She nods over to B'tal. "Gabe's from here, too." That's probably the very best name to bring up in this company. "It was, uh, have a good night, Uillean." Silarra finally settles on. The greenrider watches Uillean for another few moments but he doesn't say anything else until she's leaving and stuff. B'tal makes such a good impression! Except not. He snorts at the mention of G'brion but doesn't comment on there, either. "It's not very nice to insinuate that I have no morals," he asides quietly to Whit. Probably teasing. "Insinuate? I know you. I don't have to insinuate." Which is probably a nearly scandalous thing to say in mixed company, but W'chek seems to be in the midst of one of those brief moments of forgetting that there are other people in the world. Right. Like Uillean, taking her leave: "Good luck with that." He'll just leave the whole Gabe thing alone, for the moment. It's back to finishing off the contents of his plate instead. "A /pleasure/," says Uillean, as though by repeating it she makes it all the more true. And then she gathers up her things, and takes her leave. A successful first evening! Possibly. |
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