PernMUSH Moments

The Thought Gather

Fri, 10 Apr 2009 15:07:58 GMT

Living Cavern, High Reaches Weyr

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. People move briskly about their business, the chatter of children and creeling of hungry firelizards in counterpoint. The aroma of freshly baked bread fills the air.

Contents:

Jemah

Obvious exits:

Kitchen Bowl Lower Caverns

The tables have been rearranged in part of the living cavern, forming a ‘U’ shaped cluster of seating with one table in the center. Sitting on the tabletop in the center is Tavrie, her hair pulled back and her face lit with excitement. She sits quietly, waiting for people to join her around the tables. Resting on the table she is at are a few large, colorful boxes that look like all the littles of the weyr have attacked them with paint. Each bow has an opening at the top.

At a table just off to the left of where Tavrie perches, are seated various members of Glacier, among them is Shanlee. Still dressed from duties, replete from the evening meal and somewhat slouched in her chair, the Weyrsecond pays the boxes somewhat amused attention. Her gaze sweeps across the living cavern and then rests back onto the Weyrwoman, filled with an air of expectancy.

In a small knot of her old weyrling class, Kaylee slips into the cavern, eyes flicking up to the table and blinking a bit at the colorful boxes arrayed out on display. She murmurs a few words of parting then heads up towards her wing near Tavrie - approaching with a more audible greeting. "Evening, Tavrie."

Tavrie shoots Shanlee a silly grin and a thumbs up as the tables are beginning to fill up and the living cavern buzzes with thoughtful curiosity. The Weyrwoman turns at her name and smiles at Kaylee, patting the table near her. “Come on then, looks like we’re segregating by wings,” she says, clearly joking, and casts a glance in Shanlee’s direction again. “That or Shanlee forced the Glacier’s to come,” is added with a look of amusement.

The arrival of the younger goldrider draws a smile from Shanlee and then she's being distracted by one of her bronze riding wingmembers who eyes Kaylee as she passes by. His comment, whatever it was, draws a fine brow arching upward as the greenrider follows his glance, then mutters response, "That the best you can come up with?" snorting as she adds, "In your dreams, A'tel". Tavrie's comment to Kaylee is overheard and the redhead passes the Weyrwoman her most angelic grin, a few dark looks from those about her likely confirm Tavrie's suspicions.

Kaylee grins impishly at Tavrie's comment, almost laughing audibly as the glances and mutters from Glacier's wings give some bit of truth to that comment. Slipping into a seat next to the Weyrwoman, she looks around as more folks trickle into the cavern, more and more curious glances given to the assorted boxes on the tables.

Tavrie turns her head, doing her best to hide the grin that is threatening to spill into giggles. She clears her throat and then looks anywhere but Shanlee’s little section, gauging the crowd. Then, she rises, standing on a chair and then stepping to the table audaciously. “Evening, everyone! I’m going to get started without further delay. We’re here tonight to think about the state of the weyr and not only that, but our own day to day lives. This is a time of uncertainty, safety and for some, boredom. As riders, many of you have become diplomatic ferries and oversized message carries. But, as the Weyrsecond and I were discussing, there could be so much more happening. And that is why we’ve invited you here. To spark some thought and get the ideas flowing. We could become more independent, learn new skills, dust off old one, and make this weyr the best in all Pern,” she says, pacing one step this way and then back the other. Her tiny frame doesn’t seem to bother the table at all. “Shanlee? A few words?” she offers, moving to sit on the table again.

From those few Glacier members of before, their dark looks turn into scowls when Tavrie reveals there wingsecond had a hand in this evening's proceedings. A crusty old bluerider however, bangs his ale mug on the tabletop in approval, calling out, "Hear, hear," in response to the Weyrwoman's words. Shanlee in the meantime puts her most syrupy smile to the scowlers and a fonder one to the bluerider, then it slips crooked for her clutchmate's impromptu dais. She does however look a little startled as she's called upon to speak, muttering as she stands and moves to the head table, "Not standing on the table." Spoilsport. Upon arrival, she waits for the murmuring to lower, then raises her glass in Tavrie's direction, "Our Weyrwoman put it well." An intent look to the crowd before them stretches into a few moments of silence and then with measured words, "A pass, while free of the threat of Thread, brings its own problems. Boredom," a glance back to Tavrie as she re-iterates, "and forgetfulness," a meaningful look, "What we need, are ways to overcome both. Build our Weyr into something to be reckoned with, stake our independence and show Pern, we're more than just messengers idly training for something that may, or may not return in a few hundred turns time." The colorful boxes catch her eye and she simply puts it out there, "So what are we going to do about it?" the question going to all present, inviting them to speak up.

A brownrider leaned up against the drinks counter calls out, "Brew our own ale." A round of laughter and several cheers greet that. From the crusty old bluerider, in a wistful tone, "Command our own sailing vessel for fishing." A woman nearby eyes him disparagingly, "Dragons with nets would be quicker." She's given a quelling look by several, while others nod in agreement. From the young cavern girl recently plucked from a nearby hold and whose currently taken up residence on a 'rider's knee, "Start our own kitchen garden?"

One of the cooks that has come out to attend smiles fondly at the young cavern girl and then nods in approval. “We could try to grow more o’ our foods. I’ve seen folk with little gardens inside that do pretty well. Not everytin’ needs lots o’ sunshine,” the old woman says in a rumbling voice. Another bluerider looks thoughtful and then speaks up, “I’d like to have more time to practice my leather crafting.”

"We all of us have crafts or hobbies or something more that we do.." Kaylee says - her voice pitched to carry in the room full of murmuring discussion. "..that define us more than 'dragonrider', 'cook' or even 'random troublemaker'." The last is added with a grin and a definite not-looking-at-Glacier, nosiree. "A lot of those can be turned towards the good of the Weyr as a whole, helping us become more self-relient during these quieter times."

Tavrie sits on the tables edge, her elbows on her knees and her head in her hands. She looks more like a happy child than a woman in any position of authority. “That’s the way!” she says, sitting up straighter and lifting her head, hands dropping to her knees. “I would like to work on repairing the weyr. Planting some new trees and bushes, mending fences and tables, putting up new curtains and getting in some new rugs. Some things are important because they represent our past – but that doesn’t mean we have to live forever in the past!” she tells everyone. “That is what these boxes are for,” she finally introduces the oddities. “To collect your ideas. Pen them and put them in the box so that they can be looked through and we can come together and vote on what we’d like to do. Everyone gets a say! And, if you can’t write, have someone else act as a scribe. Then have them help you to learn!” she says, seeming enthusiastic. “We’re going to leave the boxes here in the living cavern and then collect then in a sevenday. After we’ve sorted them, we’ll throw a sort of Gather. We’ll celebrate our new ideas here that night with a feast, music and maybe even a little dancing,” she announces, tossing up her hands in excitement.

With the room having to dissolved into a hum of conversation as the ideas start to flow, Shanlee's taken to leaning against the table where Tavrie perches near her. Twisting her neck upward to grin in satisfaction at the older goldrider, Kaylee's last is met with a low chuckle and a tip of glass her way as if in toast. In a lower tone directed at the junior Weyrwoman, "Need to talk to you about that trader family of yours." Sounding possibly ominous there. When the senior Weyrwoman takes the floor again, the redhead swallows down a snicker over the purpose of the boxes, giving as an aside to her clutchmate, "Thank Faranth! I thought you were about to start doling out littlies to everyone to foster." Her expression clearly transmitting the fact that she was just kidding. A few of the Headwoman's staff start moving about the room handing out scraps of hide and stylus' to those seeking them. It's not long before riders and residents alike are approaching the boxes and dropping their suggestions into them. Some looking a little bashful, others with all the confidence of a strutting colt.

Tavrie smiles at those already bringing up ideas and hops down from the table. “I’m glad that everyone is eager and joining in. You’ll have a sevenday, as I said, to get your ideas in – for now,” she notes with a sly look. “Now, those of you that don’t get back to work and help me move all these tables back to their usual spots are going to each be given a child to foster!” she calls out, giving Shanlee a waggle of her eyebrows and a purposeful, wide-eyed look. “Starting with the Weyrsecond, of course,” she tacks on smugly.

Having to bite her lip as even Jemah seems to have a suggestion and plants her scrap of hide into a box, Shanlee waits until she's just out of earshot to lean toward Tavrie, "Wonder what the old biddy..." Her words trail off as she stares at the Weyrwoman for her last comment, swallows hard and then a sly grin appears. Quick as a flash the Weyrsecond collars the unfortunate Glacier wingrider that's just on his way back to his 'mates from the colorful boxes, "S'eth, you heard what the Weyrwoman said. Get to it." And so, at least a section of her wing are put to the task of shuffling the tables about. And the redhead? A sharp glance out toward the bowl, a slow smile starting to appear and the last anyone might see of her that evening is her slipping out, snagging up a bottle of wine on her way.

Tavrie welcomes W'adru to High Reaches.

Thu, 19 Feb 2009 02:44:06 GMT

Snowasis, High Reaches Weyr

Large with high ceilings, this cavern's most striking features are the little nooks and crannies along the perimeter and the seemingly dangerous jagged overhang of stalactites just above the hearth. More corners have been made from six, slightly curved walls with half-razed stone blocks rising from the ground as well as outcroppings of hollowed walls, making the layout cumbersome for a private dwelling, however decorative curtain rods and opaque fabrics have been installed to turn each defect in the cavern's shape into its own private corner.

Near the hearth, beneath the stone fixture hanging from the ceilings, a thick rug with a low klah table and comfortable armchairs and couches have been set, the 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 even warmer hues of rich colors for winter. Small tables, fit for up to four people each, litter the landscape, while a wooden bar construction claims the wall where a dolly window to the kitchens is unlatched. The cabinetry installed has glass panels, so the various liquors available are visible.

Obvious exits:

Ledge Lower Caverns

The Snowasis isn’t overly full right now, only a trickle of people hanging around between chores or after dinner. One group sits around the low klah table playing dragon poker, a pair of quarreling weyrmates is in the far corner with their heads together and their eyes balzing – but overall, the mood is calm. A lone woman is sitting on one of the couches near the hearth, watching the poker players intently and with a mischievous smile on her face. She wears a pretty average outfit for a rider – hide pants and untucked shirt. Long blonde hair has been pulled back into a runner’s tail that lays over one shoulder as she sits there with her feet tucked up under her and her boots left empty on the floor.

A solitary figure wanders in. Making a rather weird sound. He is whistling, but it fails to sound like anything any Harper anywhere would have put together. Either he is tone deaf literally, or he doesn't really care. The tall, broad figured man’s features still betray just the tiniest hint of at one time being tanned, still having a slight leather like appearance. He also is dressed in regular fare for a rider, pants, boots, jacket and a tunic which looks as if it might not be able to keep up the stress of covering him for much longer. Selecting a table, seemingly at random, he pulls the chair out with the toe of his boot and flops himself down. The good news is this drowns out the whistling. The bad news is the groan of the chair which would rather he just sat down, thank you. Once settled he pulls a rolled up hide from the pocket of his jacket and proceeds to then remove said jacket, giving it a flip so that it hangs inside out over the back of the chair.

The woman on couch looks up and over her shoulder when she hears the new noise in the Snowasis. Brown eyes blink as she finds the source and takes him. After a moment, the blonde shifts from her position and lowers her feet to the floor. Boots are pulled back on and quickly laced up in a manner that works, but isn’t likely how they were meant to be. Boots on, she rises gracefully, gathers up her coat, and makes her way over to his table, lingering behind him and grinning in a Cheshire manner. “Can I get you a drink? Ale, wine, spiced klah – you name it,” she offers, standing so that the knot on her shoulder is hidden behind her body and the coat she’s drug with her. Apparently, she doesn’t want to be greeted by knot.

W’adru

This handsome fellow's black hair is cut very, very short, and seems rather odd on a fellow of his size. The plain cream colored tunic matches well with the slightly darker shade of cream of his pants. A pair of well worn boots adorn his feet. He is a tall one, stands approximately six feet, five inches in height and is very broad at the shoulder. His weight is proportionate to his physique, something in the two hundred and fifty pound range. The build is one of a person who has done hard labor since early in their life, moving heavy objects and keeping in shape. While not obscenely muscled, he does have a nice tone to his physique with decent definition to his torso and legs. He wears a simple leather band around his neck that hangs long, disappearing into the front of the tunic and a simple but broad leather belt. The brown eyes sparkle with amusement and on his left shoulder is a Knot of the colors of High Reaches Weyr. Running through the middle of the knot is a thread of a coppery bronze in sign of his lifemate. W'adru is 26 Turns, 0 months, and 21 days

W'adru unrolls the hide, its covered with what looks like a youths handwriting. "I'm still adjusting to this cold. Spiced klah sounds like just the thing. Thanks." He doesn't look up from the scroll, but he does, if she can see it, smile when he says thank you. Polite at least in that regard.

The petite woman wanders over to the small counter where the drinks can be requisitioned and speaks softly to the woman that appears in the window-like opening. Before too long she is making her way back to the table with a pair of steaming mugs that give of a rich and spicy scent. Sliding one mug down in front of the stranger, the young woman moves around to sit across from him. After a moment’s hesitation she tries out, “I don’t believe I’ve met you before, my name is Tavrie, rider of Nabrimeth. Are you new or perhaps visiting?” she queries, setting her mug down and then pulling her jacket off to set it on the chair. She still tries to angle her shoulder away, seeming self-conscious, perhaps.

W'adru chuckles, rather at the introduction or what he's reading is hard to tell. He seems reluctant to do so, but sets the hide down and takes the mug with his left hand. "Thank you." He sits up straight and pauses, eyes taking in the face before him as he sips from the mug. He sets it down, licking a little leftover from his lips. "New, actually. Somehow or another I ended up here. Sort of a big change from home. But, I was always taught to adapt. Even if it takes a while. Well met, Tavrie, rider of Nabrimeth." His eyebrows scrunch. "The name is familiar...have you ever visit Igen Weyr? My name is W'adru, by the way. I'm Nergath's." Jovially delivered.

Tavrie smiles at him again in that Cheshire manner of hers, eyes lit with interest and enthusiasm – the phrase ‘curiosity killed the feline’ would likely come to mind just looking at her. “Yes, I’ve visited Igen on several occasions, actually. I do hope Josilina is doing well,” the woman wonders a loud. “Ahh, Nergath,” she says, seeming to be familiar with that name. She glances at W’adru, checking for his knot. “Have we lucked into another handsome bronzerider, then?” she asks him, brows lifted and a smug look on her face.

W'adru lifts the mug, crossing his right arm beneath his left elbow so the mug rests half raised. "That depends on ones definition of either luck or handsome." he chuckles. "The last I saw her Josilina was doing well, if quite busy." he sips from the mug. "I must say that I have been welcomed here. Still, it isn't quite home. I can understand how she felt coming from here to the desert." Another sip.

Tavrie nods, her expression softening from the grin to a smile. “I’m glad that, so far, people have been welcoming,” she says, fully sincere. “I would like to think that while we’re a cold weyr, we’ve got lots of warm hearted people,” she notes. “And I’d say that we’re definitely lucky. I just hope that, in time, you’ll be able to feel at home here. I know it is hard. I was sent down to a weyr on the Southern Continent for a time. I can’t tell you how happy I was to get to move back home. But I do miss the warmer weather. At least, W’adru, it isn’t hard to travel to Igen when you’re a rider,” she says, taking her first sip of klah and savoring the warmth. “Who showed you to your weyr, Rilsa? Perhaps Shanlee? I know I worked with the Headwoman to get one ready, but I didn’t know you’d actually arrived. Is there anything you need?” Tavrie chatters on.

W'adru blinks a moment as she chatters, but answers the questions. "Rilsa and Shanlee both, actually. Shanlee showed me the weyr, Rilsa helped me, um, procure an item or two for the weyr. You worked with the Headwoman on...?" His right eyebrow rises up a little. His eyes flick down to the table in thought.

“Wow! Team effort,” she says with a laugh. “I’d have likely been able to help but I was visiting Southern Weyr,” she notes. Tavrie shrugs noncommittally. “It wasn’t a big deal. I just selected a few weyrs to clean up as possible choices and made sure some furniture was ordered where things were beyond help,” the woman notes. “Are you liking the weyr? It’s not too cold for you, is it? There are always more ways to block any stray wind and plenty of extra blankets. Rugs are nice to spare cold feet, too,” she offers with a smile.

W'adru shakes his head. "There's a nice rug in there and with the angle, the cold doesn't get in much. Nergath seems to like it, as well. Then again, he also thinks the herdbeasts are a bit juicier here." he grins. "That's always a plus for keeping riders around, I guess. You'd reminded me I was gonna ask the Headwoman something, and now I've gone and forgotten what it was. Ah, well." A soft sigh.

Tavrie laughs softly. “Nabrimeth prefers the herdbeasts from elsewhere. I guess the grass is always greener,” she muses. “And please, I’d be happy to help. I know Sirana has a lot on her plate, so if you think of whatever it was – just have Nergath bespeak Nabrimeth and we’ll see to it, alright?” she says amiably. “Have you met with the Weyrleader yet to get a wing assignment? Or perhaps you were already given one before coming. I’m sorry, I don’t know as much about the wings,” she admits with a shrug.

W'adru nods, returning to the right arm under the left elbow position from before. "I've been assigned to Avalanche wing. That, too, has taken some adjustment." He takes a sip. "Honestly, Nergath has settled in much quicker than I have. I guess when you grow up somewhere and then suddenly, outta no where, you have to leave it, it’s difficult to stop looking at where you were and concentrate on where you are." he shrugs and eyes the hide. "And then you get something that reminds you of home, and at the same time, makes you think that maybe there's some good things about where you are." Setting down the mug, he thumps a finger on the hide and slides it across the table. "Someone got the bright idea to write me a welcome note. At Igen, especially before Nergath, I spent countless hours with the littles. Sometimes I just needed the break from all the fetch and carry and sometimes, they were having just so much fun I had to join in." A broad, dopey grin.

Tavrie nods in approval at the mention of Avalanche and then directs her attention to the hide that he’s noting. A warm smile lights her face and she nods. “That’s great that they did that. I love the littles. I was a nanny when I was Searched, you know,” she muses, remembering. “I loved that I could be anything I wanted with them – and any age. They didn’t care. I could play all day and not feel stressed,” she admits. “Then, well, I was Searched and accepted. And to my surprise, I Impressed. I haven’t been able to spend as much time with the kids as I’ve wanted to, but I still find time to do so. And I even lead forays into the kitchens now and then to steal a cookie or two. You should come along some time. Though, you would have a hard time sneaking with your height,” she sizes him up and tsks. “I’ve got a daughter of my own now, too. She’ll be a turn in a few sevens,” Tavrie admits, looking proud.

W'adru chuckles. "And by the time she has four turns, she'll have you wrapped around her finger." he shrugs. "I may not can sneak, but I've been told I make a good distraction. Especially if there is a cookie in it for me."

Tavrie nods and sighs. “I think she’s already there. Her wish is my command,” the young woman admits. “I’ll be sure to invite you along when the next attack is at hand,” she assures him. “So, do you have any children of your own? Or family back in Igen?” she asks, taking some time to sip her drink again now that her rambling has slowed.

W'adru tilts his head. "The closest I have to family at Igen would be V'lien. He sorta raised me since I was a friend of his son. My parents are actually in this area. Somewhere around Tillek, although I've not had the chance to pay them a visit. They're both Healers. Got transferred here right after I was born. Uncle Perry took me in at Igen, but really didn't have time. Not sure how things happened how they did. Never thought to ask. They wrote me when they could, visited when one of them could get away. Now they have a much shorter trip." He pauses, taking a moment to look into what's left of his klah. "I guess I sorta felt...I dunno...guilty...growing up. Everyone took me in and treated me like I was one of their own. Especially, V'lien. Once I got old enough...or tall enough...I started helping out anywhere I could. Just my way of trying to give something back. Trying to earn my place, so to speak. I never imagined..."

Tavrie listens quietly and nods. “You shouldn’t feel guilty, but lucky. It’s great that they did. I was raised at High Reaches Hold by my parents, so I wouldn’t know what it felt like for you, but I’ve seen it often enough around her. I’m doing my best to be there for my daughter. I couldn’t bear fostering her,” she admits. “Actually, thanks to her I’m seeing my parents more often now. They were unhappy when I Impressed, well, my father was. It ruined the marriage he was working on arranging. So he didn’t want much to do with me for a while. Kariel has really softened him a lot,” she admits. “Sorry to pry into your past life. I’m too curious for my own good,” the blonde admits with a little shrug and a guilty grin. “I hope, wherever you came from and however life was for you, that you really will be happy here,” she tells him next, raising her mug in a ‘cheers’ motion.

W'adru raises his mug. "So far, so good." he responds in kind.

Tavrie sighs and then smiles again. “Well, W’adru, it was a pleasure meeting you. I’ve got to get on now, but don’t forget that you can come to me if you need something, alright?” she tells him, leaving her mug and rising. She gathers up her jacket and lays it over her arm, likely not going far. “Nabrimeth is always happy to field requests,” she adds. “Clear skies, bronzerider. I hope you’ll learn to like it here,” she adds, now gathering up the mug and turning to go. If he hadn’t put together who she was, the evidence isn’t being hidden now.

W'adru blinks, two or three times. "I...I'll do that." From the tone it all has just fallen into place. From the look on his face it did, too.

Tavrie and M'wen run into each other where they first met.

Thu, 05 Feb 2009 00:12:25 GMT

Hot Spring, High Reaches Weyr

Tucked away against the unrelenting rock of one of the mountains of the High Reaches range is a large hot spring surrounded by trees. The pool resulting from the spring is several dragonslengths accross providing space for perhaps a half-dozen people and their lifemates. Apparently accessible only from the air, a nearby clearing is large enough for a small number of dragons to land. Some distance below the spring, at the abrupt end of a steep trail is another, larger clearing. Heated by a natural geothermal vent, the lightly bubbling spring maintains a comfortably hot temperature all Turn, even when there is snow almost up to the edge of the hot pool.

Contents:

Nabrimeth

M'wen

Maxeoth

Obvious exits:

Out

For a list of commands use 'list area'

The spring air of the early evening drifts lazily over the surface of the hotsprings, the trails of steam curling along with it. The weather is still nippy but much improved from the bitter chill of the so recent passed High Reaches winter. Taking advantage of the changing seasons M'wen is floating contentedly in the springs, the barely visible bulk of Maxeoth keeping a multi fauceted eye on his rider.

Winging in overhead and then turning to drop down into the small clearing, Nabrimeth lets out a happy warble when she spies her favorite brown. The gold holds still, helping Tavrie to climb down before she wanders his way and curls up to relax. Tavrie wanders toward the hot spring, looking curious and perhaps a little hesitant. When she sees M’wen though, she can’t help but smile fondly. “Evening, M’wen. Looks like we had the same idea tonight,” she tells him.

Maxeoth attempts to return the call with a bugle of his own, the attempt failing when the brown doesn't lift his head from under the water, nothing but bubbles coming out in place of his call. M'wen chuckles at the brown before lifting his gaze to the approaching gold and her rider. Upon the arrival of the pair, the brownrider returns the smile with one of his own, a similar fond look mirrored. "Well a good idea's a good idea, no? I didn't expect any company this evening but this is a pleasant surprise."

Nabrimeth lounges contentedly alongside the spring, seeming amused by Maxeoth’s bubbly greeting. Tavrie nears the edge and then slips out of her pants and top, a modest one piece suit underneath remains and she steps down carefully, climbing into the spring and sighing with relief. “Exactly, but it is a –great- idea. This feels so good,” she murmurs happily. “So, how are you? How are things with your wing?” she asks him.

M'wen nears slightly to make conversation easier, treading water with little appearance of effort. The sigh of relief elicits a small chuckle from the wingleader, a grin shot along with it to the woman. Answering her question, "I'm doing good enough. I've been very busy and a little lonely." He gives a little twisted smile, "though I doubt that'll stay long with those two I tapped in my wing. Jo'el and Ta'ryn are quite a pair." He looks to the left than right, "I guess that answered both your questions in one. Convenient." He raises a brow at the goldrider, a clear signal of return the questions back on her.

Tavrie nods, looking thoughtful for a moment and then finally smiles. “Yes, those two are quite the pair,” she agrees. “Ta’ryn is mysterious character. He seems to have more cards up his sleeves than he lets on,” the Weyrwoman notes for the new bluerider. “But he’s a loveable scoundrel,” she admits. “And his blue is a very handsome fellow,” she adds with a grin. “So then, if you are their wingleader, you must be the one taking them on a tour of Pern?” she asks.

"I don't really know what to think about Ta'ryn sometimes." M'wen replies with a pondering eye. "I have to agree that there's a lot more to him than meets the eye. For sure." Her question gets a grin and a nod, "You were told about that? It's good to know that it gets them excited enough to let you know. I felt that it's a good idea to see all the Weyrs as well as the main holds. We are here to protect Pern so we might as well know the places we wish to protect. I got the idea from R'hin from during our weyrlinghood."

Tavrie nods, giggling over Ta’ryn. “He mentioned it when I took him to pick a weyr,” she informs him. “Sounds like he’s really excited to go,” the Weyrwoman admits. “I think it is a great idea,” she adds happily. “Did R’hin take the Weyrlings to see all those places?” she queries, sinking into the water a little lower and closing her eyes.

M'wen looks pleased with the news, a half smile on his features, "That's good to hear... I was hoping to get a little bit of wonder and excitement back into their lives after the disillusionment that I'm sure most weyrlings get when they realize having a dragon isn't all prestige and easy living." M'wen hmm's to himself in thought, expression slightly glazed before answering, "Only me, him and occasionally Satiet ever went to all the Weyrs just for the sake of doing so. He trusted me for some strange reason that I've still never figured out."

Tavrie looks out over the waters a moment. “He and I sort of fell apart pretty quickly,” she murmurs. “I liked him, but he was very, well, sharp about some things,” the blonde notes after a moment. “I wonder what he’s doing now,” she asks no one in particular, just pondering. “Do you ever hear from him or did I cause you two to fall out?” the Weyrwoman asks of him, unsure.

"If I remember rightly," M'wen begins with a tentative grin. "The main point of conflict between the two of you was me. I felt pretty important back then..." He trails off looking a bit sheepish. "Anyway," He changes that line of thought, quite deftly in fact, "I don't hear from him anymore, but I don't think you are at all the cause of that. I think Satiet caused him to lose hope for all his dreams and aspirations, I miss him."

Tavrie grins in a Cheshire manner and shrugs helplessly. “You were pretty important to both of us. You’re still important,” she tells him. “He didn’t want me to hurt you, but actually, his coming down on me made me want to get away from both of you for a while,” she admits, remembering how things were. “I hope she didn’t crush his dreams. She was so cold,” Tavrie remembers, shivering despite the warm water. “But those days are behind us. I don’t intend to ever be that sort of Weyrwoman,” she states firmly.

M'wen drops his gaze in embarrassment, though the comment was likely fishing for praise. He swims towards the edge to rest, holding on to an edge to avoid having to tread water anymore. "I didn't like that at all. When you were avoiding me that is. Especially back then when we were more..." He trails off, glancing over at Maxeoth to hide his slight discomfort. "And you couldn't be. You care too much about others to treat them like that. That's one of the biggest reasons I knew you were a good person from the start." He glances around the hot springs, a small smile playing across his features, "You know... This is the first place I ever saw you."

Tavrie smiles at him more softly, the grin having disappeared to leave a more gently and subtle expression. “Thank you, that’s kind of you to say,” she tells him, looking down at the water then watching him move to the edge. “Yes, that’s right. I remember that. And it seems like we kept running into each other from there on in,” she notes, pulling herself back out of the water and wandering over to get a towel out of a bag hooked to Nabrimeth’s straps before returning to the edge of the pool where her clothes are. She stands there a bit, drying off.

"Indeed we did. It was nice to have a friend like you back then. The rest of them were all too serious." M'wen replies with a happy look, his tone mirroring the expression. "And don't think I'm just saying that because we're friends... I meant every word." He glances up as she exits the pool, looking away quickly with a faint twinge of embarrassment, "I'm glad you stayed. Everyone else I knew and cared about has gone along on their own way turns ago." He is keeping his gaze pointedly on Maxeoth now, his features looking to be schooled to a look of indifference.

Tavrie wraps the towel around herself and then sits down on a relatively clean rock ledge by the pool. “Well, I don’t think you can say that I stayed. I was sent away, after all. But at least I got to return. And I do not intend to leave again,” she tells him, looking serious for now and quite resolute. “Come now M’wen, don’t be so modest. It is just a one piece swim suit, after all,” she teases him. “And now, I’m wrapped safely in a towel,” she adds with a soft snicker.

M'wen turns back, a twisted smile offered her correction, "Details, details. The fact is you're here now and they aren't. That's what is important to me." He gives a theatrical frown and crosses his arms over his chest which inadvertently causes the brownrider to submerge, having let go of his handhold on the edge. A splash signifies his return to the surface, a few sputter gasps before he looks back to the goldrider, "That didn't happen. And I can be modest if I want, can't really help it, now can I?" He rests his elbows on the edge, shooting a joke glare at the woman.

Tavrie laughs and sighs deeply. “Whatever will we do with you?” she teases him when he’s done with his spluttering and mock-defense. “I like you modest,” she notes after a moment. “Sometimes,” she amends that and then rises, dropping the towel now and sliding her clothes back on over her suit. “I need to get back now. It was good seeing you here, M’wen,” she tells him with a warm smile. Then, towel in hand, she head back to Nabrimeth and tucks it away.

"Good question." M'wen states with a trace of unhappiness in his voice, "Sometimes?" M'wen can only knit his brows in thought, the confusion at the goldriders statements clear to be the main topic on his mind. He lifts his gaze at her farewell, giving one of his own, "It was nice to see you as well, I hope you'll be around to visit me sometimes. Have a good flight back." He gives a brief smile before dropping back into the water with a brooding look, and a few bubbles of farewell from Maxeoth.

“Yes, sometimes,” she tells him with no further hint as to what she means. Then, she waves and climbs up to sit among Nabrimeth’s neckridges. “Clear skies, M’wen,” she calls before the gold leaps skyward with a loud call to Maxeoth.

Tavrie helps Ta'ryn pick out a weyr.

Sun, 25 Jan 2009 01:34:35 GMT

Eastern Bowl, High Reaches Weyr

Standing on the eastern side of the bowl, you realize why this is one of the most striking Weyrs on Pern. Arrayed around the north rim of the bowl are the Seven Spindles: high crownlike points formed of old volcano flows which were eroded to sharp spikes. The bowl itself is a rough ovoid shape, with a large lake taking up a good portion of the southeastern part. The bowl seems to slant down to the lake shore, and the soil becomes a little looser in that direction. From the east, the slight aroma of herdbeast and wherry hide rises from the feeding grounds. The northeast section of the bowl is full of activity: training of dragons both young and old goes on in a large clearing near the entrance to the weyrling barracks and dragon infirmary. Several small boulders dot the area to the north, forming a winding path to the ledges leading into the weyrleaders' quarters.

The afternoon is clear, and the sun shines with a few small clouds floating past. A strong wind blows past and the spring air is pleasantly warm.

Contents:

Nabrimeth

Obvious exits:

Weyrleader Ledges Dragon Infirmary Weyrling Barracks Weyrling Training Room Feeding Grounds Lake Shore Western Bowl

Tavrie and Nabrimeth are waiting in the bowl. The Weyrwoman is leaning casually against one the gold's front legs and talking to her softly, at least one would hope that she is talking to the dragon rather than herself. Both seem to be enjoying the spring air, Tavrie's cheeks showing it in cheerful pink and the dragon's eyes whirling a contented green.

Whatever mischief Ta'ryn was up to has been abandoned at the queen's summons. Knowing the Weyrleader and having had nothing but warm words with the Weyrwoman predisposes him to not feel any dread at the summons, but still there's a look of curiosity on his face as he emerges from the lower caverns. Kisuth had been waiting for him just outside the tunnel, nestled against the rock in fact. Seeing his lifemate, he springs out of 'hiding' with a little roar. Ta'ryn smirks, for once not caught off-guard. Words and a playful slap are exchanged before he clambers up between his lifemate's neckridges, taking the free ride to Nabrimeth's side. Kisuth utters a serene greeting to his mother, whilst Ta'ryn leans over one side and looks down at Tavrie with a smile. Wet hair. Probably a bath just now. "You summoned, m'lady Weyrwoman?"

Tavrie and Nabrimeth turn their heads toward the approaching pair in unison, both watching them thoughtfully a moment before Tavrie shoves herself upright and off from Nabrimeth’s warm leg. She wanders a few paces to meet Ta’ryn and Kisuth, smiling warmly -- whatever it is, it can’t be too bad. “G’day, Ta’ryn, Kisuth,” she greets them cheerfully, seeming to be holding something back. Nabrimeth returns the greeting in kind, lifting her head to watch the young blue proudly. “Drop the m’lady business or I’m going to change my mind and send you away,” she chides him. “I mean, not everyone –wants- a weyr, maybe you’d like to stay in the barracks forever,” the Weyrwoman teases, her eyes narrowing mischievously.

something behind the greetings, Ta'ryn tilts his head curiously but lets the Weyrwoman speak. And, sure enough, the reason for his being summoned is made crystal clear and seems to confirm a hope he had in the back of his own mind. A smile as big as Half-Circle Seahold's harbor lifts his cheeks. "Oh! I'm sorry Weyrwoman, I'll behave," he promises, looking all of five Turns old when he releases Kisuth's star-speckled neckridge to clap his hands together. "The company in the barracks nonwithstanding, it'd be nice to be able to read at night without being worried about getting dirty socks thrown at you." He rakes his hand back through his damp hair, showing his forehead for once. "I'd kiss you in gratitude if I weren't up high." Kisuth begins to lower himself to the ground, flattening his pale belly against the bowl floor in an effort to bring his lifemate low enough for kissing distance, apparently, provoking Ta'ryn into a fit of quiet laughter.

Tavrie crosses her arms over her chest and just shakes her head at the pair in amusement. “Well, I appreciate the err, sentiment, but I think you dear friend K’len might use it as an excuse to have you thrown out of here,” she jokes, tossing him a little wink. “I’ll settle for a kiss from the loveliest blue that ever graced High Reaches, however,” she says. “After I’ve done my job, that is,” she tells them. “Would he carry me as well? I’m afraid that Nabrimeth is not always well, she doesn’t fit on all of the ledges,” Tavrie admits with a grin. The gold gives a huff and lowers her head to her forelegs somewhat dejectedly. Tavrie approaches, but waits for permission at the blue’s side. “I can direct you up the weyrs that are free. I’ve had to get a look at them all recently,” she mutters.

Kisuth's attempt to dislodge his rider becomes a graceful bow and a foreleg offered to the lifemate of his mother. Would a gentleman say no? Ta'ryn rolls his eyes at the spring sky, chuckling softly. "Now his sense of himself is inflated for the day. He says he'll be honored to give you a kiss after we've seen to duty. And, of course, that he'll gladly carry you." A pause. "No, I'm not going to repeat your sonnets word for word, shush!" Ta'ryn affectionately pats his blue's neck, then twists in his seat to watch Tavrie climb up, ready to offer her a hand in the unlikely event she'll need it. "You can direct me to the most spacious or well-equipped one and save us both time and trouble?" He suggests, tone dripping cloying sweetness to match his mischievous little smile.

Tavrie laughs and smiles at the blue’s passed on reply. “But I’d love to hear the sonnets. I’ve never been wooed with poems before,” the Weyrwoman teases as she climbs up of her own accord and settles herself in with Ta’ryn. “Oh, is that it? The pair of you are buttering me up for the best location?” she teases. “Well, we’ll see what I can offer. Some have better dragon ledges, some have better weyrs. And well, everyone has different tastes,” she notes with a little shrug. “Alright, get the image from Nabrimeth, Kisuth. We’ll head for the first one I have in mind,” she tells him.

Ta'ryn worries his lower lip in an effort to keep back a grin and possibly some untasteful remarks Tavrie paved the way for. When the Weyrwoman implies subtle wiles and manipulation though, he's quick to speak to the contrary. "Oh no, Weyrwoman. The finest women are invulnerable to being buttered up, but everyone likes to hear they're appreciated in some way or another. We'll be happy for whatever you give us, won't we, Kisuth?" Ta'ryn's old humility and his newfound charm mix in his sentiments. "Up we go," comes the warning as soon as Tavrie is secured, and it's a graceful takeoff Kisuth offers. Sky-hued pinions make easy work of cutting through the air, bearing them both aloft. Kisuth only executes one stomach-flopping little dip (and Ta'ryn yelps) before backwinging to the weyr indicated. "Big ledge," he remarks, the sound of buckles and leather jangling telling of his readiness to dismount and investigate.

Tavrie gives a slight ‘eek’ of appreciation for Kisuth’s dip and then giggles. “He gets that from Nabrimeth. She tries so hard to be a daring flyer, despite her size. I think though, that compared to many golds that she is lithe enough to get away with more,” the blonde chatters amiably, promptly undoing the straps and climbing down when they are safely on the ledge. “This one does have a very large ledge. For all of Kisuth’s girlfriends. Or possibly, for dragon’s of yours?” she teases. “Have a look around. You don’t have to choose yet, I’ll show you more. But see what you think,” she notes with a little smirk.

Teeny Tiny Square Weyr

The roomy ledge at the fore of this weyr could hold a pair of bronze dragons easily. It even boasts a couple of sunny little hollows perfect for them. The left side of the ledge has almost constant sunlight, while the right side, thanks to an outcropping of bowl wall, is shadier and cooler by result.

The room inside is stark contrast to all this space out on the ledge. The doorway that leads inward opens into a room that's only about ten feet by ten feet. The tiny square room boasts a surprising amount of furniture, though. To the immediate right of the door, the rest of that wall is devoted to a hide-covered desk, in front of which is a wobbly chair. On the back wall, is a bed, its bottom raised about four feet off the ground to make room for a couple of big boxes slap full of more old hides.

Between the high bed and the desk is a clothes press; the wall to the left of the doorway bears a couple of hooks for coats or straps as well as a two-foot-deep closet with a few more boxes of odds and ends the previous owner has left behind. The closet, which runs about half the room's length, is sectioned off behind a grayish sheet. The only thing that keeps the tiny room from seeming more claustrophobic is the window set into the space above the desk. When its shutters are opened, it shows a nice view of that broad ledge.

Ta'ryn blushes at the idea of a plethora of girlfriends, opening his mouth and then closing it with a nod. He moves into the interior of the weyr, stopping smack dab in the center of it. There's not a whole lot to look around at here, so from his singular point he surveys it with thoughtfully pursed lips. Curiosity gets the better of him and he investigates some of the hides on the desk, but doesn't spend too long in playing who-lived-here-last; Tavrie's waiting on him, after all. Smiling wryly, he looks over his shoulder at the blond. "Kisuth's happy for the ledge space for just the reasons you said, but sad at how small it is in here for me. I like it," he assures, "but /he/ thinks it won't be a good place to entertain." As though his lifemate can't hear him, he lowers his voice and says, "I'm tempted to take it for precisely that reason." It seems the pair will always be endeavoring to foil one another.

Tavrie wrinkles her nose at Ta’ryn, clearly amused and working really hard not to comment. “Well, it was only the first stop,” she tells him. “Come on, lets go see another and you can start making some comparisons,” the Weyrwoman tells him, moving back to Kisuth again. “Again, get the directions from Nabrimeth, Kisuth. Much easier than if I tried to guide us,” she murmurs, ready to climb up after Ta’ryn.

Ta'ryn grins, leaving the cozy weyr for their next destination in a well-practiced sequence of climb-guide-land, with another few aerial stunts from Kisuth in between since the Weyrwoman reacted favorably to the first one. "I'm glad it's spring while we're doing this," he comments idly, sliding from Kisuth's side to plant boots on the ledge. "I'm trying to imagine a leisurely weyr investigation while the snow and ice is driving at you slantwise." A little jabby hand-gesture pantomimes the windblown snow Reaches is known for, paralell to the ground stuff that flies right into unprotected eyes. He grins at the Weyrwoman, appreciative of the weather and, clearly, her time in letting him take his pick. He turns to make his way into the weyr, catching the sight of the garden out of the corner of his eye. This raises his brows and has him biting his lower lip in apprehensiveness as he leads the way into the weyr itself. He goes slack-jawed when he sees the shelves upon shelves, brown eyes wide at the wood, the promise! "Did the last resident of this weyr die?! Were they killed?!" His shrill inquiry is testament to his amazement at this weyr. Perfection, in his mind.

Bookworm's Paradise Weyr

A broad and welcoming ledge, wide enough to accommodate two medium-sized dragons slants slightly towards the Bowl, turns of landings on its edge having worn the stone down to a smooth finish. Along one side of the ledge a rocky outcropping hugs the outward curve of the ledge, providing some shelter against wind and rain for a tiny terraced garden. Currently, the beds contain a variety of herbs, sturdy plants that in the right season give off the heady scents of sage, rosemary and thyme. The wide maw of the weyr opens up onto a fairly standard couch-space, with hooks in the walls and a storage container for dragon-care equipment. A sturdy woolen curtain separates couch from weyr to keep out the elements.

In clear weather, sun dapples the floor of the southward-facing weyr and reflects prisms of light from the fine glass that fronts wall after wall of neatly carved bookshelves. Empty now, but for a few volumes tucked up on a shelf, clearly this weyr is a bookworm's delight, all ready to welcome someone's collection of scrolls and finely bound volumes. The living space here has been sacrificed somewhat, cozy rather than spacious. There's enough room for a table and chairs in front of a hearth overhung with a precious maple-stained skybroom mantle, but the sleeping area is another nook carved into the wall, neatly laid with a comfortable double mattress. The linens are presumably stored in the lovely trunk set just to the side of the nook, a match in stain and wood-type to the mantle. Niches for glows are well-spaced along the tops of every shelf, the glow-holders made of interlacing strips of copper set with mica to give the light a mellow cast.

All in all the space invites one to come in, curl up with a favorite drink and a book to read.

Tavrie says little as she slides down from the blue again and follows him into the weyr. She studies his face when he sees the garden and her brows furrow in concern. Then, when he bursts out in questions she blinks in surprise and takes an instinctual step backwards. “Err, no, he didn’t die, he moved to Benden,” she murmurs uncertainly. Then, glancing at him in a scrutinizing manner, she smiles. “Do you like it? I thought it seemed like a place that would suit you,” Tavrie offers, testing her knowledge of him.

"How could anyone give up something like this?" Perhaps that question, asked in awe, clarifies the reason for his outburst. It's so nice that Ta'ryn can't comprehend someone willfully leaving it behind. "It's got an herb garden for growing teas...a hearth for the kettle, shelves for my books...I don't even have enough books for these shelves, I'd have to get more!" A prospect that has him giddy. He moves to the mantle, runs his hands along the wood. "This is skybroom," the Lemosian says, grin broad, "and such a fantastic stain...and the bed looks so cozy tucked into the wall like that, leaving the floorspace open, how clever." He turns to Tavrie again, smile bright as the dazzling light shining in through the south-facing glass. "I love it. I don't know if I need to see any other weyrs."

Tavrie beams at him, finally realizing that she made a good guess bringing him here. “If you like it, it’s yours,” she tells him, seeming almost giddy with relief and pleasure. “From some of our conversations and my pesterings of K’len, it struck me as you when I was doing the inventory of available weyrs,” the Weyrwoman tells him. “So then, it’s official. You’ve got yourself a weyr. If there is anything you need to live here comfortably, just speak to Sirana or Dassah,” she tells him. “So, does that mean I get my kiss now?” she teases.

There's a whuffling at the curtain that suggests Tavrie's big blue kiss is waiting for her on the ledge, while Ta'ryn himself demurs and glances at his blue's intruding nosetip. She said she'd have a kiss from his dragon, after all. "It was a good guess," he assures her, hands finding the hem of his shirt to fiddle with it, apprentice-like in the sudden shyness of his address. "You're a very perceptive Weyrwoman, and you do a good job of looking out for us all. And tolerating K'len." Just in case he was about to sound too sentimental, he tosses in the barb at his friend there, smile lifting a notch as his eyes come up off the floor. "It's funny, I didn't think I'd stay here long when I came to pester K'len, and now I'm really, /really/ moving in." He laughs softly, lowers his hand to one of the chairs' backing. "Thank you, Tavrie." Huff, huff, the curtain rustles and facets come into view in the gap between curtain edges, whorling blue as Kisuth tries to see for himself what surroundings have made his lifemate so pleased.

Tavrie laughs at the nose emerging through the curtain and then turns to offer Ta’ryn a fond smile. “Thank you. People’s happiness means a lot to me,” she admits with a little shrug. “And K’len -- I don’t need to work at tolerating him because he’s never been anything but great to me. Okay, well, maybe he was a little infuriating at times when we first met,” she notes and then grins. “Anyway, I’m glad you’re pleased and I hope you will stay. I for one am glad that you have joined us,” the Weyrwoman says, hinting at K’len’s usual hassling. Then, she wanders over to the curtains and steps through a bit, offering her hands up in the hopes of receiving the blue’s muzzle in them.

Kisuth places his angular chin in Tavrie's hands, ceasing his huffing at the curtain to be a good boy and receive his kiss. No licking or dragon breath blasts here. Ta'ryn lifts a hand to hide his little smirk at his dragon's incorrigible nature, likely at more being said between their minds as well. "Reaches has been nothing but hospitable. Snowstrike is going to do a tour of Pern in a series of visits, and I'm certain that even if I see some amazing places out there I'll want to come back to this snowy wasteland of a Weyr." He brushes the curtain aside and steps past Tavrie to mount Kisuth again, ready to ferry the Weyrwoman back to her gold. While he's waiting for her, though, his eyes are on the herb garden and his grin is telling. It's spring, a good time to plant.

Tavrie kisses the blue’s nose sweetly and then rubs his jaw gently with her small hands before wandering around to mount up after Ta’ryn. The Weyrwoman follows his gaze to the little garden and grins, clearly thrilled. “Looks like you’ll need to go see about some seeds or seedlings,” she says once she’s climbed up to join him. “I hope you do enjoy the tour and that you do indeed feel the pull to come home again. Welcome home, Ta’ryn,” she extends gladly.

The weyrlings finally graduate!

Wed, 14 Jan 2009 23:40:55 GMT

Living Cavern, High Reaches Weyr

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. Tiny bouquets of the first hardy flowers are crammed into jars and mugs, dotting the tables with their pastel colors and light fragrance. The faint, musty aroma of wet wool mingles with that of spice. 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. The clink of cutlery harmonizes with the flowing river of talk and gossip as the weyrfolk gather for a hearty evening meal.

Contents:

Ta'ryn

Ester

Kaylee

S'din

Jemah

Obvious exits:

Kitchen Bowl Lower Caverns

S'din is standing off in a corner, watching his weyrlings trickle in. His weyrlings, no longer after this formality. He rubs his hands together, frowning as if trying to remember what he needs to say.

Rilsa wanders in, chatting with a small group of riders and heads to the seating area. She jostles with one bluerider for a chair in the opportune location and settles down.

Holding up the cavern wall near the bowl entrance, Kaylee leans back and watches folk trickle into the caverns. Smiles and nods of greeting are offered as people pass, but her eyes keep flicking back towards the Weyrlingmaster in another corner - awaiting commands as she's grown used to over the past two turns.

The bluerider looks a bit put out at losing his chair but settles down next to the Weyrsecond with a snort.

Tavrie waits alongside K’len, the Weyrwoman and Weyrleader dressed nicely as they wait for all of the guests of honor to appear. A whispered conversation occupies their time, glances here and there check the growing crowd of weyrlings and guests. Tavrie turns now, smiling pleasantly with a look of nostalgia.

Ester stands near the entrance as well, but on the other side of the opening. Her hands are clasped behind her back, her posture straight and formal. She quietly awaits the cue to move into place.

S'din watches the leaders for a moment and when it seems like they are in place, he steps forward. His voice and tone are ones that the weyrlings are well used to. "Line up, weyrlings. It's time to release you to your future."

Ester'll feel a bump at her back as Ta'ryn, absorbed in thought, reaches his destination sooner than anticipated. "Sorry," the blue weyrling whispers, albeit he's already smiling in anticipation of easy forgiveness. He peers over the shorter girl's shoulder with no trouble, suddenly frowning and setting his hands into his hair to try and make it more presentable. "Jays, jays," he murmurs nervously. Let some others handle this lining up business first while he gathers his wits and his 'do.

Like some of his fellow weyrlings, Jo'el's near the entrance. Unlike, he's not standing at attention - he's not even watching the Weyrlingmaster, but for the occassional glance over his shoulder. Instead, he's getting fussed over by an gray haired woman with a Tillek Hold knot. Until S'din speaks, anyhow. When he does, he makes for the line, falling into place amongst a couple other green weyrlings.

Kaylee threads her way through the crowd to slip into line with the rest of her class - a few quick murmured words of agreement towards a couple of the other girls before settling in at attention, with a salute towards S'din for good measure.

"Hey, Teddi," Ester murmurs with a little smile at Ta'ryn. She then pushes from the wall, padding over to where the class is gathering. A salute is fired off in S'din's direction, then to the Weyrleaders, and she falls into place.

A weyrling here and there moves slowly but most step into line with a brisk step and nervous expression.

Ta'ryn follows in the queue, giving S'din a salute that's quite sharp, before cheekily winking at Tavrie and K'len under the visor of his hand. Weyrlings fore and aft of him might catch the quiet, nervous 'heheh' that follows before he presses his lips together and falls silent in his place.

A'riste edges in and looks for a spot somewhere out of the way, still of an age to look like a Weyrling himself-- though the knot at his shoulder betrays that he isn't one at all. "Do you think, T'nnusen," he inquires of one of those who's arrived with him, "That it'll be like yours, where everyone got drunk? I've heard that the Reaches stands more on ceremony. I don't know if I want to see her drunk. She's got knives as big as your sister's-- begging your pardon, Alleyana."

One of the few not decked out in Gather finery, Shanlee arrives late, snags a glass of wine and keeps to the fringes of the crowd gathered to celebrate this auspicious occasion. With a smile and a nod to those nearby, her attention then skips over each weyrling individually until finally it settles on S'din up front.

"I honestly have no idea," T'nnusen chuckles quietly in response, minding the talking up front and trailing along with the Weyrsinger. "You can hide behind me if she does get drunk. I'll hide behind Alley." Sounds good to him!

S'din steps forward, nodding respectfully to K'len and Tavrie before turning to look at the audience. Without glancing at the weyrlings, he starts to speak. "Two turns ago, a hatching presented me with a group of children - both human and draconic - to mold into dragonriders befitting High Reaches." He turns, looking at his group and pauses. "Ashkelonth the Stoic. Kisuth the Cunning. Aicioth the Dainty. That is what they were and they still retain their qualities. But my staff and I ended up with more than that. We ended up with weyrlings who were willing to learn, be strong and proud.

Tavrie nods her head in return to the salutes, her hands remaining clasped in front of her as she looks around. She turns her head to make eye contact with S’din, showing that she and the Weyrleader are ready whenever he is. Guests from outside the weyr then gain her attention and she offers A’riste a shy smile before taking in T’nnusen and Alleyana, smiling warmly for them as well.

Ashkelonth the Stoic. And Ester the Runty. She remains still and silent as the Weyrlingmaster begins, but does quirk a tiny hint of a smile at friends she sees arriving in the audience.

Alleyana, for her part, just raises an eyebrow at A'riste and then grunts something non-committal to Tannu before glancing Tavrie's way. Hn. The broken-nosed guard-turned-rider doesn't smile back, but she doesn't look like someone who often /does/, at that.

S'din continues, "Ciadrith the Determined. Helloth the Implacable. " He adds a few additional draconic titles before grinning. "It sounds so formal, doesn't it? These weyrlings had a lot of personalities to learn to manage. Within that management, they learned not only about them, but themselves. They learned to work as a team. They learned to be a family. It is with pleasure and pride that I turn them over to the Weyr. Weyrwoman ... Weyrleader, please meet the Dragonriders of Pern."

Amilin's part of a gathering of riders, sipping from her wine glass as she watches the proceedings with only the odd comment passing between her fellows now and again. The group is all smiles for the occasion and the greenrider's expression in particular seems to reflect the sentiments of the Weyrlingmaster.

Ta'ryn turns his head, looking at the influx of extra-Weyr knots and faces with curiosity rather than the faint expectation some other weyrlings show the entrance tunnel in furtive glances. But as S'din's speech reaches its thematic crescendo, he looks front and center again with brown eyes round with interest. Then alarm as the reality of weyrlinghood's end hits with the Weyrlingmaster's words, and he suddenly grabs the forearms of the weyrlings - no, riders - on either side of him, like a woman about to go into labor.

A'riste salutes cheerfully to Tavrie, but he doesn't speak more at the moment, lest he interrupt the ceremonies.

Tavrie exchanges one more glance with K’len, as if they’re still trying to get the other one to take the lead, then takes a tiny step forward to look down at the weyrlings from the small platform that helps her to see over the crowd. “Thank, S’din, not only for an excellent introduction but for committing to one of the most important tasks a rider can do – molding the next generation of riders and seeing that they learn what they need to not only survive, but thrive,” she begins, pausing here to acknowledge the Weyrlingmaster. “Tonight, we will welcome you anew as full riders of High Reaches and comrades, no more as underlings. K’len and I,” she glances at him and he grins for the group, “are honored to have that privilege tonight.” The Weyrwoman nods to S’din now, waiting for him to usher the weyrlings up to meet them one at time.

Jo'el keeps an even face as S'din speaks, even those moving, final words. It's his peers' actions that get any reaction of note - Ta'ryn's in particular. Jo arches his 'brows, attempting to peer down along the line without actually disrupting the formal presentation of the moment. Beside him, a tall blonde half-mutters, "He better not faint before we get our knots."

Ester glances down at her arm as Ta'ryn grabs it, then up at him with a little scowl. "Knock it off," she mutters, pulling her arm free of his grip. She the looks to the Weyrwoman as she speaks.

S'din nods to Tavrie before calling out the first few weyrlings. The weyrlings approach Tavrie, giving her a salute and accepting something from them. Then the Weyrlingmaster says. "Ta'ryn, rider of Kisuth.”

Ta'ryn seems as surprised as anyone else to realize that he's latched hold of his neighbors, and no sooner has he released his vice grip and opened his mouth to whisper an apology than he hears his name and looks up at S'din, mouth still open like a shore-bound packfish. He snaps to with alacrity though, audibly swallows, and approaches the trifecta who have been his ranked betters for so long. Without daring a glance at the crowd assembled, the weyrling smiles at S'din and stands before Tavrie, giving her a salute as his ears turn red. One can feel the eyes...

Rilsa has one set of those eyes that are staring at the gaping Ta'ryn. With a snicker, she leans and whispers something to her fellow Weyrsecond, motioning to him pointedly.

From behind her wineglass, Shanlee's expression betrays amusement for the comment coming from Rilsa and she offers one in return, biting her lip to avoid an inappropriate laugh that threatens on its heels.

Tavrie watches the weyrling come forward, reaching out her hand for his after he has saluted. Noting his expression and the blush of shyness at his predicament, the Weyrwoman can’t help giggling softly. “Congratulations, Ta’ryn, rider of blue Kisuth,” she tells him simply, offering out a small yet ornate box that she’s picked up from a small table at her side. K’len stands ready to shake hands, though he is holding a rider’s knot with a strand of blue, and making a face just for Ta’ryn.

S'din waits until Ta'ryn received his box and then says. "Ester, rider of Ashkelonth."

Ester steps forward as her name and that of her lifemate are called. The short little brownrider strides purposefully over to the Weyrlingmaster and Weyrleaders, taller and stronger than her diminutive self might suggest is possible. She snaps off a crisp salute, stopping before them, then awaits further word.

Ta'ryn shakes the goldrider's hand, letting out a small tension-relieving laugh as he glances over and notices K'len's face. "Thank you, Weyrwoman, Weyrleader," he murmurs, taking the box after he's acquired his knot. Even after S'din has called Ester, he stands stark still as though thinking about saying something or doing something more...and then utters a brief, barked laugh and hastens out of the limelight and into the wings.

Tavrie turns from Ta’ryn to watch Ester approach, one hand empty and ready to greet the ex-weyrling while the other gathers up another box, careful to choose a particular one. Tavrie offers out her hand as well, smiling for Ester. “Congratulations, Ester,” she extends before offering out a box and encouraging her to move on to K’len for her lovely brown-threaded knot. The Weyrleader is busy acting relieved to have gotten rid of Ta’ryn in favor of Ester.

S'din shakes his head at Ta'ryn and grins, looking over at a Wingleader or two as if saying 'your problem now'. When Ester receives her box, he calls out a few more weyrlings in order and timing before announcing, "Kaylee, rider of Ciadrith.”

Ester takes the offered hand, nodding once. "Thank you, Ma'am," she replies with a soft smile. She takes the box the Weyrwoman gives her, and then the knot from the Weyrleader. Another, "Thank you," is given, and she moves along, clearing the way for the next Weyrling.

Kaylee gives Ta'ryn and Ester both big smiles as they receive their knots and move off from in front of the Weyrleaders. Suddenly, her name's called, and she steps forward with another quick salute for S'din, a hint of a smile quirking her lips before presenting herself before the Weyrleaders - more salutes proffered to each as she stands at attention before them.

Tavrie gathers up another box and then gives her attention to Kaylee. “Congratulations, Kaylee,” she says, swapping the box as she gets caught with it in the wrong hand and then extending her right hand in the formal shake. She smiles softly as K’len holds out his own hand, ready to greet her himself and then hand over the Junior Weyrwoman’s knot.

S'din offers forth a few more names before saying. "And last, but not least, Jo'el, rider of Aicioth."

Amilin's distracted briefly between the graduating riders. There are whispered words from the man behind her that she returns briefly before she's again giving her full attention to her former charges, least she miss anything. Still, her grin is now tilted a bit to the crooked side for lingering moments to come, even as she watches the last of the new riders be called.

Kaylee clasps Tavrie's hand in her own - a bright smile of thanks on her face as she takes the box from Tavrie, and her new knot from K'len. Quiet, murmured thanks that don't quite carry to the gallery of onlookers are quickly offered before she moves off to stand with the rest of the graduates.

Jo'el looks a smidge uneasy as the group gets smaller and smaller, and eventually he's left all on his lonesome. There's the faintest flash of something like relief on his face as he steps up when called, saluting to both Weyrlingmaster and Weyrleaders.

Tavrie laughs softly at Je’el’s seeming trepidation and then reaches out for him, her expression friendly and reassuring. “Congratulations to you, Jo’el,” she tells him before offering out the last of the boxes. K’len nods once and extends his welcome, offering Jo’el a greenrider’s knot.

Ester stands beside Ta'ryn, lightly leaning into him, head against his arm. She smiles up at him. "I'm sure you'll be able to open it, soon," she notes quietly. As Kaylee joins them, she offers the taller girl a smile. "Congrats, Kaylee."

Kaylee grins at Ta'ryn and Ester as she approaches - widening her eyes in an "Oh, wow!" type manner - but out of line of sight of the Weyrlingmaster and Weyrleaders. "Congratulations to you guys as well!" she whispers, before turning back to watch the rest of the class process through.

Jo'el accepts both the box and knot, relaxing a bit and flashing both the Weyrleaders a crooked sort of smile. "Thank you ma'am, sir," he ducks his head, a sort of bow that isn't, before going to stand with the other, newly graduated riders.

Tavrie and K’len exchange another look and then the Weyrwoman sighs faintly, shaking her head in mock disgust before looking up with one of her Cheshire grins. “Weyrlings no more! Congratulations riders, we look forward to your activity in the wings. I’m sure you’ll be tapped in very soon. You’ve made an outstanding effort and I’m exceptionally proud of this class. And I don’t say that because my I had the privilege of being your clutch mom, either,” she jokes. “Good luck in your futures and enjoy your newfound freedoms – beginning now,” she wafts a hand toward the lavishly piled table of food. “And a special thank you to all our guests that have come to celebrate with us tonight. Welcome to High Reaches and thank you for being supporters of our future. Please, help yourselves and enjoy your evening,” the Weyrwoman concludes, lingering there to let the crowd move away toward the serving table.

"...Very solemn bunch," Tannu murmurs aside at A'riste, "I think Alley's in a trance."

Alley just stares straight ahead. Hmph.

S'din moves to approach his former class. Approaching the first tight knit group, he nods to Ta'ryn, Ester, kaylee and Jo'el. "Congratulations."

Tavrie steps away from K’len and is helped down from the raised platform by a rider nearby. “Thank you,” she tells him before smoothing out her pink dress and then wandering into the crowd, clearly glad to have disappeared below many peoples’ eyelevel.

Kaylee starts slightly at the sound of S'din's voice - even now, the Weyrlingmaster's ability to show up without notice is in full force, but this time she manages a soft laugh. "Thank you, sir." is the simple reply.

S'din arrives just in time to see Ta'ryn duck behind another male weyrling and yell over his shoulder in Tavrie's direction, "We love you, mom!" He'll just nip back to where he was standing and leave another weyrling holding the spot...light. The newly minted bluerider grins guiltily, glancing to his coterie of fellows recently graduated. "Thanks for, ah, being a tolerant Weyrlingmaster and all that, S'din, sir." Case in point.

"I can't take you /anywhere/," A'riste mutters to T'nnusen. "Either of you. Go inflict yourselves on Ester and whoever that is with her. Tell Alleyana there are raiders around or something, it'll wake her up, right? ...And who /is/ that with Ester? She's finally found a man her size?" And he nods toward the pair. But he adds, "I'm going to go try to give a proper greeting, since we're guests and all."

With the ceremonials over, Shanlee offers a warm smile and approving nod of head to each of the newly graduated weyrlings on the heels of Tavrie's well worded speech. A quick word to her co-Weyrsecond, and then the greenrider is slipping out as quietly as she arrived. Likely off on one or other of unspoken errands.

"Thank you, sir," Ester replies to S'din, blinking as she nearly falls over when Ta'ryn suddenly flees. She looks back, trying to find him, and does so. "You're not a Weyrling anymore, Teddi," she chastises lightly, "So stop acting like one." Hmph.

A former weyrling comments under her breath about it being more of a man thing than a weyrling thing.

S'din gives a nod, moving on to the next set of weyrlings to congratulate.

"I'm thinking that's... ah... Ta'ryn maybe?" T'nnusen responds, peering their way. "She's described him before, kind of." And he beams at the other blond boy, "I can't help it if you non-Igenites are all so stoic, now can I?"

Alley doesn't even glance over, her hand just comes out of nowhere and the palm meets the back of A'riste's head. "Hn."

Kaylee gives Ta'ryn an exasperated look, shaking her head before grinning at Ester. "He'll never change."

Tavrie hears the call and sighs in exasperation, turning to see who yelled it but only finding a sea of bodies. At first it might seem like she’s angry, however, her pink lips slide into a little smirk and she rolls her eyes, clearly finding the little joke humorous. Seeming to be off in search of something to drink, the petite Weyrwoman lifts her skirt and makes her way toward the drink table. In the background, starting to rise over the din of conversation, the Harpers have taken their places on the stage and begun to play.

"I wouldn't dare have tried to pull that off as a weyrling with S'din in the room," Ta'ryn retorts, smile as wide as the Telgar River. Before any of his new riding fellows can think too hard about the implications of mischief inherent there, the befreckled bluerider lifts his lacquered wooden box. "What say we open these? I'm dying of curiosity." Brown eyes touch on Ester, Jo'el, and Kaylee in turn but without waiting for accord he's opening the latch of his to discover what's inside.

"What say you open, and tell us what's in," Jo'el retorts to Ta'ryn, turning his own box over in his hands. "Incase it's something that bites, say."

A'riste bats at Alley's hand. "Ouch! Three paragraphs on proper visitor protocol for you! ...Though the staring thing wasn't too bad. And you can't make me run laps in retaliation." And he wanders Tavrie's way. "Fort's duties to High Reaches," he says brightly to her, "And its queens and new class. Well, not his duties--" and he jerks a thumb back toward T'nnusen, "He's from Igen, and I'm sure he'll give his own eventually. Though you might remember him, he's from the last class, and I do recall you attending. Congratulations on such a fine bunch of new riders!"

Deciding Ta'ryn's suggestion is a good one, Ester opens her own box to see what is hidden within. She blinks a few times, then a smile slowly blossoms on her face. She plucks from within a silver necklace with a dark, withered looking shard affixed to it. It's decidedly not a pretty shard, but for some reason she is enchanted by it, quickly setting the box down and putting the necklace on.

A’riste

In his late teens, A'riste is tall for his Turns, just around six feet. And very slender, though riding has put some lean muscle on his narrow frame. His chin-length white-blond hair frames his sharp features, and matches the extreme pallor of his skin; his vivid blue eyes are the only color in his bleached-out countenance.

He is clad in a sharply-tailored Harper blue shirt, a black brocade vest patterned with pale gold musical notes, black wherhide pants, and elegant black boots. At one shoulder is a Fortian rider's knot, woven through with a bronze ribbon for his lifemate, Valioth.

Jo'el's words provoke a titter of a laugh from Ta'ryn. "I'm certain it's a little tunnelsnake hatchling, yes." Pause. "Jo'el the Dainty." He presses his lips together, clearly doing his best not to laugh though his mirth is abundantly clear in his eyes. But they're focused on the gift, and without further ado he opens the box to investigate. The necklace's fine quality causes his brows to raise under his bangs, but the nature of the thing in the setting eludes him a moment. Something yellow, with what appears to be a stamped white letter. "The letter M? W? I think I got the wrong box..." Ever bright, he looks beside him to see what Ester has received, and it clickes. "Ohh! It's from Kisuth's egg! How fantastic, I thought I'd never get a piece of it." Genuinely delighted, he grins at Jo'el and follows Ester's example in slinging the necklace over his neck.

Tannu wanders along with A'riste, a pleasant smile neatly in place. "Igen's duties as well, and congratulations. It looks like it all went smoothly."

"Oh, yes I can," Alleyana murmurs to herself, the faintest of amused smirks twitching at her lips before she heads off towards the other end of the table in search of klah. There has to be klah around here, right? Right?

"Did you say something, m'lady?" Jo'el raises his 'brows at Ta'ryn, innocent but sly, even as he sets to his own box. "Nice," he murmurs, appreciative, as he draws out a necklace with a dark piece of shell set in silver.

Tavrie, having been searching for a drink, finds a bronzerider instead. At the formal greeting, the Weyrwoman lifts her klah-brown gaze to meet A’riste’s blue one. She smiles quickly, nose wrinkling in amusement as she fights back a girlish giggle for his enthusiastic outpouring. “High Reaches’ duties to Fort, and her queens. Thank you. It is A’riste, isn’t it?” she begins, checking for his name. “I don’t believe we’ve spoken, really, but I seem to remember being introduced,” she begins, her lips pursing slightly in amused thought. “You’re even more striking up close than she gave you credit for,” the Weyrwoman notes. “I’m glad you could make it. I did so enjoy Igen’s as well. And yes, I do recognize his face,” she converses amiably with him.

Ester snorts a little, looking between Ta'ryn and Jo'el. "Can Kisuth just catch Aicioth and you both get it over with all ready?" she muses, thick lips quirked in an amused smirk.

Tavrie smiles for T’nnusen when he does indeed offer his duties as well, laughing merrily. “Ahh, your predication came true rather quickly. Reaches’ duties to Igen,” she returns. “And thank you, graduations are always cause for celebration. It’s great to have something good to celebrate,” she notes.

"Fff! Fff!" Ta'ryn splutters at Jo'el's rejoinder, brandishing a finger at the greenrider in startled admonishment. No you di'int! And then - Ester. The poor boy's eyes can't go any wider, but his admonishing hand swings around to point in Ester's direction. "You're both going to drive me to drinking!" It's fair to say that his voice is half an octave higher than usual at that pronouncement. But the greater part of the scandal is too funny not to laugh at; Ta'ryn is soon guffawing at his own expense, giving up the guise of chastising the pair. "Jays," he chuckles, belatedly acquiring a blush.

A'riste beams at Tavrie. "It is. ...I am? How very kind of you to say!" Does his face redden slightly? Why yes, it does. "And to allow us to inflict ourselves upon you all during your ceremony. And--" as T'nnusen introduces himself, "Perhaps I can bring him places after all! We came to cheer for Ester, though we didn't do much cheering, but the acoustics would've made that run right over everyone's speechifying, I'm sure, so we kept our mouths shut, but I think we'll do so eventually."

"No," Jo'el declines with gallantry. "I wouldn't want to risk m'lady's virtue in such ways." He's managing - somehow - to keep a straight face, though the corners of his eyes are tight, crinkling with held-back laughter. But once Ta'ryn's laughing, he'll join in with a low chuckling. "So, you two, any fun post-graduation plans for tonight?" Then it's his ears going red, "Erm. I mean. For this evening."

Ester grins at her handiwork, finally taking up a wine glass for herself and sipping at it lightly. Jo'el's question, then rephrasing get another snort. "They can't both catch her," she notes to the greenrider. "Well, not at the same time."

Tavrie laughs softly, her eyes lingering on the blush and her smile becoming mischievous. “Well, I don’t think inflict is the right word,” she returns, glancing between A’riste and Tannu. “We’re glad to have you. The more the merrier, especially if they are indeed, well, merry,” she muses and then gives a little shrug. “Maybe since you didn’t do as much cheering, you’ll help the Harpers out by getting Ester out on the dance floor, hmm?” she asks.

Although his blush remains, Ta'ryn isn't so morified that he can't eye Jo'el with narrowed eyes and a smirk, clearly contemplating inflicting bodily harm upon him in the form of a well-placed pinch. He restrains himself, biting his lower lip to keep his foolish grin from getting too big. He looks to Ester, blinking in surprise as it appears the brownrider acquired a wine glass while he was distracted. "Where'd you get that?" He stands on tiptoe, looking for any tray-bearers. To Jo'el's question the bluerider shrugs one shoulder, sparing a lopsided grin for his clutchmate's verbal misstep. "No, no plans. I'm, well, I'm sure I won't be able to sleep tonight, graduating was unexpectedly invigorating. I think I might try that 'being drunk' thing everyone raves about. You two?"

"What makes you so sure she'd let them, anyway?" Jo'el tosses back at Ester. He hooks his fingers in his beltloops, rocking from heel to toe. "Try it? You mean you never have before?" As to what he's doing? He shrugs. "No plans. Other than ducking family 'till tomorrow. Wish we had our weyrs already - make it easier."

Ester points at a passing drudge, now a good fifteen feet away, carrying a tray full of wine glasses. Well, a full tray minus one. She sips the red again, blinking up at Ta'ryn innocently behind inky black locks. "I dunno," she murmurs. "Are we doing anything, Teddi?" she asks him curiously. Jo'el gets a little smirk at his question about Aicioth letting them. "Does making you rescue Ta'ryn from the lake ring any bells?" A blink. "I've never been drunk, either," she notes, though she wasn't asked.

"I do enough of that already, but as you command," and A'riste doesn't try to match T'nnusen's splendid bow, but instead salutes airily, "I shall obey -- with regret, I assure you -- since monopolizing you would be unspeakably rude of me. But we shall meet again!" And he steps back -- he's still blushing, and moreso as she's eyed it -- and whirls to seek out Ester.

"I fear that to make plans is to invite their ruination," Ta'ryn quips, lofty tone suggesting that he's quoting from something. "I've never been inebriated, no," he readily admits to the greenrider wth a shrug, smile taking on a shy edge. "Was never very interested, but consensus implies it's enjoyable in a fashion. How's the rhyme go? Liquor before beer..." He trails off to think, face twisting into a moue when Ester brings up The Lake Incident. "Fiend," he accuses her, reaching for her wine. Rhymes be damned, this is revenge.

"I'll at least go along with to watch," Tannu comments with obvious amusement, straightening back up. "That counts, doesn't it?" And with a cheerful parting wave Tavrie's way, he's off with A'riste, moving to link arms as he does so.

Tavrie’s eyes widen as he actually takes her up on the suggestion, then she falls into fit of girlish giggles, breaking off with a sigh after a moment as she watches him head out of sight. “Of course it does. Enjoy!” she offers T’nnusen as he departs on A’riste’s heals. “What a couple of characters,” she says to herself, gently stopping a drudge to accept a glass of sweet red wine.

Brief little scene on an OOCly bad day.

Sat, 03 Jan 2009 22:44:49 GMT

Living Cavern, High Reaches Weyr

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. The air is redolent with the smell of burning conifer wood blended with the myriad odors of the bakery's spices and the kitchen's succulent offerings. 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. Small groups gather here and there in the cavern, relaxing over a snack of freshly baked goodies as they cheerfully gossip.

Contents:

Ester

Ta'ryn

Jemah

Obvious exits:

Kitchen Bowl Lower Caverns

Another cold, winter day, and Ester is where any logical person would be - as close to the hearth as possible without catching fire. She sits in one of the big, padded chairs with a mug of klah beside her on the end table, some pieces of leather in her lap. She seems to be poking at the leather with a small tool. Engraving, perhaps? Has Ester actually taken up - gasp - a hobby?!

Accepted logic does suggest the fireside as a good place to be. Ta'ryn is not there, but then again he's been marching to the beat of his own little drum more than ever before since Weyrlinghood began. A creative interpretation of the duty to "do errands" has had him out in the Bowl for the past three hours, doing frigid battle with a cadre of High Reaches' weyrbrats. With Kisuth as tactician and tank, one might argue Ta'ryn had an unfair advantage, but one man and his dragon against two dozen of the scamps were given a run for their marks. It's defeat that drives Ta'ryn inside rather dramatically - giggling as he's pelted by snowballs at his back. "No! No! No throwing snowballs into the caverns, I told you! Shoo!" One last white projectile zips past his ear as he flaps away the horde at the door. Shouts and laughs retreat, and the blue weyrling turns on his heel, summarily abandoning his charges to the evening. Red-cheeked and grinning, sniffling, he makes for the fire and the big comfy chair he likes, unable to see that it's occupied from his angle of approach.

Of course he doesn't see her, for Ester is short and runty. She has also been doing her utmost to avoid him for a number of days, now. Ever since she gave him a certain book. It may or may not have looked intentional to the bluerider - he /is/ rather flighty and oblivious much of the time, and Ester has been keeping busy between her duties and trips away from the Weyr now that they can travel at will. Still, she's been conveniently asleep at night before he gets in and already awake and gone in the mornings before he arises. Has he noticed? Will he say anything? And most importantly, will he see her before he sits on her?

"Ester!" That answers one of the questions - he sees her, brown eyes going wide over windkissed cheeks, beneath windblown hair. "Do you have a handkerchief on you, perhaps?" Ta'ryn asks, sniffing demonstratively. Apparently the fact that the brownrider is in 'his' chair is of little concern to him; he simply starts divesting himself of hat, gloves, boots, etcetera right next to the chair. Each garment bears the color of war, melting snow turning rapidly to liquid, making for a puddle where he lays his things to rest. "My socks are wet," he mourns, eyeing them as he steps across Ester's line of sight to a drier patch of floor. He settles down cross-legged there, back to the fire. "What're you making?" He jerks his chin towards the leather Ester has. Eyes flow to her mug. "Ooh, klah, good idea." And he's on his feet again. Sniff, sniff.

Tavrie seems stuck, standing at the serving table and staring at the food without actually choosing anything. It’s almost as if she has drifted off to sleep on her feet, but that can’t be the problem. The Weyrwoman moves slowly on, gaping at something else blearily. Finally, she gives a yawn and piles a few random things on her plate before moving on to get some klah. Dark circles ring her eyes and she looks tired.

Ester looks up as her name is spoken, eyes narrowing a touch more than they usually are. She silently sets the leather she's working on down in her lap and reaches into a pocket of her riding leathers, pulling out the ominously red-stained handkerchief she's loaned him before. Without word, she hands it over to him, then returns her attention to her work. She lifts it a bit for him to see. A belt, it would seem, into which she's etching designs in the shape of bovine skulls every four inches or so, though she doesn't verbally answer his question. She sneaks a glance at him once his back is turned as he heads off for klah, then drops her gaze once more. Nope. Didn't look. Can't prove it.

"Why thank you!" Ta'ryn chirps, taking the offered handkerchief between forefinger and thumb. With a bit of a flourish, he brings it to his nose, turning suddenly discreet as he shields his face from the greater part of the cavern and blows his nose as quietly as possible into it. Sniff, sniff. Once more. Before turning back around, he surreptitiously takes something small from his pocket and holds it up, turning his head this way and that. It doesn't take a genius to discern that he has some little vanity mirror or something reflective in his hand, especially when he adjusts his hair. Not-so-secretively ferreting the thing back in his pocket, he turns with a smile, folding the handkerchief. "Shall I have this washed before returning it to you?" Even as he asks his own question, he leans forward to peer at her handiwork. "That's good," he says with a nod, turning on his heel to fetch the klah. "Weyrwoman!" He greets loudly, singsong, before coloring a little and offering the expected salute, though it's a weak thing apparently due to shyness because of his own voice a moment ago. "Good evening, Weyrwoman." Comes out much more sensibly, that try.

Tavrie almost jumps out of her skin at his boisterous greeting, her plate and mug jarring with her surprise and threatening to tip. Blinking away the last strands of her reverie, the goldrider turns to fix her gaze on Ta’ryn and then smiles. “Evening. You sound like a child that’s escaped the nursery,” she informs him, brows rising in amusement and a soft smile appearing on her face. “Is there some sort of wonderful event happening that I missed? What’s with all the enthusiasm?” she wonders aloud, lingering there by the klah for a moment to return the greeting.

Ta'ryn tucks the handkerchief into his sleeve to pour himself a mug of klah, adding spoonfuls of sweetner and a splash of milk atop as he speaks, making an effort to be subdued. Normal, but familiar. "Oh...I was playing with some of the weyr children out in the snow. Kisuth and I had more fun than we...well, more fun than /I/ thought I would have," he admits, raising his eyes from his klah to smile vaguely in Tavrie's direction. "I think I'm finally starting to think of this place as my home," the weyrling admits softly, the tink tink of his spoon against his mug as he stirs underscoring his words. His scarred lips draw together to a pucker of curiosity as he raises his chin, gazing above Tavrie now to eye the food table's goods speculatively. "Any fresh pastries over there, Weyrwoman?"

Tavrie’s smile deepens now and she almost looks thankful. “I’m glad it is starting to feel like home. That’s great,” she tells him. “It takes a while sometimes, but then you wake up one day and you’re home. At least that’s how it happened for me,” the Weyrwoman shares with him. “Err, you know, I don’t know if there were any pastries. I guess I was sort of day dreaming,” she admits, grinning sheepishly. “Do you have a sweet tooth?” she asks him, brows arching curiously.

"A honeyed tongue /and/ a sweet tooth, ma'am," Ta'ryn replies, laughing airily at his own line. He waves his spoon about his face as though dispelling some kind of spinner-web, 'hem hem'ing in his throat. "Sincerely, though, yes. I've always had a bit of one but since coming here it's made itself more pronounced - I go out of my way for sweets now. I think it must be this weather and all the exercise I'm getting," he speculates, his gaze drifting between the goldrider and yonder table. "The people here are very nice," he continues, making a segue back to the topic of home. "That helps...Kisuth helps...maturing helps...I swear I smell cinnamon but I don't see any cinnamon buns!"

Tavrie smirks at him then, looking much more awake. “I had heard that you do have quite the way with sweet words. I haven’t yet witnessed it for myself, however,” she informs him. “Personally, I think High Reaches has some of the best pastries and sweets on all of Pern. Then again, my aunt works in the kitchen and helps out with them, so I might be a little biased. I’ve always been a big fan of sweet buns and breads,” the Weyrwoman admits. She bobs her head in agreement with is list of anchors. “Maturing is good,” she muses. “I’m sure K’len was hoping you would. Sorry, I jest,” she says, looking impish. “Perhaps you’re smelling the candied nuts?” she suggests, pointing to a dish at the end of the serving table near the desserts.

She'd heard? Undeniable curiosity sparks in the lad's face at the suggestion that he's being talked about. He tilts his head and arches a brow slightly, making his interest known nonverbally, before letting the expression slide in favor of smiling in apparent agreement about the treats Reaches has to offer. He opens his mouth to say as much, but then his lips are twisting into a playful scowl because of Tavrie's jest. "Oh yes, mature like /that/ ruffian." Ta'ryn cants his head, that lip scar of his doing wonders for the sly expression he's pulling now. "I bet that veneer of responsibility he's put on because of his knot is as thin as the first coat of varnish on a violin." A wink cements the fact that he's joking, too, at the expense of the absent Weyrleader. He looks over towards the candied nuts, eyeing them thoughtfully as he raises his klah mug to his lips. Pause. Sniff, sniffsniff...he turns his head to his wrist, working his way up to his elbow. "Oh." Crestfallen. "It's my shirt."

Tavrie watches his face with amusement as he takes in what she has to say, smiling a Cheshire grin that seems to say she won’t be elaborating. “Yes, well, perhaps maturity is better gained here -- since you did come from the same place, did you not?” she chides Ta’ryn right back. “Fortunately for him, the knot also offers some tolerance for immaturity. Who can really say much to a Weyrleader? Well, they can say all they want, but that doesn’t mean that the person has to listen. It isn’t as if someone could pull rank on him,” she mutters with a sigh. When Ta’ryn discovers that his shirt smells like cinnamon, Tavrie breaks into soft laughter. “There there, at least you smell good?” she offers as consolation.

"Apparently I don't smell good /enough/, as no one has rushed to present me with the pastries I so crave," Ta'ryn mumbles, feigning chagrin. Everyone knows that if you smell good the ladies (or lads) will rush to cater to your every whim. Doesn't it work like that? He rolls his eyes to the ceiling, but a smile cracks his displeased facade and like sun through the clouds he's grinning again, sheepishly eyeing the floor and Tavrie's feet. "We spent some time in Keroon, yes, but I was from Lemos before that. Not much maturity amongst the Keroonese boys," he says, tone suggesting he's only just realizing this fact now as he gazes at the goldrider's knees. His jaw works, as if tasting the thoughts of his past. "Hm." Eyes glaze, refocus, and lift to Tavrie's face though he never seems to make or sustain eye contact for long. "I think I want to settle down by the fire with something to nibble on, and as Ester probably wants to keep her toes intact, I should detour to the food table first. Will I see you fireside, Weyrwoman?"

Ester remains quiet, working on her leather.

Tavrie laughs softly and heaves a little sigh of contentment. “I didn’t know that about the Keroonese,” she says, face a picture of amusement. The Weyrwoman looks at her food and drink a moment and then smiles. “Normally, I would love to. I still have some stories to pry out of you about younger K’len,” she reminds him. “But for now, I’m going to take my food with me to work. I was up late and I’ll probably be up late again. Gotta get a few things done,” she mutters and shakes her head. “Thanks for the offer. Maybe I can take you up on it another time. Go keep Ester company,” she tells him with a fond smile. That said, she slides past him, turning to offer Ester a smile and a hello in passing as she makes her way out of the living cavern.

Tavrie has Ester over for dinner at her weyr and some girl talk.

Sun, 21 Dec 2008 04:49:24 GMT

Tavrie and Nabrimeth's Weyr

Circularly shaped, the main room of this small ground weyr leads off into two little alcoves that hug the main wall. Overall, the weyr is very clean. Someone has gone to great lengths to see that it is kept in pristine condition. There is a look of simplistic, yet elegant beauty to weyr. A few silken wall hangings of bold crimson create an elegant atmosphere while a select set of furniture gives the place a homey feel without cluttering the floor space.

Off to one side rests a simple, rough-hewn wooden table with four sturdy chairs and a table runner of scarlet cloth trailing from end to end. A series of creamy, multi-tiered candles sit on a diamond-shaped piece of glass to create an elegant centerpiece, each candle having one single ribbon of gold wrapped around and sealed with a crimson wax seal. On the other side of the room, a cozy hearth invites people to come and rest with two comfortable looking, cushioned chairs clustered together, a small table between them for mugs, and off-centered on the fire so that a woven rug of dark, rich colors can lay in the middle before the crackling fire. This is just beside the larger of the two alcoves, which appears to be the bedroom. Just visible from behind a pole and canvas privacy screen is a large, canopy bed. The exquisite bed is covered in a breathtaking comforter of lavish butter yellow with a beaded tassel hanging at each end. Several pillows, most of which are the same golden yellow are pilled at the head of the bed. A soft hide rug rests on the right side of the bed, serving to protect bare feet that might step out onto the cold floor in the morning. Opposite the bed is a mid-sized wardrobe.

The path to the other alcove is a bit longer, less a turn around the wall's edge and more a tunnel, leading to a small bathing chamber lit with glows and with one narrow window set high to allow ventilation. A sheer, white curtain blows in the cool breeze that enters the bathing cavern.

Contents:

Ardon

Obvious exits:

Nabrimeth's Ledge Ledge

While it may be winter outside, the Weyrwoman’s weyr is comfortably warm. The lively sounds of a fire crackling in the fireplace and the smell of cooking herdbeast welcome any that approach the partially pulled back flap to the inner weyr. On the ledge just outside, the large gold rests peacefully, glow light playing on the rosy dapples of her hide. Tavrie is busy setting two places at table, bowls are added and a fresh loaf of bread and butter wait for dinners. “There, ready,” she says, brushing her hands off on a towel that has been tucked through her belt and then tugging it off and placing it in a basket by the hearth.

"Hello?" comes a soft female voice from the entryway, Ester peeking her head in just a little. For all that she has a reputation of brash gruffness, her voice is rather soft and quiet the vast majority of the time, almost like a shy, sullen child. "Ma'am? It's Ester."

Ester

Big, pale green eyes the color of winter mint, caged in with thick 'lashes and crowned by thin, arching 'brows are the most striking feature of the girl's rounded face. Cherubic cheeks and a small but strong chin form her soft jawline, while bee-stung lips and a hawkish nose finish off her features. Her inky black hair compliments her tan skin and has been cut into a rough bowl of wavy locks that hang to her nose, accenting her broad cheeks and rounded face.

One might think her still very young based on height alone, but her diminuitive stature is at odds with the womanly curves she carries. A thick black top with a high-necked collar and long sleeves covers her upper body, leaving only her hands and head bare. Black leather riding pants cover her lower half. Sturdy working boots cover her feet, and her wrists are adorned with several woven bracelets that accent her small but work-worn hands. A simple High Reaches Weyr knot is afixed to the shoulder of her riding jacket, when she wears it, proclaiming her a Weyrling, with a single brown thread running through it to reflect the color of her lifemate.

Nabrimeth rumbles softly, opening one eye to watch the Weyrling peer into the inner weyr. Tavrie smiles and hustles over to pull the rug back further. “Come in, please,” she says cheerfully to Ester, wafting a hand in welcome. Then, she seems to give pause, looking rather ashamed about something before putting on a tentative grin and offering, “I hope you’re hungry, I took a bash at herdbeast stew – with the help of my aunt in the kitchen, of course,” she begins. “Herdbeast, tubers, fingerroots, a little wine, some spices and stuff. Nothing too fancy,” the Weyrwoman claims, wandering toward the table. “I’m glad you could make it,” she says warmly, hands wringing in a nervous manner.

Ester pads in quietly, her hands buried in the pockets of her riding jacket, her posture just slightly slouched and tentative. "Sounds great, Ma'am," she offers with a small attempt at a smile that seems to be aimed at reassuring the Weyrwoman and putting her at ease. "My foster mom makes a similar dish from all the odds and ends of the finer cuts we'd butcher. Alone, they'd just be scraps - good meat - but scraps just the same. She'd make a stew out of them for us." See? She's even trying to share.

Tavrie flinches. “Leave it to me to serve a stew to someone raised by butchers,” she notes, whapping her forehead little with the heal of her palm. Tavrie laughs and smiles, wandering to the table and seeming to keep focused on it, clearly worried about something if the slight nibbling at her lip is any indicator. “Have a seat and I’ll get it from the fire. Feel free to pour yourself some juice or water. I can heat up some klah after the meal, if you like,” the Weyrwoman suggests before altering her course and using a hook to take the stew pot from the fire. This is then hoisted over and set on a hot pad on the table. It’s a small pot, likely only holding enough for no more than six small servings. Tavrie dishes some up, filling the bowls and then sitting down.

"It's actually a good move, Ma'am," Ester tries to reassure her. "If you'd served steak, or a filet, you'd be worrying if the cut was right, if the tenderness was right, things like that. In a stew, the meat's just one part of it." She moves to claim a seat, settling in a bit awkwardly. "Mom isn't a butcher, just the cook. Dad and I worked together on the butchering."

Tavrie smiles in what might be a knowing manner, her eyes bright with merriment and something akin to understanding. “You’re right, stew is the sum of its parts. Sort of like dragonriders. We’re not one thing at all, but many,” she muses, folding her hands and leaning her head into the cradle they make to examine Ester thoughtfully for a moment. “It is still interesting to think of a young woman like yourself as a butcher. There is a certain, well, image that the word –butcher- brings to mind. Though, I’ve never been one for putting people in a box by their appearance or traits,” she admits before pushing a stray blonde lock off her shoulder and moving to cut a few slices of bread. She takes one and then nudges the plate Ester’s way. “Anyway, I’m glad you could join me. Really. Though, please don’t say much of this to the others in the class, I don’t want them to feel I was favoring you in particular. That would be bad for both of us in some ways,” she notes with a frown. “I have thought of inviting everyone up for a warm drink and stories some evening. Or perhaps a game instead,” she murmurs, looking thoughtful and then shrugging. A piece of bread is popped in her mouth and the Weyrwoman chews thoughtfully.

Ester pulls her food closer to her, taking up her spoon to lightly stir at her stew. "Dad looks like a butcher," she notes, apparently getting what Tavrie means. "He's about six and a half feet tall, barrel-chested, thick arms and legs, shaggy hair and a big handlebar mustache. That's what butchers are supposed to look like. Not girls, and definitely girls that never reached five feet in height." She samples the stew quietly, then, offering a small nod of approval. "Taste's fine, Ma'am." At mention of favorites, she shakes her head. "I haven't told anyone. Not even Ta'ryn. And inviting us all up here might be a good idea, if you'd like to."

Tavrie can’t help laughing again, covering her mouth a moment modestly and trying to restrain her mirth. “He sounds like the spitting image of a butcher. In fact, if you say ‘butcher’, that is just what I conjure up. What an interesting twist of fate,” she muses, buttering what is left of her piece of bread and then setting it aside for now. She too stirs the stew and looks thoughtful. “Well, strength is key, and size might help with the carcasses, but people can do many things and skills are learned more often than inherited I think. Not to say that some people don’t just naturally have talents,” the goldrider notes, shrugging. Snatching something Ester said and honing in, Tavrie raises a brow and queries, “-Even- Ta’ryn? Have you two become the unlikely friends?” she asks, curiosity in full bloom on her impish face.

Ester smiles a little and nods in agreement at her foster dad being the archetypal butcher. "I started out as a simple drudge in there, cleaning up after them. Dad figured I wouldn't last a sevenday, but I did. The work started to make me stronger, and in time he started teaching me how to use the blades, how to make the cuts. Slaughtering and hauling takes a lot of strength, but I never did those things. Butchering is somewhat demanding, too, but I built up quite a bit of upper-body strength doing it, and I was far more precise than most of the boys they were training." She shrugs, eating more of the stew. At her question about Ta'ryn, she pauses. Looking down at her stew, she asks, "Are you asking me as my Weyrwoman, or simply as one girl to another? I ask because you've yet to have me stop calling you Ma'am, though it was my impression you wanted this to be a casual dinner. Some things are harder to tell a Ma'am than a friend."

Tavrie nods in agreement as Ester speaks. “You know, I personally believe that women are more likely to follow directions precisely. Men seem to always rush through things and work with their egos up front,” she comments. “The upper body strength will definitely come in handy as a rider,” she adds to that. “I never lifted so much as a finger. I’m not really athletic or anything. So, Weyrlinghood was challenging for me,” the Weyrwoman admits. Ester’s answer of a question gets a smile out of Tavrie. “I’m asking you as one nosey woman to another, really. I don’t like to bring my Weyrwoman hat in here – business is only supposed to plague me outside my weyr,” she notes with a little purse of her lips for emphasis on the subject. “And the ma’aming, well, I don’t know what to do about that, really. I’m afraid that S’din will box my ears if he catches word of me telling one of –his- Werylings to drop the ma’am. I’ve always hated being called ma’am. It sounds so old and staunch,” Tavrie admits, making a face of disgust. “However, my telling people to not call me ma’am has a few people rather irritated. They’re questioning my leadership ability. So, what shall we do? You and I both know your rules and you know where I stand. I suppose, since this is a dinner and not a meeting, you can call me Tavrie or just drop the ma’am, it won’t bother me. But again, it isn’t something that, for your sake mostly, belongs outside this weyr,” she says, lips shifting as she tries to make a good decision.

Ester listens and nods. "I'd never even think of addressing you otherwise in front of anyone," she states simply, looking up now to meet the other's gaze. "And I don't ask because it bothers me. I ask because I'm trying to gauge what we're doing here. I know you invited me here to offer me friendship, someone to talk to, but if I may be so bold as to speak plainly, you seem like you could use a friend, yourself. If I am to try to be your friend, it's easiest when we're on equal footing, regardless of what our stations may be out there." That settled, she relaxes a little. "We're more than unlikely friends," she allows. "What we /are/, I'm not sure. I love him, and he knows I love him, and my telling him didn't scare him away. I doubt he has quite the same feelings for me, but that's partly because of who he is. He's a free spirit, full of mystery and whimsy. It's a big part of /why/ I love him, so I'd not have him change just to love me the same way."

Tavrie’s face smoothes into a look that’s serene and serious. She bobs her head in agreement, stirring the stew but refraining from eating for the moment. “It’s kind of awkward, isn’t it? Things always get caught up in positions and titles lately. I won’t deny it, I do need a friend. Though choosing friends or simply making friends seems harder with every change in my life. I got close to K’len, M’wen and I feel apart. I changed titles, some people shied away and others tried to get closer as if to benefit. For a while I sort of held everyone at arm’s length. Then, on top of it all, there was the baby. That is a whole new ball of yarn for me and I feel, somehow, like a lost a piece of myself. I’m trying not to feel that way, it isn’t as if it just aged me and all,” the Weyrwoman cuts off, shrugging. “But to put it more simply, I am trying to get to know more people, to make friends. And the look on your face the other day, well, it reminded me of how I felt,” the blonde admits with a little shrug. A brief pause follows, letting that settle. “Ta’ryn is an interesting character for sure. I think I’d have to agree with you. He is lighthearted and mysterious. I find him hard to read, so that just makes me all the more determined to try and unravel his secrets. I hope that, in loving him, you don’t get your heart broken,” Tavrie says softly, lowering her gaze and taking a bite of her stew.

"My heart isn't his to break," Ester replies once more in that flat, simple tone, very matter-of-fact. "He may be my first love, but he won't be my only one. I'm a weyrbrat, born and raised, and despite what my foster parents may have hoped for me, I was never going to be a settle-down-and-marry type. It's not who I am. I don't want a husband or a weyrmate, and I certainly don't want children. I've nothing against them, but I know who I am and what I want, and I value my freedom too much. Maybe that makes me incredibly selfish, but it's who I am. Trying to be someone else wouldn't make me or anyone else happy. So no," she concludes. "He won't break my heart. I love him for who he is, as he is. The only things he could do to hurt me would be intentional, and I know he won't intentionally hurt me."

Tavrie continues eating while she listens, looking up to show she is paying attention here and there. Pausing thoughtfully, she tears a hunk off her bread and hrms to herself. “I guess we’re pretty different in that regard. I wanted to be a wife and a mother very much. I wanted to have a happy, loving and stable life at the hold like my parents have. But, I wasn’t ready when father started talking about a handfast, so I tried to leave for just a short time and ended up on the Sands,” she shares. “I didn’t know what to do with myself as a Weyrling and a rather staunch holdbred sort. My notions have led me in some fine circles, really,” she murmurs, shrugging helplessly. “I guess, when you desire one person to focus your love on, it is easier to have your heart broken. But, I’m glad that you seem to know who you are and what you do and don’t want. I wish I had figured that out earlier in my life,” she admits.

Ester shrugs a little, tearing off a bit of bread to sop of stew juices from her bowl. "It sounds like you knew what you wanted," she observes, "But it came faster than you were expecting it to, and then your world got turned upside down." She munches the dipped bread thoughtfully, then asks, "Did you like the boy they were talking about? Or was it just a general talk about finding one?"

Tavrie nods and smiles. “I did know what I wanted, until I Impressed. Then yeah, my whole world turned upside down and I didn’t know what to do. I resisted it for a while, the new path, that is,” she admits with a frown. The frown deepens now and she chews more slowly. “I didn’t like him, no. I thought he was a bad choice and that my father wasn’t thinking of me at the time, just the benefits from the family connections. It seemed unlike him. I also had this notion that maybe I’d meet someone myself, at a gather or something,” she notes, shrugging. “Perhaps I’m a little too romantic for my own good -- always lingering on soppy Harper’s tales and such,” she offers, grinning in spite of herself.

Ester returns the grin with a small smile of her own. "It sounds like you have what you wanted, now," she points out, "Plus a beautiful dragon. You seem happy with K'len, you have a family starting, you have the best weyr in the bowl..." Another bit of bread is eaten. "It could be a lot worse, at least."

Tavrie looks suddenly shame-faced, eyes dropping to her lap. “I am happy, really I am. I love being back at High Reaches and winding up with K’len was a tale that I never thought would be spun for me. I’ve had my share of nasty moments at the hands of winning riders,” she admits with a brief grimace. “But things are good for me now, they weren’t always. Things rise and fall, I guess. I have K’len and Kariel, M’wen and I are mending, I’ve been reunited with old friends and I’m beginning to make new ones,” she notes. “So really, things could be a lot worse. But it has taken me turns to get here. I was content, if a little lost before. Nabrimeth helped guide and comfort me,” she notes. “I’m actually rather embarrassed to have so much,” she says, explaining some of her embarrassment.

"Don't be," Ester tells her plainly. "Enjoy it. What's the point of going through everything you've gone through to get here if you can't enjoy it when you have it? You've earned it, or you wouldn't be here, right now." Something in Tavrie's speech hit a soft spot with Ester, however, and she frowns thoughtfully. "Were you... I mean, had you been with anyone before your first Flight? I know, it's pretty rude to ask, it's just... I'm dealing with something myself, right now."

Tavrie furrows her brows. “I doubt I really deserve much. But, you’re right, not enjoying it would be wasting it,” she admits to herself more than anyone else. At Ester’s question, the Weyrwoman goes a little pink the cheeks and laughs. “As a helpless little holder girl, no, I hadn’t been with anyone,” she admits, looking a little sheepish, but holding up under the embarrassing topic. Tavrie rolls her shoulders in an easy shrug. “I had expected that maybe I’d be with M’wen before my first flight ever happened. But that wasn’t how things worked. He and I danced around each other. I wasn’t positive how he really felt, just thought and hoped he might like me the way I liked him. And I didn’t want to push things because I didn’t know how he felt. So, after a few months of that, Nabrimeth decided it was time and things never really fell in place for M’wen and I again. A bronze from Fort caught, landing me with S’kris. He was a fun, flirty guy and I was really glad that my first flight wasn’t bathed in too much drama. But, I think M’wen had strongly hoped to win the flight and when Maxeoth lost, he was really hurt. He avoided me for some time afterwards, thinking I was going to be weyrmates with S’kris just because he won the flight,” she tries to explain.

Ester listens, nodding here and there, clearly paying attention. "Which is silly," she notes when Tavrie's finished, "To weyrmate with someone just because of a Flight." She shakes her head, waving it off. "I'm... not wanting my first time to be a Flight," she murmurs quietly, hands brushing her hair back from her eyes. "I really don't. There are several reasons, and it's complicated, but... That's a bit of my stress, right there."

Tavrie smiles and laughs. “You know, I felt that way, too. But at the same time, I didn’t want to just jump into someone’s arms, either,” she shares with Ester. “Actually, that seems to be a big concern that ripples through the ranks of the female riders. Though, obviously it is more common with holdbred girls and those a bit younger,” she clarifies. “So, I know what you mean and I shared your concern. You may or may not get a choice there, who is to say? I guess it comes down to whether or not you follow rules, when graduation is, and how well Ashkelonth flies. Or I suppose, how interested he is in flights,” Tavrie amends.

"Graduation is soon," Ester answers. "I follow the rules, but with our Flight lecture done, I'm noticing not everyone considers that a rule, anymore. As for Ash, he's noticed females, but never had an urge to chase, yet. Kisuth's rubbing off on him, though, and that could quickly change. I dunno... It's not that I have some preconceptions about 'it', or think that 'it' should only ever happen in Flights or love. I /am/ weyrbred. I just... A total stranger, quite possibly, for my first? And being awkward and likely bad at it? I don't like anyone seeing my weaknesses or vulnerabilities, and it doesn't get any weaker or more vulnerable than that." She shrugs again. "Ta'ryn /wants/ to wait for Kisuth to catch, which I can understand, I guess. It just leaves me with few options."

“Well, a stranger or, as I didn’t want, someone just randomly elected. You’ll do, let’s practice,” she murmurs with a grin and a playful wrinkle of her nose. “I do understand, though. I went through it, I promise. But things snuck up on me,” she maintains. “So, I guess it comes down to you. Pick someone on purpose and fail to enjoy the experience by making it forced, encourage it with a little alcohol and still lose out, or experience it in flight when you aren’t likely to be in control at all and when memories of the moment end up foggy. Flights aren’t ever what you think. Nabrimeth has risen…” she counts on her fingers a moment, trying to remember. “Well, at least 9 times or so, I forget. But I don’t always remember details. And of my first flight, I remember nothing before waking up exhausted,” she reveals. “I guess you’ll just have to think a bit more and then make your decision and stick with it. It isn’t the end all be all, really,” she murmurs with a roll of her eyes.

Ester smirks, shaking her head. "I'm not going to just grab a stranger," she clarifies. "That's kind of the whole point. /Avoiding/ it being a stranger. And just because it's on purpose doesn't mean it can't be enjoyed." A soft sigh and a shrug. "After graduation, I may be paying Te'an a visit, it seems." She chews idly on a bit more bread, now, looking a bit lost in thought.

Tavrie laughs and nods. “Not a stranger, gotcha. And yeah, I guess so. All I’m gonna say on the topic since the holdgirl in me is simply dying, is that it isn’t something you can enjoy with your mind,” she notes and then looks as busy as she can finishing her stew.

Ester's smirk turns into a small grin. "Sorry if I've made you uncomfortable," she offers. "In the future, I can avoid such topics if you'd rather." She sets about finishing her own food, as well.

“It isn’t that –you- made me uncomfortable, I’m just still not very good at talking about such things,” Tavrie admits sheepishly. “I don’t think there are any topics you have to –avoid- with me. But, well, I suppose some of the responses you get might be thin. Unless of course I’ve had a drink or two. I don’t tend to do that often. Juice is just fine and I’m more of a sweet tooth than a liquor lover,” she explains for herself. “Want to curl up by the fire and have some klah, if you’re finished that is?” the goldrider asks. “I’ve got a plate of cookies over there, too, when you’re ready,” she adds.

Ester blinks. "Sure," she replies. "Thanks." She gets up and helps with organizing dishes to be easily cleaned later, a force of habit it seems. "And thanks for having me over. I really appreciate being able to just take a night off and unwind. Things have been stressful for me, lately." Once she's done helping clean up, she makes her way to the fire.

Tavrie tries to sort things out with M'wen again, and also runs into Ester.

Sat, 20 Dec 2008 01:06:15 GMT

Snowasis, High Reaches Weyr

Contents:

M'wen

Obvious exits:

Ledge Lower Caverns

The snowasis is nearly empty at this time of early afternoon, the biting cold of a High Reaches winter keeping many within their weyrs. M'wen is one of the few exceptions, a thick fur-lined jacket wrapped tightly around his shoulders and a steaming mug cradled tightly in his hands. An involuntary shiver crosses his body before the brownrider returns to a distant, musing look, a few hides laying past his hands forgotten on the wooden table.

M’wen

Of sturdy build and wiry frame, this young man of what could be guessed to be around 22 turns looks stalwart in body and sharp in thought. Large in stature but small in presence, it is not uncommon to look and see only the seeming mundanity and overlook this rider. He has hair cropped short against his head, the chestnut hues pressed flat, most likely from the riding helmet so frequently worn. His eyes rest centered in an oval face, usually remain devoid of displayed emotion. Despite this, you can still see crinkles about the corners of his eyes suggesting that whether or not he is now, this brownrider does have a jovial streak.

He is wearing a simple tunic of a dark blue that fits neatly over his thin body, and long trousers of a light brown. Around his waist is a small belt of leather with a swirling design carved directly into it, and an exquisite buckle set with a precious stone. On his feet are simple, but practical boots of wherhide with leather bindings, that look tough but comfortable. His knot signifies that he is a brownrider as well as Wingleader of Snowstrike, and the blue and black signify him as from the High Reaches.

Tavrie slides into the Snowasis with a yawn and a shiver. Bundled in an unbuttoned wherhide coat with luxurious fur around the collar and sleeves, the Weyrwoman looks warm and snug. High boots that reach to her knees are a slimming and elegant touch, almost yielding a surprisingly severe look to the young woman. Blonde tresses have been caught into a tidy braid today, the long end laying over one shoulder. She caries a scroll in one hand while the other rests on a sling running across her stomach. She pauses once inside and glances around. Her eyes fall on M’wen and she smiles despite herself, wandering his way. “Afternoon, Wingleader,” she greets him warmly.

M'wen's attentions stay elsewhere for a moment after the greeting, his head only swiveling around as a spark of recognition for the voice crosses his face. His eyes take in her figure, the appraising look obvious before he ducks his head, a shy look few would expect from a Wingleader. "And to you, Tavrie," he replies, ignoring the use of titles, his voice, however, directed to the table. "Have a seat if you want." He wills himself to raise his head, a small, almost hopeful smile given, "It's been a while, hasn't it?" The brownrider spots the sling, his expression only clouding for a moment before he rearranges it back to a warm, albeit slightly more forced, smile.

Tavrie strides right past him at first without so much as another word. She stops at the window, requesting a warm drink and then turning to if he is in need of something. “Do you need a drink or a refill, M’wen?” she asks, face set in a kind smile, though laced with uncertainty or perhaps guilt. She lingers there, waiting to here from him and to receive her order. Before long, someone passes her a steaming mug of something.

"No. Thank you." M'wen replies, his smile taking on a more repentant edge, the brownrider seeing how his changing expressions are making her feel. He waits for her to fetch her own drink, taking a sip of his own to further show no need for her to fetch anything. The brownrider sighs softly, watching the goldrider closely, his expression nigh unreadable.

Tavrie smiles and nods to the woman, before turning and heading over to him. Here, she sets down what appears to be a mug of hot carob and her scroll, then proceeds to take of her coat. The sling that is looped over her shoulder to lay against her stomach is carefully shifted to rest on her back and then she sits, perched on the edge of her seat. She retrieves her mug and takes a moment to appraise the Wingleader, then smiles again. “You look well,” she says simply. “How do you find the load of Wingleader duties?” she asks.

"Less than what R'hin had me do," M'wen begins, the brownrider forcing his gaze to stay on her face and not look at the sling. "And more than what Melata had me do. I keep up with my duties." He pauses for a moment, considering a response, "You look good too. I hope us not running into each other has nothing to do with you being overworked?" He gives an awkward grin, as though exchanging pleasantries feels alien to him.

Tavrie purses her lips in thought a moment and then shakes her head. “Well, I’ve been keeping pretty busy, though for a while I kept to the hatching grounds and all. There have been many things to get sorted out lately, it seems like the err, previous leaders, left us some rather large messes -- literally and diplomatically,” she explains. “Though really, I’ve still been feeling a little guilty and I felt coming around might make it feel like I was rubbing things in your face or something. I’m not immune to your expressions,” she admits, lifting her mug and chancing a sip.

M'wen lets a chuckle escape, the mention of messes helping to ease the tension that had been forming. "I don't really want to know about these literal messes you speak of." He leans his elbows on the table, lowering his voice to what he hopes is a soothing tone, "I would rather see you with everything that has happened then not at all. We're-" He pauses, thinking of the next word, "-good friends I'd like to think and good friends don't blame each other for things outside their control." He gives a reassuring grin, "I'm not subtle enough with my expressions, am I?"

“Subtlety isn’t one of your stronger points, no,” she replies with a grin. “M’wen, you’re this interesting mixture of stone and emotional goo,” she says. “It’s always been both endearing and repelling. You just need to find away to become both at the same time, hrm, like clay,” she says, holding her mug in both hands to warm them. “I’m glad that you still think of me as a good friend. The feeling is mutual,” Tavrie tells him. “I’ve wondered how you’ve been,” she says after a moment.

"Emotional goo does sound kind of repelling, doesn't it?" M'wen asks rhetorically, trying to appear in a bantering mood though he looks slightly hurt by the comment. He raises his lips in a mimicry of a grin though his heart isn't in it, "What reason have I ever had to not be your friend? You seem to think that I should hate you or something." A beat. "I could never hate you." He takes a sip from his steaming mug, "I've been good...Enough. Just going through the motions of the day, you know what I mean? It's not so bad."

Tavrie shakes her head. “Actually, goo is attractive and stone is repelling,” she notes casually. Tavrie frowns now, picking up the hurt in her friend’s countenance. “I wasn’t trying to make you feel bad, M’wen. It isn’t a bad thing to wear your heart on your sleeve,” she offers, voice soft. “It’s much better than arrogance and hotheaded, for example -- things that definitely aren’t you. Your ability to be compassionate and caring make you a great leadership choice,” she notes. “And, I guess I do expect you to hate me sometimes. Maybe sometimes I still hate myself,” she admits. “And I’m scared that if things keep on being so awkward between us, I’ll lose you even as a friend. But I don’t know how to heal things. Well, or even if I can heal things. I feel like everything about me now is likely to just repel you,” she mumbles, looking at her drink and swirling it in the mug.

M'wen lifts a brow, a small 'oh' escpaing at the first comment. "Not too many people seem to feel that way around me. They seem to think I'm weak because I don't keep everything bottled up." He frowns, another sigh escaping his lips. His shoulders droop at her next words, "How can you say you hate yourself? I've never understood that self hating side of you, you seem to want to carry the Weyr on your shoulders and please everyone. It's very endearing, but I can tell it tears you up inside." He lifts his hands from the mug and puts them against his chin to lean forward slightly, "Life happens, how could I be repelled by anyone who is just trying to be happy, especially you? Maybe things don't need to be healed. Maybe the only thing needed is time."

Tavrie shrugs faintly, seeming to draw into herself when he pinpoints one of her weaknesses. “I don’t, I’ve just always been that way,” she answers softly and truthfully. “When I have responsibilities to people and friends to care for, I do my best to make everyone happy and keep life as good as possible for those around me. But I know that I can’t please everyone. And sometimes, I just feel bad when something that pleases me is bad for someone else,” she admits. Tavrie cinches the edge of the sling down a bit from where it was creeping toward her neck, the bundle still hidden away safely behind her as if she were ashamed.

"But see, that's the thing," M'wen replies, trying his best to not let the goldrider beat herself up. "You don't have to worry about me. There are things that I wish could've been different but if I was truly your friend, which I am, you should know that I am happy when you are even if the reason for it may not have to do with me." His words are halting, a bashful grin given at how foolish he may sound. "Please don't feel bad."

Tavrie lifts her eyes from the drink and smiles at him, sighing softly as she exhales a held breath. “I know. I probably do more harm doubting that side of you,” she says. “Thank you, M’wen. I don’t know what I did to deserve such a friend. You know, you’ve been someone that has continuously altered my path through life,” she tells him. “Becoming my friend here and helping me to get over L’sen when he Impressed and our friendship fizzled, Searching me -- you’ve been there for me for a long time now,” the Weyrwoman tells him. “I appreciate that and you more than you know,” she admits. “But I can’t help thinking you are sort of, well, unhappy. Despite working hard with your wing, I don’t see you out having fun much. I would know, I have to appear at all the events and smile for everyone,” she states.

Ester

M'wen and Tavrie are sitting across from each other at one of the tables, talking in low voices. Both have mugs before them and M'wen seems to be almost blushing from some unheard comment. "Just know that I'm on your side, I'm not the sort to put wild aspirations before others happiness." He shrugs his shoulders slightly, giving a noncommittal twitch of his fingers, "I'm not really unhappy, I just haven't really had much to make me feel like having fun recently, not really anything else to it."

In pads the Littlest Weyrling - well, as far as size goes, at least. Her reputation on the other hand, is likely much bigger than her considerably big dragon, even. Blunt. Cold. Quick tempered. A loner. It's all been said. Word is she even called a visiting Istan bronzerider a drunken brute. Poor S'din must have his hands full with this one. Today, though she seems... Happy. Or at least far more serene than she usually is. There's even a ghost of a smile upon her thick lips. Hide the knives.

Tavrie nods in reply to this and sips her carob again. “I can tell, really. But I don’t know what to do to fix that. I guess I can’t. But seeing you surviving instead of living makes me sad and makes me blame myself. As you mentioned earlier, I feel responsible for it,” she admits. This said she shakes her head. Noting someone else entering, the Weyrwoman looks up and lets her gaze fall upon Ester. “Afternoon, Weyrling,” she greets the little future brownrider politely and with a friendly smile.

"I'm feeling a little better now," M'wen replies with a small grin to the goldrider. "I thought you were ignoring me for the longest time, and that is something that would make me sad." The greeting given by Tavrie is met with a raised brow and a swiveling of the Wingleaders head, the greeting being echoed as his gaze falls upon the Weyrling. He doesn't say anything more, just letting the two women talk if they feel so inclined.

Ester snaps off a crisp salute that seems rather easy and automatic despite its formality. "Weyrwoman," she greets in a soft, quiet voice. "Wingleader." The saluting hand falls to her side, her duties given, and she makes her way further into the lounge.

Tavrie laughs and shrugs. “I guess I felt you’d be happier if I left you be,” she admits. “But I wasn’t ‘ignoring’ you,” the goldrider insists. She raises a brow and grins, indicating with her head. “Did you ever imagine she’d Impress our largest brown?” is asked of the one time Candidate Coordinator. “Join us once you’ve gotten a drink, that is, if you wish. I’ll introduce you High Reaches’ best rider, and the one that Searched me,” the young woman tells Ester.

M'wen chuckles along with Tavrie, "Next time, run these guesses by me before assuming. I missed you." Hiss gaze lifts to look at the weyrling, a smile pulling at the corner of his lips, "No, I didn't, but than again I never imagined I'd impress at -all-." Her last comment gets a playful, "Hey, you're embarrassing me."

Ester gets herself a steaming mug of klah, glancing over her shoulder when the Weyrwoman invites her to join them. A blink. "...Thank you, Ma'am," she murmurs in reply. She does a good job of acting like they aren't talking about /her/ while they talk about her, making her way over once her mug is full. She takes her klah black, no cream, no sweetner. A small but work-worn hand tugs a chair out and the little Weyrling settles into it, mug on the table with both hands wrapped around it.

“Well, Ester, you may have run into M’wen back when you were a Candidate, but that was a time of chores and keeping busy. So, I’ll introduce you again as two people with brown lifemates. Ester, M’wen, M’wen, Ester. And M’wen, don’t feel bad if Ashkelonth leaves Maxeoth in the dust for size,” the Weyrwoman chides his male ego. “How have the Weyrling classes been treating you? Is S’din a tough Weyrlingmaster? My Weyrlingmaster was I’daur,” she babbles, seeming happy to switch topics and drink her more than likely cool carob.

M'wen nods to the Weyrling, a cordial smile on his face, "Well met Ester, I hope you've been keeping busy and out of trouble." His tone is jocular and friendly as he turns back to Tavrie, "It's not the size that matters, it's..." He trails off, chuckling slightly while sipping his own, probably cold drink. Turning back to Ester he adds, "S'din was my Weyrlingmaster, not the friendliest of people, I'll tell you that, but he knows his stuff."

"Well met," Ester returns. At the mention of Ashkelonth's size, she notes, "He's not quite the longest brown. A few others are longer. But in terms of sheer bulk and mass... I'd imagine he weighs as much as some bronzes. Maybe more than a few." She sips her klah as Tavrie unloads her barrage of questions, then tackles them in order. "Classes have been fine. We're almost done, now. S'din's all right. He's certainly knowledgeable."

“Does he still have any growing to do? I’m afraid I’ve lost track of time since the Hatching,” she admits. “Life sort of became a blur for me lately,” she mutters, falling quiet for a moment and then smirking to herself. “When S’din was first reassigned, the first story I was told about him was that during one season, the Weyrlings were caught with a nude picture of him that one of them had drawn. I guess they found him attractive back then,” Tavrie muses with her trademark Cheshire grin.

"Must have been a -long- time ago then." M'wen states with a perfectly innocent face. "He was pretty old 10 turns ago." He can't help but chuckle a little bit, giving a small grin over to the Weyrling, trying to indicate he doesn't mind a little bit of banter about the man.

"No, he's pretty much full size now," Ester answers Tavrie. She makes a face at Tavrie's story, nodding slightly in agreement with M'wen. "He's... not my type," she admits, lifting her mug to take a sip. "Though it was fun freaking him out when I flirted back at Master Balendar during firestone lecture."

Tavrie snickers along with M’wen and nods. “I really can’t say much, though. I mean, the first time I ever had more than one drink at a time, well, I all but threw myself at the I’daur and that was really embarrassing. He was rather old,” she mutters, shaking her head. “And just out of Weyrlinghood, too. Eww,” the young woman groans and shakes her head. “I’d like to just forget that. I don’t blame you for not thinking S’din is your type. It’s likely much better that way,” she notes. “And hrm, whether he grows more or not, he’s a big brown for sure,” the Weyrwoman tells Ester. “I had better be meeting with S’din some time. It is sounding like the time is fast approaching for graduation. You’ve all been between and continued practicing. So, what is left? Hrm, the boring mating flight talk, perhaps? Can’t be many more weeks. I will drag K’len out to meet with S’din and find out when to get the menu for,” she says, mostly to herself.

"We just had the Flight lecture," Ester notes. "So we're pretty much done. Just doing drills until graduation, really." If she's eager to see Weyrlinghood end, she doesn't show it. She's actually rather noncommittal on all of it, really. Perhaps it's boredom, or perhaps it's something deeper.

M'wen can only look across to the Weyrwoman with a disapproving look on his face, the story obviously one he knows but not one he likes to hear. M'wen gives a small cough, "Umm, yeah, it's best to not get mixed up with those teaching you. Sometimes it's not so bad-" A sideways glance is shot to Tavrie, "-but usually it's best to keep your personal life away from your work and training." He glances over at Tavrie with a smile, "Oh? The graduation is soon? I didn't even notice... That'll be quite something." He slides his chair back, its legs scratching on the floor as he stands to his feet, "But despite how much fun I'm having here, I have duties to return to. Again, well met Ester and I hope to be seeing you again." He turns to walk away, giving one look behind to grin at the Weyrwoman, "You too, don't be hiding from me again."

Tavrie waves and smiles to M’wen, but once she’s gone, the woman heaves a little sigh of relief. She spins the bundle around, shifting it over her head to rest the tied end on her other shoulder and lets the sling lay in her lap. A glimpse inside and then she turns her attention back to Ester. “You seem more, well, serious than when I’d met you before on the sands and such. Are you alright? Do you miss your father in Igen?” she asks. “It didn’t take me long to settle in here, then again, I was sort of running away from home in a manner of speaking,” the Weyrwoman admits.

Ester's gaze lowers to her mug of klah, one can almost see her withdrawing from the conversation when the topic is brought up. What to say? She considers her options quietly before speaking. "My life is a lot more serious now, Ma'am," she answers at last. "I have duties and responsibilities now, more than I ever had as a butcher at Igen. I'll be getting even more, soon. I look forward to the challenge, though."

Tavrie looks thoughtful and nods, smiling kindly. “Being a Weyrling and then a rider, it’s a lot of work. And, for me, I think that beyond the physical busy work, the stress of emotional aspect and expectations was harder. I was a nanny and a kitchen helper here, having begged to stay and work here instead of returning to the hold. I may not have felt ready to be married off and I didn’t like my father’s choice, but I think I’m a pretty simple girl. I planned on getting married and having a big family some day. Those were my aspirations and expectations of myself. Then, I found myself a dazed Weyrling with a gold beside me and my life turned upside down. I rejoiced in Nabrimeth, she was so loving toward me that it broke my heart. And yet, a part of me was terrified and mourned for the life I had just lost -- a life of stability, certainty, simplicity. And then, after Weyrlinghood came graduation and I became bound to work with and follow around the Seniore Ice Monster,” Tavrie shares, shrugging. “I was pretty unhappy for a while, but through a few friends, like M’wen, I sort of just plucked up the courage to do what I had to do, whether I liked it or not. It’s good that you like challenges. That’ll help you a lot in life now. How is it with your lifemate? Is it difficult that he is, well, a he? I’ve never asked that of a female rider with a male lifemate before,” she admits, looking curiously.

Ester listens politely, her gaze still down as Tavrie talks, but her discomfort is growing. Fingers fidget with her mug, tap at it idly, little tics that signal restlessness. Whatever she's thinking, she keeps it to herself. She does listen, though. The Weyrwoman is feeling fit to share personal history with her, so it would be rude not to. When Ashkelonth is brought up, and their clashing genders mentioned, a faint hint of a smirk quirks her beestung lips. "I'm not sure how to answer that," she offers honestly. "Is it difficult? It can be, I guess. Compared to what, though? Having a second presence in your head is likely difficult, no matter what gender it is. So I have no other frame of reference to compare it to."

Tavrie laughs and nods. “I suppose you’re right, really. Nabrimeth isn’t very like me in some ways, but a lot like me in others. So while it took some time to get used to her, it wasn’t that difficult. She’s is a mixture of playful both playful child and Lady Holder. You never know which person she’ll be. And she isn’t always fond of having to sit back and be elegant when she’d like to be in a mud pit, playing rough with the boys,” Tavrie admits. The goldrider just shrugs and falls quiet a moment, finishing off her drink. “I’m sorry, I’m not very good at sitting and making small talk. Well, that is a lie. Diplomatically speaking, I think I do well enough to meet and greet people. But it isn’t the same as when you’re speaking to a friend or someone from home that you’re getting to know,” she muses, pointing at Ester’s hands that were just fidgeting. “I can tell you aren’t the sort that is good with small talk or this is a topic we’d best drop,” she notes with a friendly little smirk and a twinkle of wry amusement in her eyes.

Ester looks up from her mug of klah at that last bit. "I appreciate what you're trying to do, Ma'am," she murmurs softly. "And I mean no disrespect, but what you went through, and what I'm going through aren't the same. Everyone has difficulties. Mine are no worse than anyone else's. But they are different, and they are mine."

Tavrie dips her chin in acknowledgement. “Forgive me for my ignorance and interference,” she says softly, face set in a placid smile. Gently and with slow movements, Tavrie rises and gathers up her coat. Her high boots make soft clicking sounds as she returns the mug to the counter at the window. Upon returning to the table she says, “Best of luck to you, Weyrling.” Her tone is formal and more distant now, petal pink lips still set in a sweet smile though her brown eyes look sad. This said, she turns and heads out toward the ledge.

Ester sighs and closes her eyes, hands lifting to her face. "Wait," she murmurs quietly. "Ma'am? That didn't come out right. Nothing has been, lately."

Tavrie stops and turns around to look at Ester, her coat draped over one arm and both hands resting on her precious cargo in the sling. “It’s alright, Ester. But you’re right. It was wrong of me to offer out such stories, they have nothing to do with you and the one you and Ashkelonth are writing. I just, I don’t know how else to be there for you,” she admits. “I may be the Senior Werywoman here, but I’m not so old and wise as those that have been in place for a long time. Thank goodness for the old part, at least,” she says with a cheeky grin. “I don’t want to butt into your business, that’s not the sort of person I am. And, as M’wen said to me today, I can’t shoulder your troubles, whatever they are, even if I’d like to,” she rambles, seeming half in this conversation and half in the ones she’d been having before. The young goldrider frowns now, brows furrowing.

Ester is still hidden behind her hands, elbows on the table. "You were trying," she whispers. "You wanted to help, and tried in the way you know how, and I was rude to you. If you really want to hear my problems and add another burden to your list, I'll talk. It was wrong of me to push you away like that, but I'm really not myself, lately, and I'm not sure anyone really wants to listen to me whine."

Tavrie’s sad gaze shifts again, a concerned smile gracing her lips. She wanders back toward the table again. “Please don’t think anything of it. I’m not upset and I you were just protecting yourself, so that isn’t rude. If you want someone to talk, I’d be glad to listen. Not as a Weyrwoman, unless you need her, but just as me,” the goldrider tells her. “Though, perhaps this isn’t really the place to talk. “How would you like to join me for dinner tomorrow at my weyr?” she asks. “I can make it a request of the Weyrlingmaster, if you don’t happen to have the time open in your duties and chores,” she offers, looking around. “No need to sit here and feed the gossip wheel, is there? Besides, I don’t get many, well, I haven’t had any guests besides K’len in a long time. And he doesn’t really count as a guest anymore since he doesn’t ask before coming and helps himself to my food,” she mutters, making a face of mock annoyance. “What do you think?” she asks, looking rather childishly hopeful.

Ester nods once, hands lowering to the table again, her face no longer hidden. "I should be able to make it," she agrees, her expression solemn, but her eyes are a bit brighter, now. "And I'd be honored to, Ma'am. Thank you."

Tavrie smiles warmly and nods. “The pleasure will be all mine. It’ll be good to have some company. I’ll even make sure the baby is off with the nannies or perhaps I’ll drop her in K’len’s lap for the time being,” she murmurs, looking rather smug. “I’ll go see to dinner arrangements. Maybe I’ll do some of the cooking myself,” she bubbles contentedly, turning to head off again. “Ester,” she begins, looking back over her shoulder, “we all have our own separate troubles, but solving them alone isn’t always possible or good for us.” Then, she’s gone, having slipped back out the to the garden ledge.

Tavrie and K'len visit Igen's Weyrling Graduation

Mon, 24 Nov 2008 22:46:06 GMT

Igen Weyr Living Cavern

Igen's living cavern is an immense hollow in the volcanic caldera, stretching up two stories to a slightly charred ceiling; the light of the glows and hearth are reflected in the quartz which peppers the unique Igen swirled sandstone. Large enough to seat the entire weyr, the living cavern is always buzzing with activity. Tapestries adorn the walls, depicting scenes from Pern's past. The head table sits upon a raised platform at the far eastern side of the room, in front of a huge and continually burning fireplace.

The stairs lead up to a wide balcony that overlooks the cavern. Large tunnels lead west out to the bowl, and south to the kitchens. A smaller tunnel to the east leads deeper into the inner caverns. A doorway in the northern wall opens to the infirmary, while the small door to the northeast opens into the Records Room. In the corner between the infirmary and the records room is a plaque.

Tables fill a good portion of the room ('+help places'). +view is available.

Contents:

K'len

B'yan

A'riste

A'deth

T'nnusen

Alleyana

Lanisa

K'avu

Josilina

H'sen

Ch'ton

Kassima

Candidates' Painting Display

Meal Table

Obvious exits:

Bowl STairs Records Room INFirmary Kitchen Inner Caverns

Josilina shoots B'yan a sidelong, eye-rolling look as she lowers herself from the chair she's standing on. "Careful, B," she mutters to him, as she moves into position. "I think you almost put them to sleep." She stations herself near A'deth, reaching forward to shake K'avu's hand for when he reaches her. "Congratulations." She hands him a patch, "You've been assigned to the Sandstorm Wing, the Weyrleader's wing."

K'avu winces again and gives Kassima big eyes. "Seriously? Aw... Faranth. Ya got ta be kiddin' me. 'm gonna have a hangover the size of the bowl by dawn!" And he looks forward to it, too. There's a bit of a pout to the young man's face as he shakes her hand, moving down to A'deth. His smirk returns almost immediately, though, as he remembers he was becoming a full rider. "Thanks," he says, taking the gift with a toothy grin before moving on and shaking the Weyrleader's hands.

There's amusement on B'yan's face as he steps back and give room for the first weyrling to come forward. He's already about done with his wine, even before he had caught Josilina's words. Seeming to miss the eye rolling, "I could have sworn I heard snoring from the weyrling section," he answers back with such mock dryness. He then straightens when she announces that K'avu was being assigned to his wing, trying to look all professional and welcoming as he could - or maybe that's smug. Reaching out a hand for K'vau to shake, "Welcome to the wing, man," he drawls good-naturedly.

"And I'm wagering you'll never, ever call me ma'am again." Kassima's logic is impeccable! She drops the young man a quick, discreet wink, though. No grudge held. Not on her end, but then she's not the one running the laps. "Ch'ton," she calls next, "blue Mobeth's rider, come and meet your fate."

"Dun, dun, dunnnn~" A'riste sings out from the back, soft but resonant.

T'nnusen applauds as well when appropriate, kicking back quite cheerfully in his chosen seat. He grins over at Ch'ton as the boy's called, and glances back at A'riste with an agreeing nod. "You're doomed, man," he offers quietly. "Doomed."

Ch'ton stands up, a bright flush on his cheeks to match his hair. He flushes even brighter at A'riste's little ditty, and approaches Kassima. "Oh, goodness. My fate, Weyrlingmaster?" he shoots T'nnusen a look. Yeah, thanks a lot. He approaches Kassima and stands straight and tall.

Alley actually chuckles into her wineglass at that, and if Ch'ton glances back she offers a finger across her throat. Oh dear! Though they're probably all kidding. Probably.

H'sen shuffles his boots on the floor, listening quietly. As Ch'ton's name is called, he smiles faintly, thinking about how much he has learned about the bluerider over the past couple of Turns. Compared to when they were candidates, he didn't know him at all.

Kassima looms over Ch'ton and does her best to look forboding. "Your fate," she intones. "You'll never escape it, never get free. You're doomed to a life as Mobeth's rider and partner, defending Igen's lands, making your mother proud. Congratulations." She shakes his hand and passes him the knot of an Igen bluerider in the doing.

A'deth, when it's his turn to shake Ch'ton's hand, says, "And the Weyr proud, too, lad." And he passes the new graduate's gift to him, too.

Josilina holds out her hand to be shaken before she'll pass over Ch'ton's new badge, "Good job, Ch'ton. You're in the Mistral wing, under Wingleader A'zric. And really, it is a very cute suit."

K'avu gives a sheepish grin back to Kassima now. Who knew... But he was making his way back over towards the other weyrlings still waiting to be called up, lifting the box to his ear and giving it a good solid shake. "This has gotta be the best Weyr in all of Pern. They give us gifts all the time here."

Ch'ton grins. "I think I can live with that, Weyrlingmaster. Kassima." he sniffles a little and wipes his eyes with the back of his hand. "Ah, thank you so much." he takes a deep breath and shakes her hand firmly, taking the knot in his hand as he moves past. He shakes A'deth's hand too. "And you as well, sir." he says, grinning now. "I won't let any of you down." he swears, he then shakes Josilina's hand and accepts the badge. "Thank you Weyrwoman. And thank you about the suit. Mum and I worked hard on it. I'm glad you approve." he smiles, and moves on.

B'yan, once Josilina does so, offers his free hand to Ch'ton and gives a hearty "Congrats. Welcome to our ranks." He snickers a bit at K'avu's comment on gifts before looking on over to the weyrlingmasters.

Ch'ton shakes B'yan's hand firmly. "Thank you, Sir." he stifles a snicker from a moment remembered from long ago.

Tannu chuckles at K'avu's comment. "Indeed," he agrees cheerfully, and applauds as Ch'ton finishes the rounds.

"'Tis a good shade of blue," Kassima approves. "You're very welcome, Ch'ton." Flashing him a smile, she raises her voice again. "T'nnusen, blue Dustenyth's rider: your doom awaits you next! Come and face it bravely!"

From where they are sitting, the Weyrwomand and Weryleader of High Reaches exchange a look. "Always a great day to see so many graduate. And a sharp looking bunch," Tavrie says, smiling approvingly in Ch'ton's direction. "It won't be long now before we'll have a graduation to plan. I wonder if Josilina could give me some pointers," she muses before turning back to paying good attention when T'nnusen is called up.

T'nnusen gets to his feet and sashays on up to the line-up of pure /doom/. He's got the pants for it! "Thank you for all the hard work, Weyrlingmaster Kassima," his comment is much more serious, at least, and he meets her eye and holds out his hand.

In the back of the room, Alleyana just goes still, watching intently. It's a key moment!

K'len is contentedly sitting next to Tavrie, watching the going's on without much commentary. Seems he's pretty happy to just sit and watch the weyrlings have their day, as it is theirs to have and not his. "Maybe you should ask before we go?" He asks of Tavrie, snickering slightly at T'nnusen's sashaying.

H'sen has perfected a look of paying attention when he is actually daydreaming over the past couple of Turns, but when T'nnusen is called up, he actually is paying attention. He smiles, watching the bluerider go up to face the line.

A'riste steps toward K'len and Tavrie, but he stays quiet for the moment, looking up toward T'nnusen.

Kassima clasps T'nnusen's hand as firmly as his clutchmates'. No hesitation, either. "'Twas a pleasure and an honor t'serve, Wingrider T'nnusen. You did your own share of work." All said with her eyes on his; she releases his hand, and him, with a new knot left behind. "Congratulations."

"Congrats!" K'avu calls to both Ch'ton as he moves away and towards T'nnusen as he moves forward, beaming at them. He still gives his little box a few quick shakes, too focused on the ceremony to actually think about opening it up.

Tavrie swats at him for his snickering. "Don't get us into a bad situation. Be polite," she hisses at him, but grins. "He's enthusiastic. Reminds me of someone..." the Weyrwoman says, looking thoughtful. She doesn't seem to notice A'riste since he has approached quietly.

A'deth gives T'nnusen a crooked little smile along with that handshake and that gift. "It is my privilege," he states quite formally, if softly still, "To welcome you to our ranks. May our skies ever be clear for you, and this old, hallowed stone, your home."

K'len purses his lips to stop snickering, though there's still mirth in his gaze as he looks at her. "I'm nothing but polite." He insists, and then lifts his shoulders to shrug after he looks at T'nnusen once again. "You think so? Certainly not me." He assures, reaching for his drink that he'd snagged a while ago.

"T'nnusen," Josilina addresses him quite earnestly when he reaches her, her right hand held out. "Your pants are just /divine/." She passes an embroidered wingpatch to him, "You've also been assigned to the Mistral Wing, under A'zric."

B'yan holds out his hand towards T'nnusen as he moves close, offering his easy "Congrats, man. Welcome to our ranks." So kind and customary, isn't he? In his scan over the crowd during the proceedings, he does notice the arrival of the Reaches Weyrleaders with open interest.

Tannu murmurs his thanks to one and all as he shakes their hands, then gives the whole line-up one of his old customary sweeping bows before going to re-join the weyrlings, knot, box, and patch all in hand.

A'riste lets out a loud whoop in T'nnusen's honor, suddenly not very quiet. "Closets!" he calls. "And ropes. Freedom!" And he turns to K'len and Tavrie, and says brightly (but in a much more modulated tone), "Fort's duties to High Reaches. My apologies if I'm interrupting. Weyrleader K'len, you've been well?"

He is clad in a sharply-tailored Harper blue shirt, a black brocade vest patterned with pale gold musical notes, black wherhide pants, and elegant black boots. His flowing coat is a long and extravagant affair, with an interlocking pattern of blue and white diamonds. At one shoulder is a Fortian rider's knot, woven through with a bronze ribbon for his lifemate, Valioth.

Kassima goes through several more names: most of the new riders take their knots and rings and badges with dignity, though young Dali inadvertantly squeaks with excitement and claps her hands over her mouth at once. Still trying not to laugh, Kassi calls one more name. "H'sen, bronze Lekath's rider! Approach and be condemned! Congratulated. One of those."

Alley applauds, her wineglass finding some furniture or other to stand on while she does so. And she glances aside at her student, perhaps a touch questioningly.

p ken=:giggles. "Your love that I stole you from."

Ch'ton whispers to T'nnusen and K'avu. "Dead man walking." he says of H'sen, laughing a little.

H'sen wasn't about to fall asleep listening, really. But somehow he manages to look quite startled as his name is called. "Yes, Weyrlingmaster!" Even though they are graduating, he feels like he is still going to be jumping to obey whenever he hears her voice for a while yet.

"Dun-dun, dun-dun, duuuuun..." Tannu adds quietly, with a grin, once he's seated again.

K'len pages: There's nothing wrong with you parenting yourself to a room. So, if you wanna use that code in other places it's what you'll have to do.

K'len looks up as A'riste wanders over, giving him a quick smile. "Oh, I've been wonderful. Never better." He assures, and reaches for Tavrie's hand to brush his fingers overtop of it. "It's been a while since I've seen you, you'll have to stop by sometime."

"You have no idea," Kassima lets H'sen know as she shakes his hand, "how seriously, *seriously* tempted 'twas t'hand you a cracking fire-lizard egg instead. Let your escape be proof either that I have mercy, or the Weyrleaders wouldn't let me do it." She leaves him a brand new rider's knot all crisp and clean and bright. "Congratulations, Wingrider."

A'riste warm smile and then glances politely away, keeping out or their business.

Tavrie's attention shifts momentarily from the the bronze weyrling to her hand, then over to K'len. The expression on her face is one of curiousity and she turns her attention from the Weyrleader over to the Fortian bronzerider. She offers A'riste warm smile and then glances politely away, keeping out or their business.

Alleyana blinks, startled by something unseen. And then, without much of a way to respond properly, she just nods at whatever it is. And picks her wineglass back up, her attention going back to the graduates one and all.

K'avu doesn't even muffle his snicker at Ch'ton and T'nnusen as he turns to watch H'sen jump up and receive his rider badge. He calls out his "Congrats" to him afterwards, though his gaze was starting to wander around the caverns. "Is this nearly done? 'm waiting ta get completely sloshed." He tries to whisper to the others, but his voice was just unnaturally loud most of the time.

"At least for tonight," A'deth drawls, quite amused. "Who knows what eggs lurk around every corner. Be glad for your reprieve, lad." And, to H'sen, he offers a handshake and gift, too.

Josilina's got the same broad, proud smile for each weyrling, shaking hands and handing out patches: Oasis, Sirocco, Cactus, Mesa, the works. As H'sen approaches, she fishes the last patch from the pouch and holds it out, ready to hand it and shake the bronzerider's hand at the same time. "Another for the Weyrleader's wing, Sandstorm. Congratulations, H'sen."

"You're so honest, K'avu," T'nnusen chuckles, and adds a quiet, "almost, I think." And he applauds H'sen's moment too as the bronzerider makes his way down the line.

B'yan has managed to stand without causing trouble before the crowd when all the names were called, giving out the same line, more or less, through it all. He had managed to get a filled glass of wine in his had again before it's H'sen's turn, holding out his hand to be shook and a giving him the prompting "Congrats. Welcome to the wing, man." Wingriders from the wing could be heard giving a whoop from the back.

"Perhaps," says A'riste cheerfully, "I'll compose a song in both your honor. A kind one, don't worry. I'd hoped you'd find someone well-suited to you." He flashes Tavrie a genuinely amiable smile, and steps back, leaving the pair to each other. "Weyrwoman."

H'sen looks like he is about to faint, even as Kassima shakes his hand. "You're kidding," he says about the firelizard egg. "You wouldn't've done it. Well, you didn't, anyway." But somehow, he is still a little creeped out to know that she thought about it. At least he got away without having one of the biting creatures thrust upon him. The rider's knot is a much better gift. "Thank you, Weyrlingmaster. And thank you for everything you have taught us. I hope to make you proud." He smiles and shakes A'deth's hand as well. "And thank you too, sir. I hope we weren't too much trouble." To Josilina, he smiles and nods, accepting the Sandstorm wing patch. "Thank you. I hope Lekath and I will make you proud." He feels a little dizzy with all of the handshaking and half-bows he is doing.

Alleyana offers A'riste another glance. And, without making a big deal of it, another full glass of wine that she just filched off some weyrbrat's tray with nimble, nimble fingers.

Ch'ton turns to T'nnusen. "So! We're riders now! Par-tay?"

Tavrie glances back at A'riste when he mentions the song and catches his smile. At his words to K'len she seems a little perplexed, but she quickly sweeps the bewildered look aside and returns to a more placid smile.

Kassima informs H'sen in that Voice of Doom, "You just never know." What has she got in her pockets, precious? Eggses! *Eggses*, precious! Yes! No. "You've all made me proud so far. I don't see that changing," she says more sincerely, allowing herself, now, a brilliant grin for all of them, "any time soon." Turning to the Weyrleaders she asks, "Is it time for feasting and drinking until we all fall over?"

K'avu is starting to fidget a bit, even as he turns to grin at T'nnusen. "Ain't any other way ta be but honest, man," he notes before turning to watch H'sen. The caverns get another glance before turning back towards the line-up. "It's been an honor here, an' always will be," he calls over to them, as if hoping that being extra polite will get him closer to the partying. His amber eyes are now intensely focused on the Weyrleaders. Say yes? Pretty please?

"Wait until they say so," Tannu cautions Ch'ton, amused. And he laughs quietly at K'avu's antics. "Indeed."

"I should hope so," A'deth remarks. "There's been entirely too much virtue going around these last few turns. Aren't we ostensibly living in a hotbed of debauched iniquity?"

Josilina cuts a glance at B'yan, and sort of mock-bows in his direction, "I leave it to you, our valiant Weyrleader. Do we let them have their party?"

A'riste takes the glass that Alley offers him, and knocks its contents back in one long gulp. Sacrilege, chugging a Benden wine like cheap tequila!

With the last weyrling knotted into a wing, B'yan exchanges a glance with Josilina and then Kassima. At the mock-bow and prompt, "Party we shall," he answers with a flourishing gesture, lifting his glass to get the music started. "I think there's a bottle with my name on it over there," he adds with a gesture turning towards the drinks table, "but I'm sure there's a few parents looking to exchange pleasantries with us."

Large, steaming platters and bowls are brought to the tables, each of which gets identical servings of identical dishes: the big tureens hold curried lamb stewed into perfect tenderness, swimming in rich golden sauce with a bare hint of green. Deep bowls of steamed white rivergrains go beside them. One can serve the lamb over the rivergrains, or eat it without, as one chooses. The widest plates hold enormous specklers from the Igen river crusted with Benden Hold almonds; they smell of the butter, dill, and lemon used in their cooking. On the last large platter are pre-cut servings of pale breast meat pounded tender and curled around herbed cheese and sun-dried tomatoes to make wherry roulade. Little loaves of crusty dark bread and ramikins of butter get set out, one per two people, and for those less inclined to meat there are big bowls of bell pepper salad on one end of every table, baskets full of cantaloupe, redfruit, oranges, grapes, and berries on the other.

"There /is/ one with my name on it," Josilina lifts her 'brows at B'yan. "Be sure you don't steal it. And... be nice to the parents," she adds, warily eyeing one suspiciously-parental looking group that's slowly shuffling toward them. "I think I saw a 'Reaches delegation - I should go say hello." She hesitates, then offers, "Unless you'd rather?" See? Sometimes not too cruel.

Kassima chuckles, low and wicked. "Some of us are. Sit with me?" she asks A'deth, holding out her hand to him. "I plan t'eat, drink, and make merry, and I can't think of a better partner. Did you see A'riste? And methinks that's Alleyana in the marvelous cloak--and Lyss says the High Reaches Weyrleaders are here somewhere."

"Look at that," Alley elbows A'riste after he's done gulping down wine. "Igen food. Thank Faranth." Homesick much?

Ch'ton turns to T'nnusen. "Mind if I hang out with you? I've nothing better to do with myself, and I'ma fish at parties." he rolls his eyes.

Leaving K'len, Tavrie rises and slowly makes her way toward Igen's Weyrleaders behind the suspiciously-parental group, waiting for the right moment to congratulate them on a job well done. While she's on her way there, she passes on more personal congratulations to any of the new riders she comes across. "Josilina, B'yan," she says, nearing them and edging around the parents to try and slide her greeting in. "Congratulations! You must be so proud. What an wonderful looking group," she offers whole-heartedly. "I'm sorry to rush up here, I wanted to be sure and greet you. I can't stay much longer with the little one back at the weyr," she explains.

"I don't mind," Tannu beams, "my sister and A'riste are here too, you get along with them both don't you? Come on," and he leads the way over to them, herding the lot of them into line for food with a well-placed nudge here and a better-placed pinch there in A'riste's case.

K'avu would faint with happiness at the food around the caverns now, but then he wouldn't be able to eat! "Finally!" he says, jumping a bit with just a passing grin to his fellow weyrlings as he goes to stuff himself silly. And drink himself silly, too, for the rest of the night.

There's one parent couple edging their way, and B'yan mock-scoffs at the comment about the bottle. "Shouldn't have told me that," he drawls in murmur, passing a raised brow glance Josilina's way. Then, back towards the crowd with a raised chin, "I was actually noticing them myself. Let's meet them together. Appearances and all..." and before the parents arrive, Tavrie intercepts them. The Weyrleader gives Tavrie a flourishing bow and an easy smile. "Weyrwoman Tavrie," he greets. "It's been a long while. I've heard...congratulations yourself."

A'deth looks over as Kassima, and takes her hand. "Yes-- and yes. What interesting guests we have tonight... Do you think K'len let me lick his cheek again? I thought I saw him... ah, there's his Weyrwoman with him. Perhaps not. I think that's a dress uniform on

Alleyana, you know. Father talked about having one done up for my brothers, but Fort Hold's are usually white and he always wanted to make everything like theirs. Would've taken too much time away from the plowing. Not that they'd've been able to march in a straight line."

A'riste squeals as he's pinched, and nearly drops his glass. "Ouch! Have you been saving that up for the past two turns, too?!" And to Alley, he adds, "You lot put hot peppers on everything. Isn't your desert enough of an inferno?"

Ch'ton grins. "I remember your sister well." he waves at the woman in question. "Hello. How's the runnerbeast? Still evil?" he laughs good-naturedly. "You know, A'riste, we only add peppers when we hear you're comming over." he rolls his eyes, and says to Tannu: "I think tonight's going to be the first time I've ever drank wine. Should be interesting..."

"You beat us to you," Josilina says, when Tavrie comes up. Whatever that means. She's all warm smiles for the 'Reachian Weyrwoman, and her 'brows lift slightly. "Little one?" She glances at B'yan when he congratulates the other woman, and chuckles dryly. "Seems I'm not as up on my gossip as I should be. Congratulations, Tavrie. That's wonderful."

Kassima lays her free hand on a chair to claim it--all hope abandon, ye who seek to steal her place--and then reluctantly relinquishes A'deth to load her plate with servings. A little bit of this, a little bit of that. A not-so-little helping of the juicy roulade. "I wonder if'n a lick on the cheek from you is lucky," she muses. "He became Weyrleader after. D'your kin do aught besides plow? And reproduce more of themselves?"

"A first time drinker," Alley eyes Ch'ton appraisingly, "this could end in tears. And I don't know, I... haven't been to see him yet since Ista took me away." And she glances at T'nnusen, who's been the one mostly keeping track of said runner's well-being, though she knows he's had to delegate thanks to being a weyrling.

"He's fine, and I'll make sure you have time for him before your escort hauls you back," Tannu reassures with a smile. To A'riste, "Maybe I have. And Ch'ton's right, you know. I sent Erynion with a message the moment it became clear that you'd be coming with. 'More peppers', it said."

"Acquire land," A'deth sighs to Kassima. "They want to be Lord Holders someday. Hopefully after I'm dead, or I'd expire from shame the moment they hit the Conclaves. And, oh, I'm quite lucky. You wouldn't believe the Weyrleaders I've licked." And he pours them lots and lots of wine.

A'riste hmphs at Ch'ton, and Tannu, but not /too/ crossly. "I knew there was a conspiracy." And, much more pleasantly, "Congratulations, both of you. Is that a new suit, Ch'ton? It suits you well. Does it match Mobeth?"

Tavrie smiles at B'yan. "Thank you," she replies to B'yan sweetly. The Reachian Weyrwoman returns Josilina's warmth with her usual Cheshire grin, a hint of shy pink brushing her cheeks. "I'm sorry, I guess I've done my best to keep it from being outrageous gossip. K'len and I have just welcomed our first little one -- our daughter, Kariel," she offers to be sure all the details are available. "I'll slip off to let you speak with the parents and other guests now. I just had to say hello and congratulations. High Reaches duties to Igen and her queens," she adds, almost cheekily after her more informal greeting. Tavrie then slips back through the people pressing forward.

Tavrie runs into Ester at the lake.

Wed, 19 Nov 2008 21:31:34 GMT

Lake Shore, High Reaches Weyr

This shoreline marks the edge of the freshwater lake that fills the southeastern portion of the bowl. The gritty dirt of the bowl gives way to smooth sand.

Across the lake, the bowl wall rises high into the sky, its face dotted with weyr entrances. A few dragonlengths above the water, glimpses of a level cliff can be seen amidst boulders lining the edge. Just south of here, a smaller pond of water is divided from the main lake by a natural bridge of land. A path leads across the bridge and up to the diving cliffs, winding through a dotting of small boulders on its way.

The early evening crystal clear as the sun sets over the western rim of the bowl. There is a strong breeze that creates ripples upon the lake.

Contents:

Ashkelonth

Ester

Nabrimeth

Obvious exits:

Lake Pond Diving Cliff Bowl

It is early evening and the sun is just beginning to work its way down toward the far off horizon. A pair of swimmers, reluctant to go in for the night, are just wading toward the shore -- a large gold dragon with rosy dapples and a very petite, very pregnant blonde haired woman. Tavrie seems to strain as she plods out of the water, sighing when she has reached her towel and looping it around her large belly.

As one pair seem to be leaving, another are just arriving. The short weyrling and her big, bulky brown trot down the beach towards the water, dragon following rider. Without all the layers upon layers she had to wear during winter, its easy now to tell that Ester is not, in fact, twelve, as her height might suggest. In fact, beneath the soft padding and ample curves, there is significant muscle mass just beneath the surface - especially in her arms and upper body. She's not some frail little child, after all. Just runty. As the pair near the water, she offers a crisp salute to the Weyrwoman, and a greeting. "Ma'am."

Tavrie laughs cheerfully and smiles at the brown weyrling as she salutes. “Evening, Ester, right? Ester and Ashkelonth,” she seems to practice. “So many names,” she muses. Having dried off a bit, she shimmies into a loose shirt and skirt, then wraps a blanket around herself. “Watch out, that water is cool in the evening. Okay, well, it is always pretty cool, but it feels worse at night,” she rambles happily.

"I'll keep that in mind, Ma'am," Ester replies with a grin. She drifts to a stop once she's ankle deep in the water, letting Ashkelonth wander out and submerge on his own. He seems to already be quite in the water.

Nabrimeth has shifted courses now. Where she had been happily trailing Tavrie and drying alongside her, she has now ambled back to the water with her attention on the young brown. “Careful, love. You can get a little rough,” she reminds the queen whose sleek hide is already sliding ever deeper into the water again. The gold croons sweetly, eyes whirling as she tries to cajole the brown into swimming with her.

Ester remains at the edge of the water, small, strong hands planting on her generous little hips as she watches the dragons. Ashkelonth seems quite agreeable to the idea, following along as best he can, his swimming rather impressive for his age. "He loves the water," Ester notes softly, still smiling broadly.

Tavrie follows him with her eyes and nods. “I love his coloring. He looks like he was baked in the sun. And really, I’m not as partial to most shades of brown -- between you and me,” she admits. “You know, when I stood, I didn’t believe there would be a dragon out there for me. However, I thought I’d surely Impress blue if anything. I uh, I used to have a stuffed blue dragon when I was small. My father bought it for me at a Gather once,” she muses. “I called him Tikalth. There was this childish part of me that also expected to see him appear before me on the Sands,” she shares and then laughs. “Imagine my surprise,” she adds. “Pretty silly, hrm?” the Weyrwoman asks with a sigh. Nabrimeth swims carefully, trying not to bump him or use her size to get ahead of the little brown.

Ashkelonth is nothing if not relentless, keeping up with a dogged determination that hints at future power and endurance. Ester looks over at the Weyrwoman as she relates her story. If she is surprised or caught off guard by the sudden, unexpected moment of candor, she certainly shows no sign of it. "Not at all, Ma'am," she counters casually. "We all carry things from our childhood that influence us as adults." Says the fifteen-turn-old.

Tavrie nods and smiles. “True enough, I suppose,” she muses. “It was such a lovely stuffed toy. All I know of it was that it was made by a goldrider from Southern Weyr, oddly enough. She had a few and was trading them at the Gather. I apparently saw it and loved it, so dad decided that since I didn’t whine or ask for it, he’d get it for me,” Tavrie finishes the tale. “I’d love to find one for my little one,” she muses. “So, how are things going for you? I hope you aren’t homesick here,” the Weyrwoman worries.

"Having been raised in a Weyr helps, Ma'am," Ester notes. "In some ways, it still feels like it did back home, just different. I imagine it would be much worse if I were Holdbred." A pause, and then she adds, "Home is wherever he is, now."

Tavrie nestles into her blanket and beams at Ester. “I’m glad for the pair of you, then. Was your father at the Hatching? What does he think?” she prattles, being perhaps a bit nosey but seeming so pleasant about it that it can’t be anything but care and interest that direct her.

"My birth father?" Ester asks lightly. "Or my foster dad? Ther's a pretty big difference between them." Another quiet moment before she adds, "My Foster Dad was in the stands. He seems ecstatic. He even came to visit the other night."

Tavrie smiles. “I meant your foster father, the butcher, yes?” she notes. “I’m glad that things seem well for me. If there is ever something you need, or if you need to talk to someone, feel free to have Ashkelonth get Nabrimeth. “Just because you guys are under S’din’s tutelary…doesn’t mean you’re off the hook with me,” she teases, winking cheekily. “Though, it won’t be long now and I’ll be a bit tied up,” she admits with a sheepish grin. “Take care,” she offers, taking her towel and things and wandering toward the bowl. Nabrimeth gives a playful splash and then follows her.

"Thank you, Ma'am!" Ester calls after her.

Egg Touching 2

Sun, 02 Nov 2008 02:58:46 GMT

Hatching Sands, High Reaches Weyr

The sands are stiflingly hot beneath your feet, nearly burning through your footwear and keeping even this large high cavern quite warm. A mound of sand has been gathered up in the center of the cavern, and this is where the queen has laid her eggs and watches lovingly over them as they harden. The sands have been neatly arranged around the many mottled eggs, though the queen is never quite satisfied and frequently turns and repositions each egg.

Bordering the sands to the south and west are the tiered benches of the galleries. Ledges for spectating dragons jut out from the cavern walls in every direction high above. A dark passageway leads off the sand towards the senior queen's weyr.

Contents:

Hanif

Eostarra

Nabrimeth

Sandy Mound

Kalorith

Obvious exits:

Passageway Galleries

It is a calm evening at High Reaches, the weyr in general offering a feeling of ease for some reason -- the calm before the storm perhaps. Tavrie, seeming to have found a bit of free time, is wandering out onto the sands once more with a well-practiced group of Candidates in toe. She doesn’t bother to turn and watch if they bow to the dam and sire, she just plain expects that they will. Nabrimeth, somewhat used to the group but still taking no chances, rises and moves closer to the eggs. The queen seems about ready to guard away the sunny yellow one when Tavrie clears her throat and wanders over. “You need to be ready to let them -all- go,” she chides her lifemate. Nabrimeth exhales hotly and backs up a pace or two, lowering her head onto her forearms somewhat dejectedly. Kalorith is curled up on the edge sound asleep. Tavrie, moving more slowly now that her belly has gotten the best of her, leans against the rosy hide of her lifemate and turns to watch the Candidates explore.

Hanif has a smile on his face, but looks a little nervous when the gold moves towards the eggs in that motherly, protective fashion. Before he goes too far, he bows to both dragons, even though one is asleep, and then very carefully makes his way onto the sands. The boy doesn't go much farther, and ends up just waiting for some more candidates to pass him by.

Hanif

This young man is tall and dark. He stands just under six feet tall, and he possesses a lean build and toned muscles. His narrow, mahogany eyes are a nice compliment to the sun-kissed copper tone of his skin. His face is long, cheekbones high and well-defined, nose angular, and lips thin. The only thing marring his face is a thin, red scar stretching from the right side of his nose, across the bridge, and across his left cheekbone. His charcoal black hair is cropped somewhat short at the sides and back, naturally parted in the middle to let bangs fall on either side of his forehead. He looks to be about 18 Turns, 1 months, and 13 days old.

Today he is wearing a cream-colored tunic and tan trousers. His tunic is untied at the top, and slightly wrinkled, while his pants have a couple of patches on the knees. He's also wearing a chocolate brown belt and matching boots.

Eostarra pads out onto the sands, offering a bow to mother and father, the heads over towards the Weyrwoman at a casual pace. She's much more relaxed than the first time Tavrie brought them out here. "Weyrwoman," she greets, nodding her head.

Eostarra

Big, pale green eyes the color of winter mint, caged in with thick 'lashes and crowned by thin, arching 'brows are the most striking feature of the girl's rounded face. Cherubic cheeks and a small but strong chin form her soft jawline, while bee-stung lips and a hawkish nose finish off her features. Her inky black hair compliments her tan skin and is currently left to flow freely in wavy curls past her waist.

One might think her still very young based on height alone, but her diminutive stature is at odds with the womanly curves she carries - she is padded but not heavy - beneath her Igenite wraps. Over these, a warm, heavy black caftan helps her combat the cold. Sturdy working boots cover her feet, and her wrists are adorned with several woven bracelets that accent her small but work-worn hands. A simple High Reaches Weyr knot is affixed to her shoulder, proclaiming her a candidate.

Tavrie and Nabrimeth shift at the same time, both turning their heads to focus on Eostarra as she approaches. Tavrie pushes off from her lifemate’s side a little and wanders to meet the butcher turned Candidate. “Something troubling you?” the Weyrwoman wonders amiably, offering the young woman a friendly smile.

Eostarra's thick lips curl in a smile, the small Igenite shaking her head. "No, Ma'am," she replies breezily. "Nothing at all. I just wanted to thank you - and your lifemate," here, she looks up, smiling at the Gold, "For having us."

Hanif watches Eostarra and Tavrie for a moment, and then approaches the egg that is closest to him. He licks his lips, and then slowly reaches a hand forward to brush against the shell. For some reason, he still feels funny about touching the eggs. "Tavrie, ma'am?" he asks. "Why do you suppose that dragons are so protective of their clutches when the candidates come to do a touching? Is it just instinct? It seems to me as though they wouldn't mind, seeing as how we're...well...candidates. But I guess I can understand the fact that we're strangers, still."

Tavrie laughs softly and nods. “You’re welcome,” she says, “from both of us.” Tavrie move back to lean against Nabrimeth’s side again now that there doesn’t seem to be cause for concern. She laces her hands around her stomach and gives a great yawn. “It shouldn’t be long now, Nabrimeth says,” she passes along to the Candidates that are milling close enough to hear her. At Hanif’s question, she turns to look at him and shrugs slightly. “I suppose because they love their eggs, really. And then there is the fact that people are people. Just because you’re a Candidate doesn’t mean you’re a good person. There are some pretty horrible people that have Impressed. So, the dragons don’t know if you are the sort that would hurt the eggs or not,” she notes.

Hanif nods his head. "I see. Thank you," he adds, glancing over at the rider and her lifemate. He keeps one hand on the surface of the incredibly dark and gloomy egg before him, and slowly drags it across the surface. Another hand is placed on it, carefully, and then he moves forward to rest his ear against it. "We won't be able to hear anyting, will we?"

Eostarra nods and smiles a bit more. She seems content to just watch again, this time, but it's a more casual, relaxed watching. No signs of her trying to avoid the eggs or suggestions that she may bolt.

Tavrie looks thoughtful and then wanders his way, leaning down to put her own ear to the egg. “I don’t know, really,” she says as she’s leaning. Then, she remains quiet, listening for a moment before turning her eyes to Hanif to see what he thinks. The Weyrwoman doesn’t say a word, just straightens and smiles mysteriously.

Hanif smiles a bit when the goldrider gives a listen, too, and then straightens with his hands still on the egg. "Well...I don't think I heard anything. It was hard to tell, because I could hear my own heartbeat." He runs a hand through his hair. "Did you hear something?" He looks at Tavrie curiously and lightly traces the patterns on the egg shell with a finger. Then, to Eostarra, "You aren't going to come touch any of them?"

"I did just yesterday," Eostarra answers with a small shrug and a smile. "I visited the one I wanted to, and gave the others the proper respects. You go ahead."

Tavrie wrinkles her nose playfully at Hanif and just shrugs mysteriously. “You know, when I sit out here with Nabrimeth and watch the eggs, I get this image in my head of lots of little dragonets, curled up and sleeping. I wonder what they dream about,” the blonde muses. Turning to Eostarra, Tavrie arches a brow. “Which one do you like best then, hrm?” she wants to know.

Hanif smirks, and shakes his head. "I don't know...it would be an interesting thing to know. Do you think that they remember, when they hatch?" When Tavrie looks over at Eostarra, he does, too. "Yeah, which one is your favorite?" he echoes, cheerily. He lingers at the dark egg for a little while longer, and then moves on to the egg with thick, yellow swirls. "This one looks interesting..."

Eostarra blinks at the Weyrwoman, then at Hanif. Her expression goes a bit neutral, a mask, perhaps, to conceal anything she may be feeling. "The withered one," she answers simply, gesturing to the wrinkled, crumpled dark egg. She offers no further explanation.

The Weyrwoman looks at Eostarra thoughtfully and smiles. “That’s odd, most of the girls that bounce out onto the Sands pine after the yellow eggs,” she notes. “People always whisper that they are the ones that contain golds, but really, I’ve never seen that to be true,” she murmurs. Tavrie smirks and glances at Nabrimeth from over her shoulder. “They barely remember what they did the day before, I doubt they remember anything at all from before their shell splits and dumps them into life.

Hanif's cheeks redden a little and he only replies with, "Oh, of course," before placing a hand on the peanut brittle egg. The smoothness of it startles him. Such an egg made him think that it would be rough, but it isn't. "They feel so strange," he says. "Not really what I expect them to feel like." Then he looks over his shoulder at his fellow candidate again. "I like that one, too. It's interesting, isn't it?"

"I'm not most girls, Ma'am," Eostarra answers softly. She nods once to Hanif, but doesn't give her thoughts on the egg or why she's drawn to it.

Tavrie smiles and nods at Eostarra. “No, I guess not,” she muses. Then she grins in Hanif’s direction. “I thought the same thing when I first came down on the Sands,” she admits. Tavrie wanders back over to her lifemate, leaning once more against the dragon and looking pink in the cheeks. “I’m no as good at staying out here for long periods of time. How about we finish up and then get something to drink?” she asks everyone, loudly but without yelling. Here and there Candidates nod and hurry to see any of the eggs that they haven’t had a chance to yet.

Hanif grins at Eostarra's response to the Weyrwoman's question. "That's true, you aren't most girls." He feels the egg for a little while longer, and then takes his time to wander over near Eostarra. "Something to drink sounds good. It's warm!" Smiling, he stretches and looks up at the gold. "Thank you!"

Eostarra nods and pads along with the others, offering a parting bow to the two dragons before she goes.

Tavrie smiles and nods, patting her lifemate and then wandering toward the exit. “A drink sounds very good,” she muses. Nabrimeth rises and stretches. For his thank you, she offers a trilled warble and then moves to remound the eggs and check each one over carefully.

Iron Baker

Tue, 28 Oct 2008 04:36:49 GMT

Myriana steps into the cavern, standing off to the side and waits. She nods her head to those present, while eyeing to see who her challenger may be.

S'din strides up to the front of the cooking area and spins to face the small, but well-appointed crowd. He flashes a dazzling smile and says, "Welcome, one and all to the Iron Baker competition!" He flings his arms open wide and looks around the many cooking surfaces with pride. Then reaching to a nearby table, he grabs a yellow pepper and, looking at it for a moment, he takes a huge bite of it with a smile. His shoulders shake as if in laughter as he chews, looking out over the crowd before he quickly turns his back, then faces the crowd quickly again, no longer chewing and says, "Let the challenger come forward!"

Kambria smiling nervously, she steps forward with head raised and eyes bright with excitement and purpose. Avoiding her gaze from peering upon the growing crowd she peers upon the one challenged with a nod.

S'din smiles at the approaching youngster and says, "Welcome to my kitchen gallery! Tonight, you will do battle culinarily with one of my famous Iron Bakers!" Spreading his arms once more, he spins and says, "I call forth the Iron Baker! She of inestimable skill and expertise with food! I bring forth....IRON BAKER MYRIANA!"

Myriana steps forward, the cleaver in her hand makes a rotation before she grasps it fully. She inclines her head to S'din for her introduction before she bows her head respectfully to the Weyrwoman then faces her challenger. The diminutive woman lifts her chin, smiles slightly and inclines her head.

Tavrie shifts in her seat like an excited child, eyes lit with enthusiasm. She nods encouragement to Kambria when the challenger is called for and then flourishes a more dramatic dip of her head to Myriana in return for the acknowledgement.

Kambria smiles back despite her nerves and begins fastening the apron that she has been handed. Taking a quick glance towards the crowd she shrugs and grins the prepares herself for the task that lay ahead. A soft brush of one hand smoothes the apron down and she raises her gaze again in an 'I'm ready' stance.

S'din motions for the two women to follow him over to a large table set in the center of the kitchen. He looks at each one of them in turn, seriously, calculatingly, before speaking, "I have given this battle long and careful thought. I considered the skill of the combatants and I have come the conclusion that only *one* theme ingredient will suffice." He pauses again...dramatically..."I give you..." he grabs the cloth covering the food and shouts, "FINGER ROOT!!!!" He looks back and forth to gauge the women's reactions, then says, "And now I say unto you both: let's get eating!" and he leaps backward from the food, giving both kitchen staffs access to everything.

Near the edge of the crowd, Kaylee sits on one of the tables pushed near the wall, feet on the bench tucked against the near edge. The slight height advantage giving her the ability to see over the taller folks in the crowd. At the announcement of the ingredient, a soft "Oooooh." is heard from her - lost in the similar reactions from the crowd.

Myriana smooths the apron, following behind S'din to the table. At the unveiling of the ingredient, her eyes narrow and lips purse. After a moment, she nods. With another inclination of her head to her challenger, she grabs a tray and starts to load it up with fingerroots. "Chuck, start the water." She orders her apprentice, "Ned, start peeling these."

Kambria follows dutifully and creases her brow slightly in thought after the ingredient was unveiled. "Fingerroot? Hmmm" A bit more time is taken on her part to consider what to make of it before she brightened suddenly with a knowing smile. Turning to her helper she calls out. A pan with melted butter please, lots of butter..." She takes a tray for herself and also piles on the fingerroot in a generous portion.

Rilsa finds a seat as well, finally decided to sit on a table so she can see over the heads. "Looks to be a good fight." She pauses then adds, "I don't mean throwing."

Tavrie leans back slightly in her seat and rests her hands on her belly. She grins with mischievous delight when the ingredient is revealed. “This should be really interesting. Fingerroot,” she notes to herself. “Hrm, I know what I’d make,” the Weyrwoman states quickly.

Myriana starts heating oil in a sauce pan, adding herb seeds and sautéing until they are fragrant. In the meantime, one of her apprentices finishes chopping the onion and spicy pepper. The Master Baker chops some of the fingeroots into small pieces and tosses them into the saucepan then adds the other ingredients along with some Bollian chicken stock. Giving a nod, she moves to the table in the back to find more ingredients for another dish.

S'din stalks slowly back and forth at the back of the kitchen, craning his neck to watch both the combatants and the progress of their dishes.

Rilsa tilts her head toward Tavrie's direction. "What?" is asked. Her nose wrinkles at the sight of the hot pepper. "I hope it isn't too spicy..."

Kambria ignores the goings-on of the Master chef and her crew and busies herself with her own. "When the butter is melted, a good inch please Sayra, start peeling the fingerroots as Neeza peels them. Small pieces." She instructs as she places the filled tray in front of Neeza and hurries away. Collecting dill spice and diced onions, and nothing more, she takes over Sayra's task at the stove and adds just the right amount of each. Stirring it she calls out again. "Add the diced fingerroots when you have them ready and soften them well." Hurrying again she starts to make what could only be a noodle or pastry shell.

Tavrie presses a finger to her lips and winks at Rilsa in an ‘it’s a secret’ manner, then turns back to watch what’s going on. “Don’t like spice, Weyrsecond?” she asks with a little smirk and an arch of her eyebrows. “I prefer sweets, but I like a dish that kicks you in the ribs now and then. Must be my father’s influence,” she admits with a shrug. “What do you think she will make with that?” Tavrie points out Kambria’s latest project. “Fingerroot pie?” she wonders aloud.

The Master Baker assigns one of the apprentices to sifting flour as she shreds carrots. Her eyes check the simmering saucepan often to make sure it is not boiling over or burning. The other apprentice, Ned, scurries over to pick up cinnamon, nutmeg, buttermilk, molasses, eggs, dark sweetner, walnuts for his Master. "Where is the orange liqueur? I need it quickly to make the carrot coins." She demands while continuing to make what looks to be a cake.

Rilsa chuckles at Tavrie's answer. "I like a kick but I'm not sure I want to have fingerroot that will burn my throat."

Kaylee nods to Rilsa. "I'm not one for the spicy dishes myself, ma'am - I can sympathize." she watches the dueling chefs with interest. "Though the cake sounds interesting and not at all damaging to the tongue."

Kambria rolls out the flour, egg and caprine milk concoction into a nice family recipe for a hardy pastry. Leaving it waiting upon the counter she hurries to check on Sayra's progress. "Good. When they are soft enough to slip off of your knife when poked set the pan off of the heat and begin slicing more peeled fingeroots lengthwise but not completely through. Neeza when that pile is peeled take three and keep peeling them into long curling strips. The curlier the better." Grabbing a deep pan she fills it with water and sets it to boil. Then she takes a few of the peeled roots and begins to slice them thin into small circles.

Tavrie laughs and nods. “Fair enough,” she concedes to Rilsa. “Hrm…I have some ideas about what the Iron Baker is up to,” she notes, looking thoughtful. “I helped my aunt in the kitchen for a many months while she recovered and I picked up a few tips. Not that I could ever make much to save my life,” the Weyrwoman shares. Tavrie glances at Kaylee and then rolls her eyes, smiling to show it is all in fun. “Sure sure, side with the brownrider,” Tavrie teases Kaylee.

A soft laugh from the smaller girl, and she resists the urge to stick her tongue out at the Weyrwoman. "I can't help it if I can't stand the hotter spices." is Kaylee's plaintive explanation. She adds quickly, with a wink to Rilsa. "Besides, it's never wise to argue with your elders."

The apprentice baker scurries over with the orange liquor. "In there." Myriana says. "We need to reduce it until a syrup." She pauses long enough in making her cake dough to put in thick carrot rounds, butter, sugar and salt into the sauce pan on the second burner. The cake batter is poured into a flat cakesheet and placed into the wood burning oven. Overhearing the comments, the woman smiles warmly, adding. "It won't be a spicy hot but a pleasant warmth to accentuate the natural flavor of the fingeroot." Realizing she is about to launch into a baker lecture, she dips her head and moves to start on the final dish. Shredded carrots are tosses with garlic, cinnamon, paprika, red pepper flakes, salt, sweetner, oil and parsley to make a salad topping for a herdberger made with ground herdbeast and Istan-style lamb sausage without the casing.

Rilsa blinks at Kaylee and throws something at the woman for her comment. "Hrmph."

Kaylee laughs softly, grinning at Rilsa. As an aside to Tavrie, she notes.. "See? They get grumpy if you don't treat them with respect and agree with them."

Tavrie gives a little 'ooh' at the herdberger. "Okay, all of this is making me hungry. Well, actually, I'm almost always hungry now. Though really, I haven't had as much of a taste for spicy things. Perhaps the little one isn't as much a lover of spice as I am?" she notes. She watches the curly strips being cut at Kambria's station. "Curious," the Weyrwoman muses. Tavrie laughs and nods. "Yeah, you have to watch out for 'em when they get to that age," she shoots back to Kaylee, eyeing Rilsa with amusement.

Rilsa places a hand over her heart and sighs in a martyred tone.

Kambria changes her mind at the last moment and trades out the water in the deep pan for a thin layer of oil instead. Grabbing some white fish she grinds it up fine and then places it to brown in the oil. Hearing that the fingerroots are all peeled even the curly ones, she calls out. "You are both doing great. Now, Sayra please start placing the softened dices of fingerroot in the center of the pastry. Neeza, I need some more dill please and chop a one inch slice of onion into tiny strips lengthwise." Mixing the whitefish until it is evenly browned she brings it over to the fingerroots that had been cut almost through lengthwise. Filling each such root with her mild whitefish concoction she wipes her hands upon her apron and looks about for a second. Spying a nice serving dish she takes it and begins to place these carrots around the outside in an orderly fashion. Finishing this particular dish by placing the remainder of the whitefish in the center in a neat round display. Taking a few of the curly stripes of fingerroot she adorns the top of the piece with these. Setting this dish aside she nods with satisfaction and hurries over to finish her pastry dish. After thanking Sayra she says, "I need large dices of red and yellow pepper, onions, and green leaves. Fill a small bowl with them please." When Sayra hurries off she folds over the pastry, pinches the edges closed and sets it to bake in the oven. Then she begins to take the latest ingredients that are just now being diced and begins to toss them as still more are added. "Neeza help her when you are through."

Myriana places herdbeast and lamb patties on a grate to grill and returns to her first cooling pot. Taking one of her kitchen tools, she starts working on making the carrot concoction as smooth as possible. The apprentices are offered a warm word and asked to fetch the carved ice bowl at which point the curried carrot soup will be chilled in that bowl. A quick check in the oven shows that the cake is nearing completion. "Ah, the carrot coins in the liquor look divine. Now to the cream cheese frosting."

Kambria remembers one additional ingredient for the white fish dish. Taking a pinch of dill she lightly dusts the top of each stuffed fingerroot and the center fish as well. Checking the pastry she grins and waits a little longer before grabbing it out with her hand protected in her apron. Setting it onto the counter she carefully transfers the stuffed fingerroot and onion filled hardy pastry and places it upon another fancy serving dish. Brushing the top of this dish with melted butter she decorates the dish with a fragrant mint leaf and three small curly strips of fingerroot on the side. Two dishes done. Now for the last one...

Rilsa places a hand on her stomach. "Oh for faranth's sake. When can we try this stuff?"

Tavrie laughs at Rilsa’s eagerness. “The smells are making my mouth water. I think the pastry sounds like a really unique idea, but cake, tough to beat. This will be well worth the wait,” the Weyrwoman says, inhaling a moment and then giving a little sigh of contentment. “I wonder what Kambria’s third dish will be?” she muses.

Kambria commends Sayra and Neeza, her helpers with heartfelt thanks as they take a waiting pose off to the side as she finishes. Taking a green-frosted glass serving bowl she empties the tossed vegetables and greens into it. Taking the circles of fingerroot she carefully but quickly sets them flat and slightly overlapping the one before it around the outside of the bowl. Basel, thyme and parsley leaves are sprinkled on the top and the remainder of the curly fingerroots goes into the center as an added touch. Viewing each of her three dishes in turn she nods and steps back well pleased. This one is a simple dish but brilliant with color. Raising her eyes she declares calmly. "The dishes are complete."

Myriana adds some cream onto her chilled soup, using a knife, cuts a decoration into it to make the white against the rich orange look lacy. The herdbergers are placed onto thick slices of crusty bread, topped with a creamy mayonnaise before crowned with the carrot salad. The top slice of bread is placed at a jaunty angle onto the simple square white plate, letting the bright colors be the centerpiece. With a nod, she dips a spoon into the cream cheese frosting that is being finished by her sr apprentice. "Excellent." The cake sheet is spread with a thick layer of the cream cheese frosting. Gently and slowly, the cake is rolled into a log. The Master Baker focuses on using a piping bag and specialized tip to frost a basketweave pattern. The liquor carrot coins are waiting to be placed.

Hanif has been watching quietly for quite some time, but he soon gets overwhelmed by the different smells. He lets out a groan and says, "You're killing us!" He tries to make his face look as pathetic as possible, even though he doesn't expect a response.

Kambria sighs with satisfaction and waits for Myriana to complete her dishes as well.

S'din steps out from the background where he'd been endeavoring to sneak some of the food, only to be fended off by a sous chef with a cannily accurate soup ladle and smiles broadly at the crowd, "Time's up! Put down your ladles, knives and tureens! Come, one and all to the tables and pick up a card on your way! Please, taste each of the dishes, judging them on plating, taste, and originality, then hand me your cards so I can render your collective judgment!"

Myriana places the coins along the cake roll. With a look at her chilled ice bowl of soup, the herd and lamb burger and cake, she nods.

Rilsa seems to bounce slightly as if about to run.

S'din extends an arm toward Kambria and says, "Kambria! Please, tell us about the dishes you have presented us here tonight?"

Myriana folds her hands, watching curiously to see how Kambria did. Initial impression was a nod.

Tavrie turns her head toward Hanif, wrinkling her nose at the Candidate in amusement and the turns back to see Rilsa chomping at the bit. “Didn’t you get to eat today?” she teases the Weyrsecond. “You’d think that no one ever got to eat around here,” she mutters, still in good humor. Then, the Weyrwoman gives Kambria her attention to hear about the dishes she’s prepared.

Rilsa does stick her tongue out at Tavrie's back but it is all in good fun.

Kambria nods and steps forward. Gesturing with an amiable smile to the tossed salad first she says, "This particular dish is simple. It is comprised of red and yellow peppers, diced onion and adorned around the top with fingerroot circles. Basel, parsley and Thyme are lightly sprinkled upon the top, with an accent of curls of fingerroot in the center. Next..." She gestures to the stuffed pastry. "We have a simple hardy pastry brushed with melted butter and filled with softened fingerroot and onion. And last but not least is a finger dish of split fingerroot filled with a mild whitefish, ground finely and browned in oil. Seasoned with dill." She lowers her hand again and steps back to wait.

Rilsa takes her scorecard, and moves into the line to get her taste of the dishes. She accepts the place with the three sample and enthusiastically digs in.

Tavrie makes sure to get in line behind Rilsa so that she doesn't get run over. Going along, she takes a sample of each of the three dishes, scorecards tucked under her sampling plate so that she can jot things down after she has done the best part -- the eating! Tavrie munches and crunches thoughtfully, trying her best to keep a totally straight face now so as not to give away any feelings.

Rilsa makes her notations and sits back, waiting.

Hanif sneaks into the line right behind Tavrie. He rubs his hands together in anticipation, and when he can finally get his hands on a sample of food, he eats it up quick. Between tastes he takes time to think, trying not to let anything away in his facial expressions. "I think I might die...and if I do, that's alright. I will be happy." Cautiously works his way through, then takes a seat.

Kambria steps closer to Sayra and Neeza and smiles to both. They deserved to be included in the outcome, good or bad. Their help was invaluable.

Rilsa bounces a bit, waiting for the Baker's cuisine.

S'din sketches a bow to Kambria, flashing her one of his winning smiles and says, "Thank you, chef Kambria." He turns to Myriana then and says, "Iron Baker Myriana, would you please share with us your choices for today's theme ingredient?"

Kambria hearing one of the girl's tummy rumble beside her she glances to both and then gestures towards the finger dish she had prepared. Grinning at each other they both step forward, quickly snag a fish-filled fingerroot and step back again with Kambria to wait and to munch. Kambria continues to wait and to smile calmly.

Tavrie finishes her thorough sampling and note taking, then looks to the Baker now with interest.

Myriana bows to Kambria before inclining her head to all present. "To start, I offer a chilled carrot soup served in ice bowls. Chicken stock, nut milk, juice, carrots, Istan pepper and creme is put together into a cold culinary experience. The second dish is a herdbeast and lamb patty grilled, topped with a garlic, cumin and paprika mayonnaise. To keep with the theme, I added a shredded carrot salad that has been seasoned with garlic, cumin, paprika, red pepper flakes for a light heat, sweetner and oil. The final dish is a carrot cake made with shredded carrots, nutmeg, and cinnamon, rolled around an orange liquor cream cheese and decorated with orange liquor reduced carrot coins. Enjoy."

Kambria returns the bow with one of her own. An amiable smile graces her lips as she straightens and looks on.

Rilsa decides to be filled with decorum and walks to the table to start her sampling. With a sniff toward Tavrie, she takes the next plate and samples it with gusto. Looking side to side, she schools her expression to polite contemplation.

Tavrie listens to Myriana's explanation of the dishes and smiles. She makes her way through the sampling process with this next set of dishes, once again her face is a mask of stoic contentment. Returning to her seat she nibbles, sips and scribbles away. Finally, she sets her things aside, holding her card to her and looking up to indicate that she has come to a decision.

Hanif takes his time with this sampling, too, and then returns to his seat with an excited look on his face. He keeps eyeing the carrot cake, as if trying to determine when a good time to run up and grab it would be. He takes another moment to think, and then smiles and claps his hands on his knees when he's decided.

Myriana has her hands folded in front of herself, watching the tasting. She tries to look as if she is not nervous but there is always nerves in a competition.

S'din walks around, collecting cards quietly from those who have finished their tasting, or at least their voting.

Kambria waits with curious expectation.

Kambria's helpers finish their munchies and begin to fidget nervously beside her.

Tavrie submits her vote and then waits patiently, curious to see how the votes will stack up.

S'din steps up to a table and, after carefully setting aside several dishes, leaps up to the top of it and says, "Your attention please! It is now time for judgment! Please, your attention first!"

Kambria is surprised by S'din's choice of platforms. Looking up to where he now stands she can't help but to grin at his excitable demeanor.

Myriana straightens her shoulders and waits for the announcement. Taking a moment, she says to her challenger. "It was a pleasure to cook against you."

S'din doesn't have the cards in his hands, already having tabulated them, "Iron Baker, Kambria, please come forth and hear the judges' verdict!"

Myriana goes forth.

Kambria bows respectfully to her opponent and says likewise, "Yes. It was a pleasure."

Kaylee scoots aside, as S'din almost steps on her hand, and joins the throngs.

Kambria steps forward.

S'din stands perfectly at attention (which Weyrlingmasters are wont to do) and says, "After all the tasting and judging the winner is ..." he pauses, probably overly-long, and then snaps an arm toward the winner, bowing to her, "Challenger Kambria. Congratulations."

Myriana smiles, applauding. "Congratulations." She says.

Rilsa woohoos! "'Reaches wins." She ahems. "I mean, congratulations."

Kambria is surprised and very delighted. Bowing again to Myriana she looks around and then calls out to everyone, "Thank you very much for this honor. Myriana was a very worthy opponent." Her smile is radiant.

Hanif claps and grins. "Congratulations! Is there any food left?"

Rilsa sidles over to the tables, picking up some more food samples to sneak off to her weyr. She is attempting to be unobtrusive.

Tavrie claps gleefully. “Both of you were excellent. Our meals come from the finest culinary minds and inspire even our Candidates to strike out with rich flavors,” the Weyrwoman compliments Myriana. “Truly, it was a difficult thing to judge such wonderful dishes. Thank you both for the pleasure. And Kambria, congratulations,” she offers the Candidate proudly.

S'din hops down from the table, grinning and very obviously now more at ease, now that his role as chairman is over.

Tavrie smiles at S’din, clearly amused by his role in the hole thing, then slips away quietly.

Kambria learns more about being a weyrwoman.

Tue, 28 Oct 2008 03:59:06 GMT

Living Cavern, High Reaches Weyr

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. Tiny bouquets of the first hardy flowers are crammed into jars and mugs, dotting the tables with their pastel colors and light fragrance. The faint, musty aroma of wet wool mingles with that of spice. 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. Small groups gather here and there in the cavern, relaxing over a snack of freshly baked goodies as they cheerfully gossip.

Contents:

Jemah

Obvious exits:

Kitchen Bowl Lower Caverns

Kambria was sweated and sore from sacking firestone all day. Resting tiredly at one of the tables she sighs contently for the brief moment of relaxation that had been afforded to her. A fresh glass of caprine milk sits in front of her and is grasped gentle in one hand. The dirty fingers of her other hand brush away a few whisps of hair that had fallen into her eyes. Then a sip of the milk is taken and a satisfied smile appears upon her lips.

Tavrie muses thoughtfully at the serving table, her eyes lingering over the tarts for a moment before she chooses to get a healthier meal instead. Roasted ovine and mashed tubers are plopped onto her plate before she wanders over to pour herself some water. The Weyrwoman’s cheeks are pink and a hint of sweat beads along her hairline, both hinting that she has just come from spending time with Nabrimeth on the sands. Turning from the serving table, she scans for a place to sit and spies Kambria. Wandering that way, she points to a chair at the table with one finger that is spared from around the cup she is holding and smiles at the Candidate. “May I?” she asks simply.

Kambria sees Tavrie coming and smiles pleasantly. When the Weyrwoman asks to join her she feels privileged. "Yes. Please take a seat. I've been meaning to speak with you about a few things. How are you feeling?" She glances meaningfully towards Tavrie's tummy and gives her an encouraging smile. Another sip is given as she waits for the woman to sit.

Tavrie gives a self-conscious little grin and settles herself awkwardly onto the seat. “I’m feeling good, thanks,” she replies cheerfully. “Definitely hungry,” she adds after a moment. She adjusts her plate restlessly and then glances at Kambria, looking curious. “What can I do for you?” she then asks as she sets about cutting her roasted meat into bite size pieces.

Kambria suddenly becomes a bit uncertain. "Well, I have questions about... Would it be impolite of me to ask you a few personal questions about your life as a Gold Rider? There are some things I would like to know...now that I'm a candidate. I would like to be informed should that miracle ever-" She shakes her head because of her stumbling over her words. Straightening her shoulders she gathers her thoughts after a brief pause and another sip of her milk and goes ahead with her first question. "I guess what I would like to know is, What are your tasks as a Gold Rider?"

Tavrie smiles encouragingly. “That seems a fair question, not to worry. There are subtle differences in the lives of all riders based on their lifemates as well as their duties. At least, with a gold, you know what your duties are going to be like,” she says, stirring the mash around with her fork thoughtfully a moment. “Well, while the Weryleader is in charge of the wings, the Weyrwomen are in charge of the state of the weyr. The Senior Weyrwoman heads the team, the juniors work under her. It’s our job to work with the weyr staff to be sure that the tithes are being received, sorted and stored properly. So, a good relationship with the Headwoman is a must. Also, you have to be comfortable with math and lots of record reading. It is a lot of overseeing, double checking, and helping out,” she notes. “I don’t think that it’s a bad job, really,” Tavrie confesses. “It sounds daunting, but I think it relies on common sense and patience and not special skills. Well, special skills would be keeping calm with irritating people you have to deal with, both at the weyr and on visits to holds and other weyrs,” she admits. Tavrie pauses here, taking a bite of dinner and opening the floor for any other or more specific questions.

Kambria listens attentively to every word. Nodding with interest Tavrie's words open up for her another question. "I suppose that also answers what you might not like about being a Gold Rider, but what do you love about it? An what challenges would you foresee for me if I ever became a...Gold Rider?" After a quick pause to take a longer drink of her milk she continued. "I do not arrogantly presume that this will be the case for me but I also must humbly admit that the possibility exists. I hope to be a bit more informed about it than I am now. Your experience is invaluable to me in this. I thank you for taking this time for me."

Tavrie takes a few more bites, allowing her to think her answers through. "Well, there are a few things I love about it. The first is my lifemate. It's impossible to describe how much love you feel for them the second they connect with you. And then, I love watching her become a mother. Every time. I enjoy the process with her, just like she is now enjoying it with me," she admits with a simple shrug. "Other than that, I was happy being a nanny and I liked that sort of work more," she admits with a sheepish grin. "I don't like to confront people or get into heated discussions. That has taken some getting used to and I still have a lot to learn," she admits. "So, depending on how well you debate or how calm you remain while taking criticism for the job you're doing, those could be challenging areas," she suggests. "It all really depends on your strong suits," Tavrie tells her. "As a woman, it is a possibility for you to Impress a gold. If there is one to be hatched," the Weyrwoman muses and then stirs her food some more. "You're welcome, I'm glad you felt comfortable asking me," Tavrie admits with a genuine smile. Then, she sets back into eating again.

Kambria smiles thankfully. "You have given me much to think about. Thank you very much." Finishing her milk she stands and glances towards the door. "Please excuse me though. I must hurry away now. Perhaps I may speak with you again." With a simple bow of her head to the weyrwoman she excuses herself politely and heads away toward the kitchens.

Egg Touching

Tue, 28 Oct 2008 00:33:08 GMT

Candidate Barracks, High Reaches Weyr

This is a large, high ceilinged cavern cut from the rock. There are rows of depressions on the floor, couches for the young dragons who will soon live here. For now, cots have temporarily been brought in for the candidates while they bide their time, waiting for the exciting day when the eggs will hatch. Men keep to one side and women to the other. At the foot of each cot lies a small press for storing clothing and other small items.

The cavern has been decorated with old dragon tapestries hung on the walls, their colors slightly faded. A threadbare rug in the middle of the room bears the emblem of High Reaches Weyr, a mountain range in black on a dark blue field. A few low tables, chairs, and pillows have been scattered about the room, and baskets of glows placed strategically throughout the room keep the place well-lit. An opening in the southwest leads out into the Bowl.

There are +views available. (Type '+view' and '+view <subject>')

Contents:

Jorel

Kambria

Eostarra

Obvious exits:

Weyrling Training Room Bowl

Tavrie enters the Candidate Barracks and glances around to see who is there and what they are up to. They young woman puts her hands on her hips and smiles mischeviously. "Hey, you lot! Look alive!" she calls with a smirk. "Anyone in here want to go get a feel for heat and meet the eggs?" she asks them cheerfully.

Jorel finishes with the sack and nudges it under his cot, straightening as he hears the Weyrwoman. "Oh. They're ready for that?" he asks with a sort of quiet bewilderment. "I hadn't ...I must of... yes, sure," he agrees, though his words seem mostly lost under the more enthusiastic responses of some nearby.

Kambria looks up from her open press when she hears several mutters and footsteps coming closer. Tavrie's voice calls out soon after. Setting her towel down upon her bed she closes her press and pays attention. "Touching Eggs? That sounds wonderful." She smiles with growing enthusiasm.

Tavrie watches and waits, seeming calm and patient as people scurry to put things away and get ready. “Don’t forget some good, thick-soled shoes,” she suggests. “The sand is pretty warm,” she suggests. “After we are done, there will be drinks and snacks waiting for you,” is noted. “I’ve already informed the kitchen staff,” the blonde adds. She offers a smile to Kambria and Jorel as they express interest, turning to see who else will be coming.

The door opens, admitting the unassuming Tedaryn. He's uncharacteristically devoid of any kind of basket of baked goods, hair more tousled than usual and met with a red on his cheeks that suggests a quick dart across the Bowl to make it on time. A few panted breaths give his haste away, but nevertheless he smiles at the familiar faces of his barracks-mates and slips out of the way of the door.

"I'm interested, ma'am." is Kaylee's reply as she finishes listening to the instructions given. She looks down and regards her boots, shrugging her shoulders as if to say 'good enough' in regards to the heat.

Jorel fishes a pair of workboots from beneath his cot and shoves them on, tying the laces in hasty, sloppy knots. "I think that'll be too hot," he advises his cot-neighbor, a dark-haired lad who had been in the process of picking up a heavy sweater. He gives the boots a last tug before joining those assembling to be led out.

Tavrie smiles and nods. “Alrighty, group up and let’s head to the hatching caverns. On the day that the eggs hatch, you’ll be doing this in a hurry,” she offers with a smile. “There isn’t much to know. Be gentle with the eggs. Please don’t knock on them,” she asks. “I’m not responsible for you getting eaten if Nabrimeth takes offense to your behavior,” the Weyrwoman jokes. “Nabrimeth is a protective gold. If she doesn’t want you near an egg, best stay clear,” Tavrie warns. “Upon entering, it is polite to bow to the dam and the sire. That will serve you as advice for anytime you walk out onto the sands. Then, I will step aside and you can explore as you like,” she comments. “If there are any questions, I’ll take them now, or we can get going?” Tavrie asks, looking around.

Kambria nods attentively and follows with curiosity in her eyes. Following the others, she too moves towards the exit to the barracks on her way towards the Sands.

Kaylee gets to her feet, walking over to stand in the rapidly forming group of Candidates around the Weyrwoman. Each instructional point is given a slow nod of understanding, until finally she shakes her head at the final question - no questions from her corner of the Weyr.

Lacy finishes lacing up her boot and rises to join the growing group around Tavrie moving towards the exit to the bowl.

Tedaryn joins many of the candidates in assessing his shoes. Soft leather loafers...deciding not to risk it, he moves to his cot and retrieves a pair of black boots. They look too recently buffed to weather the sands, more suited to an occasion than grilling heat, but he puts them on anyway and sheds his red sweater soonafter. Oblivious to the fashion disaster of brown corduroy cutoffs and high black boots, he lazily follows the outpouring of candidates bound for the Sands. Passing by Tavrie, he smiles at the woman. "No questions, ma'am," he chimes.

"She eats people?" A girl from Tillek squeaks. She's quickly assured to her safety, "She wouldn't eat /you/, I'm sure," by a tall, blonde ex-Weaver apprentice. Jorel rolls his eyes, standing only a couple feet away, and shakes his head. "No, ma'am."

Tavrie blinks a moment as there seem to no questions and everyone eagerly takes off for the bowl. “Oh, okay then,” she mumbles and then turns and heads out of the Candidate Barracks. “Guess we’ll jump right in,” she notes to herself while walking.

Tavrie enters the galleries and smiles down at Nabrimeth. “Here they are, love. Be good,” she notes. “And, don’t forget what I told you – bow, gentle,” the Weyrwoman offers one last time. Nabrimeth takes one look at the Candidates and hurries over to hide the pink eggs, piling more sand against it and shielding it with her body. Kalorith jaws yawns at the group, turning to watch them calmly.

As the Candidate class files onto the sands, Kaylee makes very certain to heed to the Weyrwoman's instructions. Only a few steps onto the sands she stops as the sire and dam of the clutch look her way and she slowly bows to each - eyes down on the sands as she does, then looks up slowly as she straightens.

Kambria feels the heat of the sands even through her thick boots. The stories had not been exaggerated she sees. Bowing respectfully to Nabrimeth she smiles with a nod of gratitude to Tavrie and then turns her gaze to the sand mound. Her steps begin to bring her in that direction soon after. Her curiosity is growing.

Jorel stays toward the middle of the pack as the sands are invaded. "Maybe pink's her favorite color," he muses, under his breath while still on the stairs. Once on the sand he moves to the side to give others room and dips a not entirely unpolished bow to the clutchparents.

Eostarra bows as the others do and wanders closer.

Lacy pauses as she gets closer to the clutch, bowing to each dragon. Straightening up, she walks towards the eggs, her movements unhurried and graceful.

Bow, gentle. Tedaryn bows dutifully to bronze and gold, stepping out onto the sands only gingerly after some more daring candidates precede him. With the same slowness with which he bowed, he treks onto the sands. The clutch as a whole gains a cursory look-over, but the other candidates - specifically the Igenites of the group - will find themselves the subject of his gaze. It's a curious expression he bears as he sees how the desert-dwellers fare lips pursed as he stands there with warmth lapping at his soles.

Nabrimeth shifts restlessly, gaze bathing each Candidate for a long time in turn as she gets familiar with them. The pink egg is still carefully hidden away between her forelegs and she even lowers her head over it slightly -- nope, not sharing this one today. The queen's jaw slackens, seeming to smirk at the people now let loose on her turf.

Kambria approaches the sandy mound and yet pauses before really examining any of the eggs. Instead she turns to view Nabrimeth and watches her actions towards the pink egg she protects. "A good mother Nabrimeth is." She speaks gently to no one. It is a beautiful think she feels and it makes her smile.

Jorel doesn't -completely- unbend, staying so-slightly hunched for a few moments, eyes on the queen. When her jaw eases, so does the candidate ease, straightening and giving his shoulders a little roll. He steps forward - slow - toward the eggs, and maybe in his glancing about he catches Tedaryn's look, and lofts a 'brow at the other candidate: hm? Jor stops at one of the darker eggs with a coiled black surface, and lightly rests his fingertips at its apex.

"I think pink is definitely her favorite." Kaylee agrees in a low tone to Jorel. Taking a few small steps forward, her eyes are on Kalorith and Nabrimeth to ensure that nothing she does is taken exception to. Her step is a bit on the quick side as the heat of the sands starts to permeate her work boots, but she approaches the clutch curiously - looking first towards the sunny-yellow egg she had been so fascinated with at the clutching. Slowly her hand reaches out to touch the surface of the warm, hardening egg.

Eostarra wanders about quietly from egg to egg, but touches none of them.

Jorel's raised brow draws the same from Tedaryn, though his bangs hide it. His scarred lip curls in a smile, one shoulder raised in a shrug. Having stayed in one place too long, he hisses as the heat of the sands asserts itself on his boot-clad feet. Pouting, he picks his way across the miniature dunes with an eye for doing what he's come here for, rather than people-watching. It's an amber-caramel egg redolent of pulled taffy that gets his attention first, and not even because it's the closest to him. No, he passes by some eggs to get to that one, and indulges in a brush of fingertips across its surface as soon as he reaches it. He tilts his body towards it, but hesitates, looking over his shoulder to find the Weyrwoman. "Are cheeks and ears as okay as hands?" He asks, voice a stage whisper.

Lacy walks in among the eggs, her eyes drawn to the egg that is the least egg-shaped. She keeps moving, her steps slow and steady as she walks around that bejeweled egg and those near it.

Nabrimeth turns her attention to Jorel and his inspection of the darker egg. She shifts to lean out nearer to him, whuffing a breath of hot air his way before swinging away to glance at Kambria. At her comment the gold lifts her head and rumbles softly. Of course she’s a good mother. Tavrie smiles and nods to Tedaryn. “Go ahead,” she notes as she wanders about.

Tedaryn's smile gets a half-smile in return from Jorel. He hunches a little closer to the egg, inspecting it - then pulls back when the queen's head nears. He braves the puff of air well enough, not even flinching at its scent, but keeps his hands raised from the egg's shell until she's turned to the next. "Does she want me away from this one?" he wonders of Tavrie.

Tavrie shakes her head. “No, she was just curious about you because you were interested in one of the eggs that she says people don’t seem as fond of,” the Weyrwoman explains. “She likes that you aren’t judging it by its color,” is added.

Granted permission, Tedaryn smiles broadly and settles his cheek against the egg's warm surface. It looks like he's rubbing his cheek against the poor thing, but really he's just settling his ear comfortably against it, listening to hear who's home, perhaps. "I hear lute music!" The hushed revelation causes a younger female candidate to stop in her tracks and stare, agog at the possibility. One can almost see credulity warring with disbelief (maybe no one's been bold enough to put their ear to an egg before, how would they know?). That is, until Tedaryn straightens, giving away his lie with a cheeky grin as he turns on his heel leisurely to find another egg to inspect.

Kaylee stops to crouch down next to the yellow egg, giving it a good inspection as her fingers gently roam over the shell. After a few seconds, however, the heat of the sands all but forces her to rise and move, and she moves over to another egg closer to Nabrimeth, stopping to take in the rest of the clutch - a quick glance at the pink egg being so zealously guarded, but then she moves to one of the smaller eggs nearby.

Jorel considers the explanation for a quiet moment, then nods. "It's... interesting, you know? Dark but... like it's got depth to it. Like it'd be thoughtful... if eggs thought." He spends a few more moments with it, laying his palm flat against one rounded side. It's another dark one he moves to next, small and sort of tilted.

Kambria smiles happily when Nabrimeth rumbles softly. She nods to emphasis that her words had been true. One more smile for the Gold and she turns to look upon the mound and the nearest egg. Greens and Browns are emphasized across its surface. Stepping closer she gently reaches out to brush the tips of her fingers gently across the surface. The barest touch is given and a pleasant look settles upon Kambria's face as she turns to another.

Eostarra finishes her tour around the eggs, never touching, then finds an out of the way spot to idly watch the others.

"Is that...a 'W'?" Leave it to the candidate with books under his cot to look chuffed about that possibility. And to ask the air in general for confirmation rather than another candidate. Tedaryn tucks his hands in his high pants pockets, head tilted as he ambles carefully over the sands towards a very yellow egg, lips pursed critically as he nears it.

As she moves among the eggs Lacy never stops though she does rest a hand briefly on the shells , marvelling at the variety of textures she feels under her fingertips. Her steps slow a little but she never stops to inspect or study any single egg.

Nabrimeth, seeming wary again, sidles away from the pink egg a bit to try and get to the red-dipped egg. She eyes the group suspiciously and then shoots a glance at Kalorith, who is far too laid back about this for her tastes. Tavrie laughs and grins at Jorel. “Yeah, if eggs thought,” she notes. “Though I’m sure the life inside might be thinking or dreaming,” she muses, placing a hand on her stomach and then turn to go and lean against her lifemate’s haunch. “Relax, won’t you? How many turns and you have never seen harm come to an egg,” she notes.

Kambria finding an egg that is slightly set apart from the others with a carob and white appearance she cants her head and a crease tightens her brow. Peering over to the clutch parents she rests her gaze for a moment upon Tavrie with worry. "Is this one well?" She speaks clearly taking another hot step to stand by its side. Her hand comes to rest gently almost lovingly upon its surface as she waits for the answer.

Nabrimeth doesn’t seem to appreciate the concern, turning in Kambria’s direction and curling her lip at the query about her egg. It is one of hers, of course it is fine.

Jorel moves back from the small, carob-colored egg as Kambria comes close, giving her room. "Do you think they can hear, from inside the shell?" Hearing Tedaryn he glances that way, curious, but goes for the spongy-looking, white egg instead. Passing Eostarra he wonders, "Not much for eggs?"

Kaylee moves again - this time towards the squat, almost orangey egg. And yet again she crouches to examine it's surface, marvelling at the play of colors on it's surface.

Kambria sees the reaction Nabrimeth has to her spoken question and she does not quake with fear. Instead she smiles amiably, comfortingly and says to Tavrie. "Forgive me for asking. Perhaps I am still a midwife trainee at heart. I question out of love not judgement. I'm sure it is fine." She bows her head slightly, hoping to sooth the Gold by her words. Seeing that the pink egg Nabrimeth has left, she gives the carob one under her touch an affectionate and gentle pat and then steps towards the pink. Her gaze is watchful for any disapproval for her boldness.

Eostarra shrugs a little at Jorel's question, but doesn't say anything to elaborate.

Tedaryn spends a good few moments staring frankly at the W-embossed egg. Speaking of boldness, while Kambria is conveniently distracting Tavrie and the queen is busy settling in to guard a red egg, he leans in and pecks the shell of it with his maligned lips. Mwah. Just a peck, but one that leaves him looking as devilishly pleased as a kid with their hand in the cookie jar. Done wooing the heart of that gold's shell, he turns to find his next target - a stonelike egg that isn't crawling with candidates yet.

Kambria glances back with a thankful smile for Jorel for allowing her to share interest in the carob egg. "I know that babies in the womb can hear outside noises when they are old enough. Perhaps it is the same with dragons in the egg." She answers kindly before turning her gaze and her steps towards the pink egg again and steps up to its pretty shell.

Nabrimeth just huffs to herself, leaving Kambria alone for now and turning her gaze to Kaylee and the orange again. The queen watches her thoughtfully for a moment and then takes a moment to glance at Tavrie, whose cheeks are pink in the heat. “I’m fine for a bit longer,” the Weyrwoman tells her lifemate.

Lacy finishes her walk among the eggs and still with that measured step, walks out from among them, walking towards Eostarra, hopefully to where it's a little cooler.

Nabrimeth hunkers near the red egg now, shifting to look around her as Tavrie paces nearby. She misses Tedaryn’s secret love affair, simply noting who looks as if they have had enough and who is still interested in the eggs. She wanders over toward Lacy and Eostarra. “Well go in a minute,” she tells them, turning to see where everyone is.

Jorel sticks with the white egg for some time, smoothing his palms over its sides and crouching by it until the heat's too much, and he eventually moves on, mingling with the other candidates and eggs.

"Thank you, Weyrwoman," Eostarra offers in a quiet tone. Another small bow is given to the dame and sire, and she turns to head for the gallery stands.

Kaylee finishes her communion with the orange egg, smiling and patting it as she rises, then looks at the clutch. Her eye is drawn to get another egg - the bright pink one that Nabrimeth had guarded so zealously at first, and she moves closer while watching again carefully.

Kambria softly brushes the fingertips of one hand across the powdery blush of this delicate-looking egg. It looks as if it should feel soft but it is not. It is just as hard as the others and sturdy in its place. At least it appears so with the added sand Nabrimeth had recently piled up around it. Her head can be seen nodding to herself as her eyes light up slowly with appreciation. "It is absolutely beautiful..." was breathed softly in an undertone as if to herself as she admired it a bit longer. Turning her gaze finally to Nabrimeth she beams an approving smile her way before looking around again at the other eggs and the candidates round about. Turning her attention to Tavrie, she loses a bit of her smile to concern. The flushed cheeks of the Weyrwoman, was noticed.

Tavrie lifts her voice. “Alright, let’s leave the sands now and go get something to drink and some fresh fruit in the bowl!” she calls. “Nabrimeth needs to relax a bit,” she says to those that are near her. And with that, she moves towards the stairs into the gallery, stopping there to be sure she watches everyone exit.

It's only by virtue of a tap on his shoulder that Tedaryn is pulled out of his little world of listening to the stonelike egg. He straightens and blinks, looking around himself with some surprise at finding the sands so sparsely populated. He throws a regretful look over his shoulder at the very first egg he interacted with, as though bidding it farewell, before he heeds the Weyrwoman's command. At the threshold of stone floor and sands, he turns and bows once more in thanks to Kalorith and Nabrimeth. "A delicious clutch," he says softly, eyes on the dam herself. His lips twitch wryly, then he's ducking into cooler climes.

Kaylee barely has time for a single pat to the pink egg as Tavrie calls a halt to the visit. She smiles at it and backs away - another respectful bow towards Kalorith and Nabrimeth is offered before she returns to the group, moving towards the gallery.

Kambria is glad for the announcement, not just because her own feet were burning and her tongue felt parched but because Tavrie was getting off the sands for some hydration. "A welcomed thing. Thank you very much for allowing me...us to view and introduce ourselves to the eggs." Bowing again to Nabrimeth and then again to Kalorith, she turns and follows the others off the Sands.

Nabrimeth watches the Candidates go, snorting once and then rumbling to Kalorith. Together, the dragons move about piling sand around the eggs as if they were tucking infants into bed. "I'll be back later, love," Tavrie tells the queen before turning and following the Candidates up the stairs with a sigh and some panting.

Kambria holds a pleasant smile upon her mouth as she exits the sands and makes her way towards the water and redfruit. Mmmm. A delightful refreshment after the burning heat of the sands.

A short scene with Saleese and Tedaryn.

Tue, 28 Oct 2008 00:26:02 GMT

Lake Shore, High Reaches Weyr

This shoreline marks the edge of the freshwater lake that fills the southeastern portion of the bowl. The gritty dirt of the bowl gives way to smooth sand.

The early evening crystal clear as the sun sets over the western rim of the bowl. The air is calm, with no hint of breeze. The water's glasslike surface mirrors the cliff walls and sky above.

Contents:

Saleese

Obvious exits:

Lake Pond Diving Cliff Bowl

Saleese was crouched down, balanced on her feet, right by the water's edge. Her skirts, in a most unladylike manner, were gathered up at the knees to keep from getting wet. One hand held these in place, while the other was holding up a small toy raft that was clearly homemade up for inspection.

It’s the perfect spring afternoon, though evening is fast approaching. Tavrie has happily slipped back into her spring clothes and a lighter jacket with a luxurious fur lining. She strolls down toward the lakeshore with her hands in her pockets, humming softly to herself. With the jacket buttoned, the Weyrwoman looks much heavier than she used to, though her legs still seem slender. Approaching from behind Saleese, she takes in the Candidate with a glance and then shifts her attention to the little raft. “Will it float?” she queries simply and without greetings or formality.

Saleese says "Well, I'm hoping so. I think I may have figured out the best lashing of the sticks to keep the water from sogging it up," she answers just as informally with her attention focused on the inspection. It's clear she has no idea, at the moment, to whom she's speaking. This is made more evident as she finally looks away from the small raft to twist and look behind her. "Oh! Weyrwoman!" And Saleese completely falls over onto her rear in surprise."

Saleese

There is a quirky smile, the sort that seems to tug on the corner of her mouth in a lopsided manner. Vivid green eyes suggest a mix of both the dreamer and the adventurer, while often times becoming glazed with the distraction of inner thoughts. Typically the deep brown hair is piled atop her head, held in place with long, unadorned wooden pins. A maroon and cream bit of woven scraps is threaded through her hair, helping at times to hold it all in place. Neither tall or short, the older teen is just another face in the crowd, a seamstress for the Weyr's residents, and marked by hands already showing the signs of callouses in the right places.

Tavrie can’t help but laugh at this response, a hand lifted to quickly hide and hopefully stifle the giggles. “Please, please,” she notes when she can stop her laughter. “You don’t need to act like a tunnelsnake just popped up out of nowhere,” she notes, clearly amused. “I know that Candidates are pretty bond up in formalities, but this seems to be a time for relaxation and less stress over titles,” she notes. “So, how do you have it lashed?” the young woman continues the discussion of the raft Saleese has made, clearly interested in the toy.

Saleese grins a bit and sort of picks herself up and slaps her hands to her skirts to knock dirt free. With her other hand, she holds up the toy raft for display. "Well, I double-lashed in a loop the outside logs at the ends. Then, I single loop lashed the middle of those outside logs. Then using an over-under weave, to then loop lash the last log and bring the twine back in under-over in reverse... I... yeah... Well, we'll just have to see," she trails off, supposing her rambling makes no sense at all. "Any how, less gap, stronger support."

Somewhere under the bundle of bound hides yonder must be a person. Stacks of bound hides, after all, don't move by themselves across the Bowl. If one's at the right angle, there's a candidate knot to be seen and a tuft of blond hair to add to the process of guesswork. Tedaryn's face is abruptly revealed when a mishap between shoe and stone winds up with the young man stumbling, releasing the stack of hides to the Bowl floor with a dull thud, though he himself keeps upright. The somewhat precarious tower of hidework slides from its vertical position into a horizontal one along the ground. Tedaryn pouts, looking terribly inconvenienced by this development. Then he looks mildly mortified as the wind from a dragon swooping overhead for a landing sends some loose pages flying. "Noooo," he mourns plaintively, hands going to his hair in sullen disbelief as the pages scatter, some towards the water.

Tavrie nods in reply, looking thoughtfully at the raft and grinning. “I haven’t ever tried to make anything like that. It looks like fun. How did you think of it?” she continues to toss questions at Saleese. It is about then that she hears the cry and sees papers tumbling in the gust toward the water and near her feet. Tavrie bends down, struggling over her belly to try and help pick up pieces. In the end, she squats down and begins gathering them up. “This isn’t so easy anymore,” she grumbles to herself.

Saleese says "Well, I was reading a story where..." Her voice trails off as she hears the sound. Blinking a few times as hides et all seem to go every which way. The raft is dropped from her hands, crashing to the ground the moment the Weyrwoman is bending over to gather them up. "Weyrwoman! Not in your condition!" Saleese is trying to yank her up while at the same time furiously trying to pin down the blown hides with her feet. From afar, she looked like she was teaching the pregnant Weyrwoman a new dance step... and it was going badly. "Please, no crouching like that, it is terrible for you!"

Spying that dance - specifically the pregnant goldrider's involvement in it - is a catalyst to spur the stunned blond into action. He abandons the stack where it lays, trusting the hides rustled in the opposite direction not to stray too far. The water's the peril here, and now the bending Weyrwoman. "Oh, I'm sorry," he calls, trotting toward the pair and the water's edge, stopping once or twice to grab a hide on the ground. That little trotting and bending has him a little breathless already. "It's fine, these ones weren't in order, Weyrwoman. Leave it to me, they're not that important..." Huff, puff. A growing stack of hides under his arm, he moves across the shoreline like a little shorebird, stopping to 'peck' up more hides. Already a few have touched the water's edge. During one of his upright moments between bobs to grab hides, he smiles red-cheeked at the pair of women and musters the most nonchalant and pleasant greeting he can: "Good day, Weyrwoman. Good day, Saleese."

Tavrie finds this dance tremendously funny. “It can’t be that bad, can it? I’m pregnant, not dying!” she chortles merrily. She’s gains her footing again and lets them scramble for the papers. “Good day, Tedaryn,” she replies when he greets her. Tavrie glances around at the papers and hides. “Where were you going with those? Trying to drop them in the lake?” she teases, her voice and expression hinting at the joke.

Saleese gives Tavrie the sort of look an Auntie probably gives her on a daily basis. "Weyrwoman, trust me. I've watched my ma go through plenty of pregnancies and births. You don't want to be straining, bad for the timing of things. You let other people strain for you. Especially you being a rider and all," she adds, knowing full well that riders historically suffered from more miscarriages than non-riders. "Ah, hello Tedaryn," Saleese finally manages to the lanky blonde candidate. She offers him a crooked smile and bends to pick up the hides she was standing on. "You should think about a basket... easier on the arms. Though... I know how men like to appear all manly and whatnot and do things the hard way," she adds with a grin.

"To the dragon infirmary, to be sorted, and referenced." Tedaryn replies, shuffling the hides in his hands. His brown eyes drift from the Weyrwoman's smiling face to the water, eyeing the three or four pages that are beyond easy reclamation. "It seems I've made the task of the person on duty a little easier," he dryly observes under his breath. He's all smiles once again when he looks at the Weyrwoman, however, sharing the harelipped expression with Saleese. Her remark catches him off-guard...or he got hit on the back of the head with a rock, to judge by his stunned expression. No offending rock to be seen, so it must be the former. "It's nothing to do with masculinity!" He replies, his tone one of hushed self-defense. "If you'd been there with a basket when K'len told me to move the hides, I'd have happily accepted it." He licks his lips and looks back towards the Bowl, where the fallen stack awaits his attention. It receives only a pout from the candidate before he looks at the women again. "Thank you both. More would have wound up in the water if not for your swift assistance."

Tavrie smiles and nods. “Alright, Saleese, it sounds like fair enough advice,” the Weyrwoman concedes with a grin. She then glances to Tedaryn and smirks. “I have a basket that you could use now if you want?” she offers, still smirking. “I hope K’len is being fair in his tasks,” Tavrie adds, arching her brows curiously. “Oh, the raft, is it okay?” she suddenly notes the abandoned toy.

Saleese says "Well how could I be there with a basket when I was making my raft with the children?" she retorted quite naturally. It made perfect sense to her. "Honestly, when one is assigned duties with the children, one simply has to embrace their inner child." She then flashes that crooked, lopsided grin to Tedaryn to ease her teasing. Handing over the hide she holds, Saleese then bends and retrieves her toy. How strange, the three of them with a toy raft in the midst. Turning it over, Saleese ran fingers along the beams. "I think so. Not like I couldn't make another one, I suppose."

"Well, he's only had me dust his weyr, carry these hides, bathe his feet and chew his food for him so far..." There's a lot to be said about physiognomy and how one's words come across. With swimmy brown eyes and childishly round cheeks, not to mention the soft pitch of his voice right now, Tedaryn's remarks might be taken seriously. The slight twitch of his lips might be a tic, or it might be a repressed smirk as he milks his innocent face for its worth. He smiles and concludes, "K'len's a fine taskmaster, Weyrwoman." The inquiry about the toy piques Tedaryn's brows beneath his bangs, and he follows the goldrider's line of sight to it. He ponders it for a moment, pursing his lips together. "I'd best run these hides to their destination before the Weyrleader finds my tardiness to be justification to use me as a footstool again," he quips in all pleasantness, turning on his heel to shuffle off to do just that.

Tavrie shakes her head. “Come now, he wouldn’t have you chew his food. Everything, sure,” she replies, rolling her eyes. When he turns to go she offers him a smile. “Take care and don’t let him get to you,” she offers kindly. “I’d best head back inside, too. Nabrimeth will be ready for me to come back soon so I need to eat something and change,” the woman notes. “I hope your raft floats. It is always good to get in touch with your inner child,” the Weyrwoman says with a grin. “Take care, Saleese,” she offers before wandering back the way she came.

Saleese chortles quietly at the list of things Tedaryn is supposedly exposed to under the thumb of the Weyrleader. "At least you don't have to wash and press his unmentionables," she calls out as he walks off. Then as the Weyrwoman is taking her leave, Saleese turns and cursteys. "Of course, Weyrwoman. My duty ro you and High Reaches."

Sledding at Fort Weyr - HRW wins!

Fri, 24 Oct 2008 20:51:23 GMT

Western Bowl, High Reaches Weyr

Standing on the western side of the bowl, the high crownlike spires of the Seven Spindles on the north wall tower majestically above the roughly ovoid bowl floor. Near you, a large boulder stands, placed almost exactly in the center of the bowl. This side of the bowl is busy with the constant flow of residents and visitors around the entrance to the living cavern to the southwest and the lower caverns to the west. To the north, the large opening on the upper wall leading into the hatching grounds catches your eye. Directly below it, the ground entrance to the same area seems almost tiny. To the northwest, the weyrs belonging to the junior queens of High Reaches are accessible from a short set of stairs and a path of carefully laid black marble leads from them to the entrance to the living cavern. To the south, a few ground weyrs remain unoccupied, in case any visiting or injured dragons need them.

The early evening crystal clear as the sun sets over the western rim of the bowl. A light wind blows and the spring air is warm enough, with only a slight chill.

Views: Weyrs

Contents:

Moll

Vmireth

Verenth

Obvious exits:

Lower Caverns Living Cavern Garden Patio Ledge Hatching Grounds Guest Weyrs Eastern Bowl

Moll grins and looks around her. "You looking for a lift to Fort for the sled races, Candidate?" she asks casually as she spots a likely suspect.

Barett looks about as bundled up as anyone could get, sled races are bound to be cold after all. "Yep, all ready to go. Not sure if anyone else's comin' along, or left a'ready." He says with a shrug.

Eostarra strides over from the eastern side of the bowl.

Te'an hops down Deneth's side to the ground, using her straps as handholds.

Moll smiles and nods. "We've been taking people over here and there," she notes. "Why don't you ride with Te'an, then?" she suggests, wafting a hand toward the other greenrider and winking as if doing some match making. Moll lingers, waiting to take any last sledders.

Eostarra is ready to go, climbing up on whichever dragon is taking her.

Barett frowns a little at the fact he'll be stuck riding with another guy, but what complaining can a candidate do? He walks over towards Te'an and waits for him to mount before hopping on too.

Te'an is actually rather somber appearing today, so it seems some people might be more safe around him. He climbs back on Deneth and offers a hand up to the candidate when he's closer.

Te'an clambers up onto Deneth's back, the dragon's sparkling eyes watching closely.

Small Lake Valley Near Fort Weyr

This valley hangs in a small bowl-like depression in the ridges just west of Fort Weyr, a short hike up from the Fort Hold Road. The relatively low ridges that surround it are dwarfed by the bulk of the Weyr rising above them. At the north end of the valley, a small mountain lake glitters it's glacial blue, a small stream wending across the valley floor to spill down into the next valley over a small waterfall. The rest of the valley floor is gently rolling, small hills and inclines everywhere.

Here and there, holes are opening up in the ice that once locked up the waters of the small lake. The stream runs freely now , burbling along until it spills over the small waterfall at the end of the valley. The snow that once coated the rolling valley floor is thinning along the higher reaches where the sun shines the longest.

+rhelp is available

Contents:

Lekath

Lysseth

Valioth

Acadia

Inneth

Pierzit

A'riste

Sunika

Te'an vaults down Deneth's side to the ground, as the dragon rumbles softly.

Small Lake Valley Near Fort Weyr

+rhelp is available

Contents:

Te'an

Deneth

Lekath

Lysseth

Valioth

Acadia

Inneth

Pierzit

A'riste

Sunika

Jaelith appears from :: Between :: with a cold rush of air and a flurry of dragon wings!

Kassima slides down from Lysseth's neckridges to land beside her with ease. Lysseth cocks her head at her rider, rumbling quietly as Kassi gives her eyeridges a grateful scratching.

H'sen unbuckles from Lekath's riding straps and swings down to the ground.

Inneth lands rather quickly, sending up a gout of snow when she hits the ground. Acadia dismounts equally rapidly, and lands in snow halfway up her knees. She wades to higher ground and waves greetings to everyone.

Moll climbs down Vmireth's side to the ground, the dragon's sparkling eyes watching closely.

A small Wing of Igen dragons arrives together. By the size of most of them, they're Weyrlings, not fully grown. By the wide grin on Kassi's face when she dismounts.... "You've done wonderfully!" she calls to the Wing. Ah-hah. First *between* jumps, perhaps? "Congratulations! Igen Weyr's duties t'Fort and her queens, too," called slightly belatedly to any who might be listening.

A'deth takes hold of Jaelith's riding straps and slithers down her side to the ground.

There's been a late snowfall -- more than enough to cover the hillsides with enough snow for sledding and gamboling about; which, in fact, some people have been gathering to do this fine afternoon. In other places, the snow's started to turn to slush, inviting mud fights as much as the snow begs to be thrown in a snowball fight. Sleds have been hauled out for anyone inclined to ride them, while a few intrepid sorts have already begun building snow 'Weyrs' to protect them from snowball-related onslaughts.

T'nnusen unclips himself and climbs down Dustenyth's riding straps, giving the dragon a hearty pat on the shoulder as he does so.

Eostarra slips down off of Vmireth, landing steadily. She offers a smile and wave up to Moll upon straightening.

H'sen slides to the ground from Lekath's shoulder, managing to look not quite as clumsy as he usually does. He'll have to get better before the young bronze is full grown or he'll break something important. He salutes the gathered riders and then looks around. "Wow, snow." He squints a little in the sunlight reflecting off the snow. "It's brighter than I thought it it would be." Lekath tentatively reaches out and sniffs a pile of snow, investigating it.

A'deth and Jaelith arrive a few moments after the other Igenites do, his arms laden with... coats? For the underdressed Igen contingent. And gloves. He moves to dispense them to his compatriots. "Since," he observes to no one in particular, "It was so spur of the moment." Mercifully for the weyrlings' pride, they're in ungarish shades of black and brown.

Ch'ton grins and slides off Mobeth, elated. The dragon is clearly elated as well, his eyes swirling a pretty blue with pleasure. "Ah! It's cold. Not as cold as between, but still cold." he pulls his riders jacket closer around him. "Oh... and... snow! Look! It's snow, Mo!" and then he laughs at his inadverdant rhyme. "Snow Mo! Hey..! Kinda like Mobath, eh?" And the poor, abused blue snorts and shakes his big head pathetically. He ooohs at the coats and gloves givin him, and slides them on. "OH! Cool! Well... warm, but cool!"

T'nnnusen frowns a little at all the snow, but lets Dustenyth land with the rest of the group, saluting as appropriate and climbing down the black-blue's side. Come to think of it, Dustenyth really /does/ look black against all this white! He accepts a coat and gloves with a murmured thanks and a faint smile, slipping them on over his leathers, as his dragon investigates the cold wet stuff he's standing on with the tip of his nose. Aaah! It /sticks/ to him! Get it off! Get it off! He shakes his head and the snow on his nose goes flying, making the dragon pause. Yes, yes. Meant to do that, of course.

Moll, having dropped off her passenger, quickly clambers back up between Vmireth's neckridges and waves to the folks from High Reaches. "Have fun, you hear?" she says with a grin, then the pair is up and away.

Valioth finds shallower snow to land in, and A'riste dismounts, and looks on quietly, though his expression brightens as the Igenites turn up. He strides their way, his tenor voice lifting in song. "Print of extravagance, shapes of a shared life / Left knee-deep in transcendental drifts: / The isolate forms of snow are its hardest fact." In A'riste-ese, that may or may not be a 'hello'.

Eostarra wanders over towards Te'an and Barett, Moll having left. She trudges through the snow like one somewhat used to it, but is clearly not a native of the cold. Her gloved hands shoved deep into her caftan pockets, she sttands beside Te'an until she figures out what she should be doing.

Barett hops into the snow though for all appearances he looks displeased with it. "Couldn't we have gone to somewhere warmer? Like, Ista?" He asks, grumbling characteristicly of himself. He glances around to see all the others arriving, and makes sure to do quick work to get away from the greenrider he arrived with.

Kassima beams as much at A'deth as she did at the Weyrlings. "The thanks I'd give you if'n there weren't an audience. Have you always been so practical?" She trades her painted jacket for one of the black coats, longer and heavier. Gloves at least she remembered to bring. It's not exactly stylish, but she leaves her riding helmet on too. "'Tis beautiful," she says of the snow. "The temptation t'pelt you all with snowballs, honestly... hey. Is that Eostarra over there?"

Te'an gets settled with Deneth, and oddly enough it appears he's content to just sit over there with the green who's happily looking between all the males that land. Rather than mingling like he might usually do, he just sits himself down beside the green to watch the festivities.

A'deth leans against Jaelith's foreleg after he's distributed all of the coats. "I have, but mostly in the dark... the butcher girl? It is. And with the 'reaches. I wonder why she hasn't yet expired from the cold-- do the Sands keep her warm, I wonder?"

H'sen gratefully accepts one of the coats from A'deth and pulls it on. He looks around at the large number of gathered strangers. Maybe this won't be so different from when he first came to Igen. He leaves Lekath amusing himself by making talonmarks in the snow. "Snowballs? Sounds cold." Though he's certain that someone will be pelted with snowballs before the event is over.

Ch'ton awws. "We're not allowed to pelt each other with snowballs?" he asks, letting the one he'd been building to toss forecefully at a certian blonde rider fall back to the ground. "Oh, hey! It is Eostarra! Can we throw snoballs at /her/?" Someone is /going/ to get snowballed before this thing is over.

Dustenyth trundles Valioth's way, having noticed the snow the bronze is standing in looks shallower. He rumbles a greeting as he nears. T'nnusen meanwhile looks on with some amusement and shivers under both layers of coat, the desert-born blond has never been anywhere this cold in his life! "I wouldn't suggest throwing much of anything at her, she has a big knife," he comments to Ch'ton, and tries to catch Eostarra's attention with a wave.

Eostarra indeed notices the Igenites, beaming as she sees them. She sets off at a jog towards them, seeing as Te'an seems content to sit back and watch. "Hey!" she calls, waving a small hand as she nears. "You guys can travel, now? Great!"

A'riste grinds to a halt halfway to the Weyrling wing, though, and half-turns toward the 'Reachians. "Fort's duties. Have you come to inflict yourselves upon the slopes? ...Eostarra? I thought you were ripping dead things apart at Igen."

"Just don't cause inter-Weyr incidents, that's all I ask." Kassima's decidedly amused. "Other than that--throw snowballs, make snow-sculptures, grab a sled, have fun, but for the love of the first queen do *nay* start mud-fighting. We'd shower mud all over Igen coming home and then where would we be? You don't have t'stick around us either." To A'deth, "You'd have t'go out and roll on 'em t'be as warm as Igen. Bet their queen wouldn't appreciate that. A'riste!" Now she spots that poetic young man, and she waves to him. "Don't make me recite limericks t'answer you. Nay anyone would appreciate that."

"Not /everyone/," drawls A'deth.

Ch'ton gives a big grin and a nod to Kassima. And then he turns to Mobeth. "Alright, do it!"

Ch'ton pages to A'deth, A'riste, Acadia, Barett, Eostarra, H'sen, Kassima, Pierzit, Sunika, and T'nnusen: Errr... silly overanxious enter key. Oh well.

Acadia raises her voice and calls out, "Anyone feel like sled racing, even without M'yr to knock off course? Or does mud fighting sound better?"

Mobeth snorts and, chocking back an amused whuffle, flicks his tail deep under then snow, then up, spraying the Igenites with cold, wet, sticky snow, most of it aimed at H'sen and T'nnusen admitedly. Then, his job done, he bursts into a fit of whuffles.

T'nnusen, just turning to greet A'riste, is showered in snow. He's very still for a moment, and then wipes as much of it off of himself as he can before it can melt and strides toward the Fortian. "And a belated hello to the songster as well," he says with a smile and a shiver, digging snow chunks out from the collar of his two layers and trying not to let his teeth chatter.

H'sen tilts his head. "Sled racing? Is that just a good excuse to break your neck?" He gets distracted by a spray of snow coming from the direction of the dragons. Shells, he figured he would end up with snow down the back of his coat before long.

Barett looks through all the unfamiliar people greeting eachother, and scrunches his nose slightly. Rather than rushing into the thick of things, he lingers over near the edges and watches the interactions with a thoughtful expression.

Eostarra drifts to a stop near T'nnusen and A'riste. "I used to be," she answers the Bronzerider. "Then I was Searched by High Reaches. So, I'm a Candidate, now." She grins at T'nnusen, opening her arms for a hug. "Look at you boys. Already travelling."

"'A greenrider, hair white as snow / To a Fort sledding party did go; / He got ice down his vest, / But his weyrmate protests: / How it got there, she doesn't know!'" Kassima scoops up a handful of the snow and brandishes it at A'deth. Something distracts her, however. "Sled racing? Ooh. I haven't made a fool of m'self falling on m'rump lately." Mobeth's snow-shower doesn't touch her since Lysseth stretches out a wing in time to shield. The elder green shakes all that white stuff from her 'sail, snorting. "This is the first trip *between* for some of 'em," her rider tells Eostarra. "Everyone lived!"

A'riste bends to gather up a handful of snow, and packs a loose snowball. This, he lobs at Ch'ton, not too hard, though his aim is reasonably good. "Hello," he chirps to T'nnusen. "You should all try sledding. You won't break your necks--" he adds to H'sen, "--Maybe your noses if you don't mind your elbows. The snow'll break your fall." And he beams at Eostarra, too. "Congratulations! By that one?" And he jerks a thumb toward Te'an.

"Go fall on your rump," A'deth purrs to Kassima, raising his hands to fend her off. "I'll watch."

Acadia puts her fingers to her mouth and whistles loudly. "All right, anyone wanting to race grab a sled and come join me off to the side. Let's keep casualties to ourselves and not the innocents. This time." She grins broadly, grabs a sled and heads for a less populated portion of the valley.

Ch'ton oohs. "Sled riding?" he asks, turning his head just in time to get a facefull of snow. "Phhht. Hey. That's cold!" he says, using a begloved hand to clean his face. "Ha! It's on now!" he giggles and scoops up a handfull of snow, packing it hard and tossing it back at A'riste. "Hey, sledding, though, count me in!" he says, jogging after the whistling woman and going for a sled.

H'sen wanders around, looking a little lost. He reaches out to try to catch the attention of a tall, brown-haired young man. "Hey, do you know much about this area? What can you see from this hill?" He belatedly spots the other's white candidate not and sighs. "Shells. Maybe you don't know either?"

T'nnusen gives the butcher girl a brief hug, since she's probably homesick an all. "It wasn't my very first jump, but I've been kept too busy to visit High Reaches yet. You never replied to my letter, you know." And he eyes A'riste, "Sledding, from the looks of it, entails getting /closer/ to all that snow. No thank you." Shiver, shiver. "First time seeing this much of it, let alone from so close."

Barett blinks as his attention is drawn from whatever he was staring off at, "Huh? Oh. No. Sorry." He offers, shortly, before offering a spreading smile and shaking his head, "I'm from Tillek, but currently at 'Reaches. Talk about feelin' a little lost." He admits with a shrug of his shoulders and a furitive and uncertain glance towards the sleds.

Eostarra looks back over her shoulder at the indicated rider and his dragon, Deneth. "Yeah, actually. They were the ones." She looks back to the two young men. "And so, here I am. They brought a few of us over to join in the fun. Never stopped to think you all might be here." She then returns the hug by the Bluerider. "Aw, well, I understand. And I actually have it all written, I just need to send it. I got a bit sidetracked the last couple days."

Kassima crinkles her nose at A'deth, but she drops the snowball and steals a kiss for luck and warmth, and then she joins those heading for the racing zone. "Do we get t'name the sleds?" she asks hopefully. "Can I call mine 'Evildeath'? 'Twould intimidate the other sleds with a name like that. I wish I had time t'paint wherry skulls on it."

H'sen grins, trying to focus on the conversation to distract himself from how cold it actually is here. "Congratulations on Candidacy, at any rate, and good luck as well. A lot of snow at High Reaches too, isn't there? Haven't been there yet myself, but I'm sure we'll go before too long. I'm H'sen, by the way. Bronze Lekath's rider of Igen Weyr."

A'riste acks as Ch'ton's snowball *whaps!* his shoulder, and dusts it off. "You'll warm up from the exercise. Standing around'll just make you colder." And he flashes Tannu and Eostarra a brilliant smile. "I'm going to go make proper greetings to that one," and he waves airily toward Te'an. "Diplomatic relations and all that. Since I don't think he's been."

Ch'ton blinks at his derranged Weyrlingmaster. "Uh.. Evildeath, Kassima? Why not something like 'dragonspeed' or something" he snorts and tuggs his jacket closer around him. "Hey, Kassima? How do you sled?"

A'deth waves cheerfully after Kassima. "Smash your enemies into the hill, darling!" he calls after her. "Don't stop until you see blood!"

"Ah, thanks." Barett says with a slightly more easygoing expression, loosening up perse. "Name's Barett, from Tillek like I said. Likely t' go back once the eggs hatch at the 'Reaches. Not that I'd mind, y'see. I accepted for the adventure'n stuff." He admits ruefully, before asking, "Y'gunna try the sledding? I think I'll be passin' on it this time. More fun t'a watch."

Deneth appears like a normal shade of green, but for all that Te'an's withdrawn it might seem like there might be some glowing going on in the next while. He sighs a little, pushing himself to his feet to search through the green's bags looking for something that he pulls out. Just a blanket, may as well be warm while watching sledding, right? A'riste gets a wave, and a cursory look over.

H'sen smiles faintly. "Yeah, I thought the same thing myself, before Lekath. Thought I'd go back to Keroon. You never know how things are going to turn out." He glances over in the direction of the hill where others are preparing to sled. "Ah... I think I'll hold off on sledding too. I wouldn't want to go up against Kassima, truthfully. She may be our Weyrlingmaster, but I don't think she'd hesitate taking off the head of a weyrling who got in her way," he says, half-joking.

"I'll be a lot colder if I end up covered in snow again," T'nnusen argues, stuffing his gloved hands into some convenient pockets. "I'll just watch the others plow into one another from here, thank you. Off with you to play diplomat, then," but he says it with a smile, regardless.

Acadia waves to Ch'ton and Kassima and says, "Looks like it's the three of us. I'm Acadia of Fort, Inneth's rider. And the rules for this are, don't hit other people, first one to the edge of the lake without going in wins. Other than that, there aren't any. Sound good?"

Kassima eyes the sleds. "I only sort of know. It's been a long time. I didn't do much of it at Benden or Telgar either--the last time was at High Reaches, some sort of contest. I didn't die," she mentions brightly. "I'm thinking we sit on 'em and they fall down the hill and we go flying, whoosh!" It's a good thing she's more helpful in Weyrling lessons. "Kassima, green Lysseth's," she introduces herself to Acadia. "A'deth's going t'be so disappointed there's nay enemy-smashing, but I'm all right with that."

Ch'ton nods. "Sounds good. Uh, how do you stop? I don't fancy getting wet in this cold." he pauses. "Oh. Ch'ton, blue Mobeth's rider." he grins. "So, just jump and fall? Sounds like I can handle it."

"Truth be told, I'd rather go back to Tillek, but... Yes, we'll see." Barett says with a chuckle and a glance towards the Weyrlingmaster in question. "Seems like she would, though I don't know her from a hole 'n a wall." He admits, and nudges at H'sen, "Not a'scared are ya? You Igen sorts don't get to see much snow, not like me who's seen nothin' but mounds of it for what seems like forever."

A'riste groans quietly as, indeed, Valioth rumbles quietly at Deneth, shifting so that the wintry light gleams on him just /so/. A'riste smiles amiably at Te'an, though. "Fort's duties. Are you too cold? Would you like a skin of klah? It'll still be hot."

A'deth wanders up to Eostarra and T'nnusen. To the Candidate, he remarks, "They've been keeping you busy, then. I rode there for a very little while, how do you like it?"

Acadia says, "Nice to meet you, Kassima and Ch'ton. You can lie on the sled if you want, so you're less likely to fall. But that also means your sight line isn't as good, and you might not see an obstacle in time to go around it. And if you fall off, you can just get back on. Snow's not deep enough to smother you or anything like that." She looks around the crowd and says, "I'll be happy to arrange for hot drinks afterward, to warm us all up if you want. Okay?"

H'sen makes a face at Barett. "Scared? No, not particularly. Though snow is slippery and cold besides, and it seems like it would be rather unpleasant to fall into the lake that everyone's sledding towards. How about you? If you're around snow so much, this should be old hat to you. You probably go sledding eight times a sevenday. Or maybe you're trying to trick me into competing with you in something you're an expert?"

"Oh, just ignore him if you don't want to look at his posing. I know he's trying to steal your light." Te'an says in a bored tone to the green, who while she might be grumbling to her rider, seems quite happy to watch Valioth with what might be considered rapt interest. When A'riste questions him he just shakes his head, "Naw, I'm just getting comfortable. I'm used to the cold, really."

Kassima bounces somewhat on the balls of her feet. "This has major embarrassment written all over it. I can't *wait*. I'm good!" Bounce, bounce. "Evildeath and I are so going t'win this."

"I haven't been around it 'so much'. I've only been at the Reaches for a short while, compared to all my time as a dockhand. Somehow, I doubt I'm an expert in sledding when you can't exactly sled on a boat." Barett says with a smirk, and shakes his head. "Just not interested in getting snow down my britches 'n all." He says, and peers at Kassima a bit longer. "Or going down that hill with her on it. Seems dangerous."

Ch'ton rolls his eyes. "Right, then!" he says, standing behind his sled and aiming just right, so that at the signal, he can fall on it and wooooooooosh! "Ready!" he calls, likewise excited. Even Mobeth's eyes are swirling faster than normal.

Eostarra looks up, nodding to A'deth. "They keep me busy, sir," she agrees. "And I suppose I'm getting used to it. I like it, yeah. Not the same as home, but nothing really is." She tilts her head back to the other, again. Her expression goes a bit curious at T'nnusen, thoughtful.

As the three riders line up, an older man claps his hands and shouts, "GO!" They're off!

"Represent us well, Kassima, Ch'ton!" A'deth calls out, cupping his hands around his mouth. "Even if we're sissies in the snow, we can still whip our enemies! ...Even if I'm from here... nevermind. Smite them!"

H'sen nods somberly to Barett. "Indeed. A hill with Kassima on it makes it just that much more dangerous." That's one rider one should never underestimate. "You said you were from Tillek? That's next to the ocean, right? Lekath has been bugging me about going to see the ocean ever since he was a few months old and some trouble-making dragon told him how fun it was to catch fish." He sighs. "I won't mind visiting a beach, I think, but I get seasick on boats."

Ch'ton giggles, sure to be an embarassment to Igen, and flops belly-first on the sled, letting his weight carry it foreward. "WHOOOOOOO!" he calls loudly, giggling all the while. Snow flies up from the runners of his sled, his rosy face sticking out from the wooden base and his hands gripping the sides. "Whoo!" From the sidelines, Mobeth gives an excited bugle. Yay Ch'ton! Go, go go!

Kassima leaps immediately onto her chosen sled, landing on her rump and sending it skidding with her weight. "Evildeath! Gooooooo!" The sled, which does not look so much like an Evildeath, does goooooo, but it has more to do with Kassi tucking her knees together and hunching her shoulders and generally making herself as aerodynamic as possible than any verbal encouragement. This stops the rider from whooping with glee not at all. Particularly as she doesn't quite miss an obstacle, and the sled bounces over it, briefly becoming airborne. Getting your teeth rattled is *fun*!

A'riste rolls his eyes at the dragons -- Valioth seems to be doing his best to look awesome and croon suavely to the very lovely Deneth -- and looks back to Te'an. "If he's a bother, I'll try to call him off. He's always slobbering over girls, it's disgusting." And he shudders.

Acadia leaps forward and lands on her sled belly first. This gives her start a lot of power, but it also has her yelling in pain as her front is squished but good. She races forward, using her one advantage: this is /her/ weyr and she knows the territory better than the other two.

"Uh! I wish I was fatter." Ch'ton mumbles to himself. No fair! The other two are bigger! He looks over, though, and tries to mimick his weyrlingmaster's pose, trying to become aerodynamic like he would if he were riding a dragon. "WOO!" he squeals as he hits a bump and is launched, holding tightly onto the sled as he landed and every bone in him is jarred. "OH yea! Hahaha!"

"Right next to it, yup." Barett says, glancing at all the people taking off from the top of the hill and making certain that he's not in the direct path of any incoming sleds. "Well, shouldn't be trouble for you to go to the ocean, you got transportation right there." He says with a chuckle, and shrugs his shoulders. "I like beaches and boats, and all'a that."

Dustenyth snorts at Valioth and just continues to look like inky black /awesomeness/ against the snow, despite that he's really just a very, very dark blue. But he's a growing blue at that, and so the allure of greens hasn't caught him even as much as it someday surely will, and he goes about digging snow away from a chosen spot to sit. T'nnusen shoots him an amused look, then a curious one back at Eostarra. Yes? "I can't figure out which ones are the kids, at this point," he comments of the sledders, and their woops and hollers, "what happens if someone falls in the lake down there?" H'sen's apparently not the only one wondering /that/ one.

After the second obstacle barely avoided, Kassima lets go of half her death grip on Evildeath's sides to fumble her riding goggles down over her eyes. She slides one of her feet more towards that edge to keep something like control of it, and she gets the goggles on without any ignonimous crashing. Crooked. But on. Tucking until her chin is bumping against her knees she yells, "Get 'em, get 'em, get 'em! C'mon! Wheeee-heeeeee!" as she steers around a rock and a rise in the snow on the side she chooses threatens to tip her over... but doesn't, quite. She leans her weight forward, forward, forward.

H'sen watches the sledders for a moment, hoping for Ch'ton's sake that he doesn't get in Kassima's way. He grins over at Barett. "Yeah, but it's not like weyrlings can go anywhere they want unsupervised. And we just went Between for the first time today, so I imagine it will take some time for us to learn all the visualizations for all the Holds and Weyrs, not even counting fun stuff like beaches. Fun stuff comes last when you're a weyrling, even if you have time for it at all. Enjoy your time as a Candidate is all I'm saying."

"Then the dragons get to go fishing?" Eostarra offers in amusement, answering the question. "Everything going okay?" she asks T'nnusen.

"No, it's alright. She can tell him herself if she doesn't like his attention. She's got a big mouth, and isn't afraid to use it." Te'an assures, sighing and watching the sledding from the safety and comfort of Deneth's side. She doesn't move away from him at all, just watches the bronze as well as the dark blue though the interest wanes at the latter.

Acadia has managed to find a fairly smooth path so far, but her luck has run out. Just as she moves into the lead, her sled hits a dip and is airborne for a couple of heart-pounding seconds. When it lands, it rolls and takes its rider with it. Acadia comes up sputtering snow and gets back on, but now she's definitely in third place.

"The Fort Lake monster eats them," A'deth deadpans to T'nnusen. "Likes competitive flesh. Every winter they lose a few sledders that way, even though they /say/ it's just rockfalls and snowstorms." He pumps a fist in the air in the name of solidarity toward the participants.

Valioth edges closer to Deneth. A'riste informs him severely, "No. We are not visiting High Reaches anytime soon. You are not allowed to take us on ANY MORE pleasure trips. No, I don't care if I have friends there. I'll hitch a ride with someone else, you big bloody bronze pervert!"

Ch'ton grins and whoops at the loss of a sleder. Now it's just the midget and Kassima. He scooches himself foreward, pulling on his sled to prevent an overturn at the hand of a half-burried rock. He looks at Kassima, grinning. Time to show her how evil evildeath really was. WOOOOO!

The young blue's interest is obviously more in making himself a nest in the snow, which he continues to do, digging away until a wide patch of ground is mostly clear and then sitting square in the middle of it, eyeing the sledders after, his head slightly tilted to one side. How odd! They're just... sliding down the hill on those /things/. Hmm. "Well, anything to keep the Lake monster well-fed, then," Tannu deadpans back in response to A'deth, a faint smile on his lips. To Eostarra, "Of course, why wouldn't it be?"

Lekath looks up at the yelling from his rather artistic rendering of a mishmash of dragon footprints in the snow. He may be bronze, but he's too young even to know what a pervert is.

Eostarra nods a little, but says nothing. Her pale gaze then follows the sledders, watching in mild amusement.

Te'an looks between A'riste and the bronze, and his green. Sighing, he gets himself up to his feet, and assures the straps are fastened and nudges her so he can get the blanket back into the satchel. "We better go." He says to the green, who seems all sorts of disappointed. She warbles forlornly at Valioth, but gets moving anyways.

Kassima's attempts to steer work *reasonably* well with Evildeath--that is to say, the leaning and the twisting her body, less so the, "*Left*, Evildeath! Left! Don't hit that stick! Eeeeeee!" and so on. The main issue is that her course is somewhat wobbly as a result, spewing snow now and then although an out-and-out fishtail she's avoided. Does she even know what place she's in at this point? She has not the least idea. It's all her and Evildeath. Woman and sled. Fighting the good fight against rocks and snowbumps and everything that wants to keep them from that frozen water shining so close...! That and blowing a raspberry at Ch'ton, because taunting the enemy is simply required.

With the greenrider looking to saddle up and meander out, Barett seems concerned his ride might leave without him. "Take me with you, Te'an!" He calls out to the greenrider, "It's too cold to just sit around this place. Fun to see everyone else having fun, though." He says lightly, and looks hopeful for the trip home. "Nice t'meetcha H'sen. Maybe you'll get free reign to travel soon and can catch the hatchin'. If not, I'll see you if you come fishin' around Tillek if I don't manage to find a lifemate on the sands!"

Eostarra sees the last of her Weyr is leaving. "Guess I need to go," she notes, waving a small hand. "Come visit when you can." She turns and trudges through the snow, over towards Deneth.

H'sen waves to his new friend as Barett makes a run for it. "Sure, I'll try to come visit you sometime soon," he calls. "High Reaches or Tillek for sure!"

Acadia manages to make up some of the lost distance, enough to get within earshot of the other two. Once she's close enough she suddenly screams "LOOK OUT!" and shrieks as she falls off her sled again.

"Oh, shards you two. You can stay if you like. I'll send Moll to come get ya." Te'an assures with a smirk, and a shake of his head. "Really, I just think it's best if Deneth and I hit the sky and head back home. I'd not leave you abandoned here."

A'deth peers. "Maybe there /is/ a monster after all."

Tannu nods at Eostarra, "Will do," he promises with a smile, and then it turns into a wince as he sees the one girl tumble off her sled again. "Are we quite sure they're not breaking bones down there?"

Te’an loads up all the Reachian’s and takes off to the skies with them to leave the fun times rolling behind them.

A Quick Scene with Kambria

Thu, 23 Oct 2008 19:16:02 GMT

Infirmary, High Reaches Weyr

This smaller cavern serves as the infirmary at High Reaches Weyr. Immediately upon entering the room, the pervasive smell of numbweed and other medicines nearly overwhelms you. There are a few pristinely made cots lined up along the walls, some occupied, and supply cabinets flank the sides of the doors leading into the medicinal storage room and the Weyrhealer's office. Large vats of various sizes line another wall, containing solutions such as oil, redwort and numbweed, among others. A door to the south leads out to the lower caverns.

Views: Storeroom Table Cots Crib

Contents:

Kambria

Obvious exits:

Lower Caverns

Kambria nods to Pasha. A gentle smile is then given to the pregnant rider sitting upon a near cot. "It is false labor, yes. This is completely normal at this stage in your babies development. If the pain intensifies and rests a bit higher come again and Pasha will be sure to know." The woman nods nervously and stands. After a few brief words between Pasha and the woman both walk towards the door.

As one patient is leaving, another is just coming in. Tavrie sidles, politely offering an ‘excuse me’ as she does. She walks in far enough to give Pasha and the rider a little privacy for their conversation. Brown eyes scan the room, taking it in dubiously. Then, the Weyrwoman notes a familiar face and grins sheepishly at Kambria. “Afternoon,” she says kindly. “Visiting your cousin, or escaping chores?” the goldrider jokes good naturedly, face lit with humor.

Kambria smiles brightly. "Tavrie, ma'am. I was sweeping here and Pasha put me to work. I guess you know I've been Searched then? What brings you here....Or do I need to ask?" Her last words were spoken at a discreet volume. A quick glance is given to Tavrie's tummy.

Tavrie glances down at her own belly in turn. The slowly growing bulge is now changing Tavrie's slim look, her loose shirt hugs it slightly, sticking over the middle. "Looks like I need to get some different clothing," she mumbles and shrugs. The young woman smiles softly, a look of contentment mixed with shyness over her condition. "I'm so new to this. I'm probably doing everything wrong and I haven't come to see Pasha only just once and briefly so far," she admits. "I must admit, the infirmary can be a daunting place," Tavrie notes with a look that is -almost- sincere. "Yes, I know. I just haven't had the chance to congratulate you in person. So, congratulations on being Searched," she extends sweetly. "How are you finding the chores and Candidate Barracks?" the Weyrwoman asks of her.

Kambria cocks her head with a growing smile. "I'm the one who should be congratulating you. It is a wondrous thing to carry a life within you. Look at you...you seem so content and happy. And you should be. Now, I don't know how much you've spoken to Pasha but I'm sure you have many questions..." She takes a quick glance to Pasha and sees that she is still deep in conversation. "...And what things do you feel you are doing wrong?" Her countenance takes on a professional, but comforting attitude.

Tavrie shrugs helplessly and runs a hand over her stomach absently. “I don’t know, perhaps I’m eating too many sweets. I do have a sweet tooth. And I’m still doing most of my duties, though Nabrimeth is still grounded, so I haven’t been climbing up or riding anywhere. I don’t even know if that would be bad or not,” she rambles, seeming a typically jittery first time mother. She hesitates briefly and then flashes Kaylee a smile. “I am happy, really. Terrified, but happy. When I was living at the hold I dreamed I’d have a large family. But that idea slipped away each turn I spent with Nabrimeth. I’m really lucky, though. And I’d have not considered having it should K’len not been so supportive and sweet,” she admits. “Is there any way to tell if it’ll be a boy or a girl? I’ve heard lots of muttered myths,” Tavrie says, pursing her lips and furrowing her brows.

Kambria shakes her head with a tolerant grin. "Sweets on /occasion/ is not bad. But you should be drinking lots of juices and eating greens. Pastas and rice are good too. Do not eat fish. Some red meats are okay, but in small quantities. And I'm really glad you are delighted to be having this child. Some aren't and decide to go 'between'. Oh which reminds me. Do NOT EVER go between while pregnant. You will probably lose the baby. There is a slight chance in the first and third trimesters that it would be okay. But You are in your second. So don't. I can't stress that enough." Kambria pauses and then begins to chuckle softly. "Look at me...I'm lecturing the Weyrwoman on prenatal care. I hope you don't mind. And I also hope you are taking notes." She adds. "As for telling the gender of the child, you would have to ask Pasha about that."

Tavrie takes this in thoughtfully and then cants her head in surprise. “No fish?” she asks Kambria. “Why is that?” she wonders aloud. At the next statement and admonition, the Weyrwoman nods. “Well, I have no real need to and Nabrimeth is on the sands. So, I won’t be going anywhere and I’ll take that advice to heart,” she says appreciatively. Tavrie shrugs again and laughs, tossing her blond hair back over her shoulder. “Well, you would know more about it than I would, so lecture away!” she opens the floor for more. “Oh, notes?” she asks, the very questions indicating that she isn’t, so hopefully it was a joke. She nods once about the gender.

Kambria says "I say no fish because...well...hmm. You'll have to ask Pasha about that one too. I can't remember. I think it has something to do with a certain type of fish oil found in some that might cause miscarriages. I'm sorry. I was still learning before I was Searched. And mental notes are sufficient. In other words try to remember what is being said." A slight smirk of humor is given. Kambria then glances towards the broom she had left leaning up against the wall and turns to look for Pasha. The midwife is just now coming over with a quizzical smile. "Oh Weyrwoman. I'm glad you've come. Do you have time for a brief checkup?" The woman says kindly. "Kambria. Thank you for helping. Let me not keep you from your duties any longer." She adds. Kambria nods her head respectfully and heads towards the broom with a departing, "You'll be just fine. Pasha is the best. I have questions about dragons. Perhaps we can speak later."

Tavrie smiles at Kambria and nods. “Thanks for all your help. And sure, I’d be happy to answer any of your questions,” she responds cheerfully. “I’ll come by the barracks later to look for you,” the Weyrwoman offers. Then, Pasha comes over and Tavrie nods. “Yes, I’d appreciate that,” she politely says for the exam.

Candidate Dinner Mystery

Fri, 17 Oct 2008 11:11:22 GMT

Rilsa's eyes flicker toward Kaylee with another smile before nodding to Dassah. "I understand the conflict but sometimes ..." With a shoulder shrug, she continues. "Only a dragon seems to know what lurks in the minds of humans." Smoothing the skirt of her dress, she gives a slight head bob in agreement, adding. "It's been so busy since the clutching. It gives me a headache most times."

"I decided it best to leave it back in the barracks," Eostarra answers Lacy. "It /is/ a family heirloom, but maybe not the best impression to make at an event like this." She glances over to Tedaryn as he gets tugged back and forth between Weyrleader and Weyrwoman, a sympathetic look in her eyes. Which turns briefly to a glower when she remembers his announcing chore swaps just a moment ago. Hmph.

"I can only imagine. I am glad to be well away from those responsibilities." Dassah replies, with a slight smirk. "And the dragons are, as always, very good at knowing what is best for the Weyr, even if they are not infallible. I look forward to the hatching, as I am sure it will prove... Interesting, to say the least. Nabrimeth always makes for interesting clutches."

Shanlee's mouth twists into a smirk yet again, and she gives R'klen a cursory once over. She's about to add what would likely have been sarcastic return, when he comments on her clutchmate as he does. Rather than take the bait again she sighs in somewhat elaborate mock exasperation, "It's always about a goldrider somehow. You bronzers are so very unoriginal, you know that?" Melata's response on ageing draws light laughter, "I plan on being all cranky and going about tapping young whippersnappers on the head with a cane."

K'len had hoped there was a better reason for Tavrie to be coming towards him, you know, a hug, a kiss - something other than get on with your work. But, he takes it in stride and presses a quick kiss to her cheek and a narrowing of his eyes in the direction of R'klen. Oh, if only he didn't feel he had to remain proper. Rather than look for somewhere better to stand, he just hops up on top of one of the tables - people're mingling anyhow, so he doesn't feel /too/ guilty about it. "Oy! Your attention, please." He says, and about then is when the harpers realize it's time to cut out the playing. "Tonight is a special night for two reasons. First, I'd like to bring attention to our lovely group of candidates, which High Reaches is very proud to welcome. Congrats, candidates!" But, he doesn't hop down yet - nope, not finished.

Kaylee flushes slightly and keeps to the periphery of the conversation - her attention once again wandering towards the music as it weaves in and out of the murmur of conversation that fills the crowded cavern.

Saleese pauses mid gulp of water as the Weyrleader starts to speak. With her attention on him, once more are the pins in odd places forgotten.

Rilsa applauds politely for the Candidates. Her eyes scanning the cavern to watch them as she may.

A hush slowly falls over the room, the effect rippling from the center where the Weyrleader stands toward the outer edges, though one Candidate is heard says. "But honey, the rules are a suggestion ..."

Lacy nods and is about to answer Eostarra, a quick split second glance sliding to Barett before returning "True, though I wonder if it could ever be worn as a fashion by us. You know-" her voice cuts off when K'len speaks and she takes another sip of wine.

Eostarra turns her attention to the Weyrleader, who now stands upon a table. The poor girl cranes her head to look up at him.

R'klen is just about to reply with something remarkably asinine when the Weyrleader calls for attention. He gives a little huff and wanders over to refill his drink while K'len speaks.

Dassah lapses quiet where she stands with Rilsa and Kaylee, though reaches out to give the girl's shoulder a squeeze with a proud smile, turning to watch the Weyrleader curiously.

Shanlee's near triumphant smirk says it all as R'klen huffs off, and then she's turning her attention to K'len for a moment before her gaze slips off of him and over the candidates whom they celebrate this evening as he speaks.

Barett gives Lacy a wry grin as he's glanced towards, giving a cursory clap for himself before reaching for another one of the small bits of food nearby. His gaze follows up towards the Weyrleader who stands on a table, scrunching his nose presumably at the mess that'll be to clean up for some poor drudge. Though, after a moment he groans softly while the clapping continues.

Are you supposed to applaud yourself? Tedaryn apparently thinks so, or else there's something in his sleeve that's prompted him to hit his inner elbow repeatedly. Awkward, clapping with a wine glass in your hand, after all.

"But, more importantly, it is a celebration of 'Reaches culture. We are a diverse family of riders, residents and crafts who make up the tapestry of our Weyr. Throughout history, there have been accomplishments, events and stories but one has become legendary. We are celebrating the treasure of 'Reaches - or what people know as L'vec's Cache." K'len says in a tone loud enough to carry through the room, though not loud enough that it makes his voice crack. He gives a quick smile to Tavrie, before looking for Rilsa in the bunch of head-tops he's looming over now. "Tonight is the founding of the cache, and to continue the evening - one of our two lovely Weyrseconds will tell us the story. I'm eager to hear it all, as I've only heard bits and pieces myself. Rilsa, if you would?" He asks, giving the brilliant woman her turn to stand in front of all these watchful eyes.

Tavrie claps enthusiastically for the candidates and then laughs when Tedaryn appears to be clapping around his glass. She smiles up at K’len as he’s speaking, her expression one of unmistakable fondness. Then, when he invites Rilsa to speak, she turns to watch for the Weyrsecond.

Rilsa glances at Dassah and Kaylee, murmuring. "My cue. If you'll excuse me." The aforementioned lovely and brilliant woman, that's Rilsa, of course, makes her way through the crowd without an incident. Well, one incident of an elbow to a lippy bluerider's ribs but that is a different story. "Thank you, K'len." She says as she approaches the table and pauses, to figure out just where she should stand or sit to tell the story.

If the odd look on Barett's face wasn't enough, it seems the next bite of his clams bitra decided to slide down the wrong side of his throat. He coughs quite a bit, trying to stifle it with his fist, though his eyes don't water up quite yet. He pauses between coughs, to mutter, "Excuse... me..." He says, nudging his way past candidates, riders, and residents alike to make his way to the kitchens presumably to get himself something to drink from there rather than disturb the telling of the story.

Rilsa decides to perch on a table, settling down and smoothing the skirt around her legs and leans forward slightly. Her hands are clasped before her and her voice is purposefully normal in tone and pitch. "The story starts long before our time ... One of the older blueriders, U'vin, was drunk on some weyr pressed berry wine and claimed that his father's father had told him about a treasure that was lost with the former Weyrleader L'vec. U'vin believed the tale because his grandfather was Weyrsecond in his day and when he told the story once, he regretted it and told them to forget all about it... But how can anyone forget a story filled with romance ... and treasure." Her voice lowers at the last word.

K'len hops off of the table to allow Rilsa to take over from him, reaching for Tavrie's hand to listen to the story from that close vantage. The candidates are given a look over, and Barett gets a look as he starts coughing. No comment though, as the candidate leaves to the kitchens to curb his cough in there. He then leans close to murmur something to Tavrie, and pointing to one of the chairs if she'd like to sit down - presumably what he's asking her while Rilsa starts telling her tale.

Shanlee's attention tracks briefly to the coughing fit produced by the rapidly departing candidate, but it's soon squarely back on her Co-second and the tale that she launches into. A few teens utter girly swooning sighs in anticipation for the sheer romance of it all, and the greenrider fights hard to suppress a rolling of eyes for their responses. Her own interest naturally falling on that last word uttered in such tantalizing manner - treasure!

Rilsa's brow lifts slightly. Her lips curve into a smile as she looks around the room, waiting to see who is falling captive to the tale. "The idea of a 'Reachian treasure was originally Gold Orlath's rider's, the Weyrwoman Constance. You see, her weyrmate was M'tai, bronze Kakistoth's rider and he was from a very, very wealthy holder family. M'tai loved Constance passionately." Tilting her head slightly, she offers almost conspiratorially, "He wrote her many poems and letters, declaring his affections. Some say that Kakistoth helped with the verse. If that is true, he is a very talented dragon. Now Constance herself had been a beautiful, young shepardess at Sattle before she was taken away - first to be lady in waiting to Lady Tillek and then later to the Weyr to be a Candidate."

Tavrie smiles but shakes her head in reply, her hand caught in K’len’s, she simply shifts slightly to lean against his side in the merest of contacts as Rilsa begins to spin the tale. The Weyrwoman does cast a worried glance at the choking candidate, however, but shrugs it off assuming he’ll be fine.

Romance? If a human's ears could prick up attentively, surely Tedaryn's would. As it is, the young man has stood a little straighter, and the sleepy glaze that seems to come and go from his eyes has been banished like so many spinner-webs stricken down. Beneath the fringe of his bangs, his brows are raised, too, and Rilsa is the unwavering focus of his attention. (Albeit his wine receives an absent sip every now and then.) His anticipation of the tale is as palpable as his disappointment, though the source of his crestfallen look is a little more difficult to discern. He sips down the last of his wine, stepping backwards slowly as though reluctant to leave, but he finally turns and moves at a quick pace towards one of the exit tunnels - the one where the latrines are known to be.

R'klen, having gotten himself a drink, slinks over to the edge of the group near Rilsa. He listens rather intently for a moment and then looks around him with concern. The look of interest is now replaced by one of boredom.

Standing near Dassah with an almost-empty drink in her hand, Kaylee's eyes are on Rilsa as she spins her tale - not with the rapt fascination of some or the starry-eyed wonder of others, but more with the attention one would give to a Harper's lesson.

Eostarra continues to listen interestedly, leaning against a chair.

Rilsa glances toward the group of girls who are all atwitter from the romance, continuing with her tale. "As it was twoards the start of the interval and it was relatively quiet for dragons and riders alike. There were drills, of course. There were many competitive games to keep reflexes sharp. M'tai's family held Crom and always tithed well. With the Minecraft so close to Crom, M'tai had a good relationship with the Hall and many individual miners Now, besides being a poet and Weyrleader, he was an amazing dragonpoker player." This time, her glance is toward Shanlee and flashes a quick smile. "They say M'tai started on a huge winning streak one night that kept with him for over ... five ... entire ... turns."

K'len loops an arm lazily around Tavrie's waist, and it's doubtful he could look any more smug or happy about where he's standing and with whom. Especially in front of R'klen. The other bronzerider gets a slide of his pale blue-grey eyes in his direction, followed by a quirk of his lip upwards before his attention returns to the lovely Rilsa and her story she's spinning.

Lacy has filled a small plate with bits and bites of food and sits down to enjoy the story, her half full glass of wine nearby.

A bluerider that's sidled up to where Shanlee stands somewhere in the middle of the room, is given a sharp look for some or other comment he passes to her. The greenrider catches Tedaryn's departure just moments before Rilsa's smile is put to her. Her own mouth curves in mirrored response on the topic of cards and winning streaks.

R’klen glowers at the Weyrleader and then sneers, doing his best to look unimpressed with K’len, his lady and the whole party. “I’m outta here,” he mutters to no on in particular before tossing back his drink with expertise and stalking toward the lower caverns exit.

Dassah glances towards the kitchens, where the sounds of a small ruckus can be heard. "Excuse me, Kaylee." She says quietly. "I ought to see what that is about." She gives a polite nod to the room around her before bustling off toward the kitchen, skirts swirling around her feet.

Tavrie is perfectly at home with being snuggled and in fact seems to relish it. However, she maintains a somewhat serious air about her, trying to enjoy the evening and bask in affection while still being an upright hostess for the party. She notes the weird exchange between K’len and R’klen and her mouth forms a little ‘O’ as she recognizes him. Tavrie glances at K’len and notes that he seems happy, then goes back to listening to Rilsa’s romantic story.

Rilsa's expression turns slightly sorrowful as she continues. "About that time, things were getting leaner for the Weyr even as they got better for Holds and Crafts, for as Pern moved farther into the interval, many people thought less about the vital role that dragons and their riders played and more for the drain on resources. Still, things might still have been fine at 'Reaches if M'tai's father, Lord of Crom, had not passed away prematurely in an accident and left M'tai's younger brother Vorand in control."

Fine brows push into a frown as Shanlee catches R'klen's muttered announcement but she soon dismisses the departing Istan and settles back into listening to the tale unfold. Keen interest glittering in green eyes like the jeweled treasury now being told of. The sorrowful note Rilsa takes on playing out in a light tightening of expression. J'tin, the bluerider at her side, nudges an elbow into her ribs in tease for the greenrider slowly being sucked into the saga. A narrowed look is his reward and the redhead shakes off the spell being woven. Or at least, tries to.

"By all accounts, there was no love lost between the brothers." The Weyrsecond relates, leaning forward again to continue her tale. "It was said tha tVorand would claim that the best thing M'tai ever did for him was to Impress himself out of succession. Crom tithes went from being the best of quality to the poorest that any weyr received and so our Weyr suffered. As the weyr suffered, so did M'tai's scan affection for his brother dwindle and fade. Strange things started to happen at the Weyr. New residents would be caught poking arond in places that they shouldn't be. Even some of the older inhabitants would be found plundering through personal items. All seemed to be seeking something that M'tai's father had left him so they could win the most generous prize ever offered ... one that Lord Vorand offered. As supplies of the weyr dwindled, the interest in Vorand's prize increased."

Rilsa's lips quirk into a crooked smile, "This is when Constance had her idea. The problems facing us were twofold. First, the thievery. Second, how could the weyr survive during these lean times? Well, her suggestion was that the weyr make a special store of non-perishable items that would be built upon during the pass turns and then sparingly taken from interval turns. Marks, gems, jewelry, finely crafted goods that would survive over time and be usable in trade for food when the Weyr had need. But where to hide such a treasure? In the end, it was decided that only 3 people in the whole weyr would know where this secret cache was, the WW, WL and the most trusted W2. The foundation for this treasure was Contance's own jewelry, so easily won by M'tai and so coveted by all women on Pern. So it was that only ever 3 people at any one time were to know the location of the cache. In this manner, the location would be shared over time. "

Rilsa says "I'm sure it is hard to believe but the tale ... well, beautiful women, romantic love and sweet poetry not to mention hidden fortunes ... So how does L'vec come in?" She shrugs again, saying. "We have to forward a bit towards the end of the Interval. As you know, L'vec was a holder's son just as M'tai was. The deep sadness he felt at the loss of his beloved Ellowyn was erased by the joyful impression of his lifemate. In time, it seems that he came to love Coriam as well for when L'vec found bronze Chierath, so did Coriam find golden Loath. Unfortunately, Coriam died of an infected knife wound and as the Weyr was left without a queen so the council met and it was decided that Ista send one of their queens. Chana and Merlith arrived. Just as L'vec grieved over the loss of what might have been with Ellowyn so too did he grieve over what had been with Coriam. He never managed to get to know Chana closely before Merlith rose and took another Istan dragon to mate."

Eostarra turns, slipping out towards the arch shortly after the Istan bronzerider leaves.

Rilsa spreads her hands, finishing her tale. "The story goes that L'vec then died in threadfall. Casualties were terrible at the start of the pass. He died without ever getting around to telling Chana and A'lon about the Weyr's cache. Perhaps he thought he would have time to get to know them both before divulging such a secret. Maybe there was a Weyrsecond who knew of the location. But as it was told to us, the place the treasure was hidden was lost with L'vec ... " With a smile, she says. "But the tale is true ... would you like to see Constance's joy?"

Even though she had tried to remain impartial to the story's curious tale, Kaylee found herself nodding affirmatively to Rilsa's finalizing question - her head only one of many in the crowd bobbing slowly, desiring to see what had only been described in the Weyrsecond's flowing words.

A call from the back of the cavern is heard. "Where is it?"

Lacy sits up straighter, eyes going a bit wider. "Yes Ma'am." she answers, thoroughly caught up in the story. The bites of food forgotten though her wine glass is empty.

Somewhere, as Rilsa had been bringing the tale to a close, Shanlee had slipped out and now returns trundling a cloth covered display case before her. The crowd opens up to form a clear pathway that leads right up to where Rilsa is perched. Bunching the deep blue fabric in one hand, the Weyrsecond pauses a moment for dramatic effect and then whips it off with a flourish, laying open to public viewing what lies within.

What lies within is nothing. The deep velvet lined case is empty, though the impression of a heavy object is seen. The corner of the expensive actual glass case has a jagged opening.

Tavrie leans eagerly, excited for the unveiling. She glances around at the expectant faces and then turns to the case and gasps. “It’s gone!” she all but shrieks, pulling out of K’len’s grasp as she moves forward and peers in horror at the empty case. “What is going on here?” she demands, looking around and settling on Shanlee for some explanation.

Rilsa extends her hand, smiling at the crowd as she waits for Shanlee to throw off the cloth. When the reaction to the gorgeous necklace is not what she expected, she glances at the case and gapes. Her lips part and close several times as a fish out of water, before sliding off the table to look closely at the case. The quiet stream of curses coming out of her mouth would cause a sailor to blush if one happened to catch the words.

Shanlee blinks, peers down at the cabinet, over to Tavrie, then finally up to Rilsa, her jaw hanging open in disbelief. "It's gone!" she echoes her clutchmate. State the obvious why don't you! It doesn't take but a minute before the greenrider is crawling about on the floor, heedless of what that might be doing to her evening gown. The goldrider's demand for an explanation has a tight look being shot up to her, "Don't look at me! I just pushed the thing out here!"

A helpful but not wanting to be identified person speaks up. "The case is broken. Look there."

Kaylee leans forward curiously, her eyes widening as the cover comes loose revealing.. nothing. She looks up at Rilsa in confusion - waiting for the punchline, only to catch the stream of curses and shock registering. Her voice is lost amidst the confused babble in the cavern.

Lacy jumps in her seat when Tavrie's voice rings out and her eyes are wide with the same surprise. She can only see a corner of the case with the people standing about it so she stands up and moves around the table to get a better look at it.

Rilsa leans in to speak quietly with both Shanlee and Tavrie, eyeing the case and muttering.

Tavrie looks visibly paler now and she hurries over to get the case, wheeling it out of the room in a hurry. The pain and fear is evident on her face as she goes and the case, having once been brought in with a flourish of excitement, now leaves in disgrace.

Tavrie looks visibly paler now. She shakes her head and shrugs at Rilsa, then hurries over to get the case, wheeling it out of the room in a hurry. The pain and fear is evident on her face as she goes and the case, having once been brought in with a flourish of excitement, now leaves in disgrace.

"Excuse me," Eostarra calls after the Istan.

Rilsa turns to face the cavern, her expression filled with cold fury at the theft. The iciness of her expression compliments the cold crystal blue of her gown as she stands next to Shanlee quietly.

Her expression darker than a Reaches thundercloud, Shanlee listens to what Rilsa has to say, nods curtly and claps her hands sharply together to call everyone's attention together. She hesitates a moment as she watches Tavrie and the emptied case leave, then watches as Glacier wingriders step into places at all the exits. "Its clear that we have a thief among us," that it pains her to say so is evident, "As such, you are to each hand your names, holds that you hail from if not of the Weyr and where you'll be for the next few sevendays to the riders at the exits. We will be conducting through investigations into this matter!" Hard eyes trip over each person present, then with a low comment to her co-second, the greenrider sweeps out in the same direction the Weyrwoman had left her, her jaw working tightly to stem the flow of dark curses that likely threaten.

Having only caught the merest glimpse of the case, Lacy watches Tavrie wheel it out. Shaking her head, she moves towards the exit to the bowl with a few other candidates, remaining silent as they murmur among themselves.

Candidate Dinner Mystery

Fri, 17 Oct 2008 11:08:25 GMT

Melata strides in from the tunnel to the bowl.

Melata has arrived.

Metata

You see a tall woman of indeterminate age with short, dark hair. There are a few strands of gray on that head now, however, gray that wasn't there only a few Turns ago. She stands with an air of confidence, although a twinkle in her warm green eyes hints at a possibly miscievous personality.

Currently she is wearing a plain shirt and trousers of wherhide, looking as if it was either thrown haistily on or had been rumpled by work with her dragon Verenth. Over her typical rider attire, she also wears her old firelizard vest, which is scored with many small claw marks and has several pockets sewn on to add perching room. You also notice a small leather 'bag' (+detail) full of firelizard goodies bulging just below the waist. On one shoulder is a dark blue and black knot signifing her allegiance to High Reaches Weyr with a thin thread through it signifying the blue of her lifemate. A secondary knot shows this old rider was once the Wingleader of Avalanche.

Melata has her broad smile, and her laughter is as quick as ever. She moves quickly, in time with the questions she is always fielding from Verenth, and with his normal demands on her time as well. You spy a 'reed' (+detail) whistle hanging near the fl goodie bag.

"Of course not, you'll have me all wrinkled from worrying about you." K'len teases, rolling his eyes and slipping his arm away from her as she wanders off. He heads over to the food as soon as the goldrider slips away to socialize. Of course, everyone knows that all men think about is food. Picking up a few things from the trays, he waves at Kaylee as he's waved at, and lurks near the food for now.

Various members of Avalanche Wing, who had been /forced/ to, well, work, start to filter into the living cavern. Following behind the herd is Melata.

Eostarra nods her head to Tavrie as she approaches the cluster of Candidates. "Weyrwoman," she murmurs in greeting and recognition. A sympathetic smile is flashed to Saleese, and a wave of greeting is given to Tedaryn as he arrives.

Shanlee indeed has to skirt around Tedaryn as she begins moving forward again, that is until a familiar voice at her elbow halts her progress once again. "Dassah," the redhead's mouth tilts up in one corner, "You're looking quite lovely tonight." Green eyes do a last scan of the crowd, apparently don't find what the greenrider was looking for and turn instead back to her friend with darted glances going toward the entrance way at intervals.

Tavrie peers around the cluster, noting Eostarra now that she is closer. “Oh, and Eostarra, isn’t it? Congratulations and welcome to you, too” she practices the name and then offers her welcome spiel. “Kaylee, Bur-err-Barett, Saleese, and Eostarran,” the goldrider commits them all to memory. “Tonight is first and foremost for you. So, please enjoy yourselves. You’ve been working hard and there is more hard work to come. I’m hoping I can get to know you all a little better, too,” the Weyrwoman chatters amiably, not seeming to put up any walls of rank or showing any reservations about all the people now.

Barett purses his lips as Kaylee's attention wanders straight from him and over to the Weyrwoman. She's given a look over, a brow arched as he glances over her pink enrobed form. Though it doesn't linger terribly long, and he glances towards Tedaryn who lingers near the finger foods. Walking over towards him he offers a conspiratorial murmur, "So much to look at, hmm? Definitely a lot of lookers here at the 'Reaches." He comments, and then winks as one walks by them, offering a quick, "Hello there, darlin'."

"Thank you." Dassah replies, with a thin-lipped smile at Shanlee. "It was a recent aquisition, for the clutching in fact. But it seemed worth wearing a second time. Kaylee wears it's mate. Have you seen her? She looks... Well, breathtaking, in it." She trns her gaze to look for the candidates, "I am sorry I have not gotten to see you. It's been... A tense time lately, what with Search and all. You are well, I hope?"

Melata stops to look around at the busy cavern as she comes in. "Candidates!" she blurts. "So many already?" After shaking her head back and forth, she continues on her path into the room. She is very much /not/ dressed in anything approaching finery. Her course alters to arc towards the Candidates so as to get a better look at them, now that they are all gaggled up together.

"Eostarra, yes," the small Igenite replies to the Weyrwoman. She smiles brightly at the encouragement and welcome she is given along with her fellow Candidates. "Thank you," she offers appreciatively after the greetings are dispatched. "I was fortunate enough to have watched the clutching, and am honored to Stand."

With a bite of something in his mouth, the remnants of it in his hand (looks to be a pastry, if the crumbs on his scarflette are any indication), Tedaryn returns Eostarra's wave. He has the present mouthful chewed and swallowed by the time Barett sidles up, and so offers him a scar-lipped grin. "Much to look at, certainly," he demures, eyelids slipping to half-mast as he reassesses the crowd. It seems a cursory look when one compares it to the analytical expression he fixes Barett with, not to mention a long look especially for the other candidate's scar. "I can't remember if I've had your name yet," he says. "...Mine's Tedaryn. Unusual to be in a barracks with a stranger."

Saleese smiles to those coming in, it serving as a distraction for the pins. In fact, the more she focuses on studying everyone, the less she notices the pins. There was Melata, she realized, and a grin pulled to surface. The rider's vest was finished, she had to deliver it. Eostarra, in her Igen-clothing, seemed perfectly at ease amongst the High Reaches people. And was that Tedaryn sampling several items of food?

Shanlee can't help the tiny smirk that shades in through her smile when her attention is drawn over to the knot of candidates and land on Kaylee. "Like reversible peas in a pod," she responds to Dassah from over the rim of her almost emptied glass. Again, a flick of eyes over to the entrance, a light purse of lips and then she's putting amusement to her tone, "Remember when those were us?" her glass tilts in the direction of the white knotted shoulders.

Tavrie smiles at Eostarra. “Oh, you were here?” she notes, sounding surprised. “Interesting that you should be here to see the eggs laid -- without knowing you’d be standing down there with them someday,” Tavrie muses. Tavrie sighs slightly, glancing around. “I’m sorry, I need to try and catch a few more people while everyone is mingling,” she muses, wandering over in the direction Barett went. “Evening, maker-of-the-cookies,” the Weyrwoman teases Tedaryn. “Congratulations on being Searched, we’re glad to have you. No matter what K’len may say,” she tells him. “And someday, I’d really like to sit down and chat with you. Do you have any good stories about our illustrious Weyrleader?” she asks, looking around conspiratorially.

Eostarra nods to the Weyrwoman. "My Foster Dad and I were here on Weyr business from Igen," she explains. When Tavrie excuses herself, she smiles and nods. "Of course."

"I try not to." Dassah replies to Shanlee, her smile fading. "While some good things came out of it, such as my friendships with you and Tavrie, I cannot say I remember it fondly. Too much stress, too much preassure to be what I am not, and all for a hefty dose of dissapointment and, later, abandonment when you all went off to be Weyrlings." She shrugs, and looks over at Kaylee. "I can't say I'm any more fond of it this time."

K'len isn't terribly far from Barett and Tedaryn, what with him lurking around the food tables. But, when Tavrie comes up to start asking Tedaryn questions, he shoots the candidate a glower as though warning him not to say anything before he shoves off to go meet up with some of the candidates he doesn't recognize. Eostarra gets a look over, and a quick smile. "Don't think I've seen you around - though maybe you were the candidate slipping into the barracks when I was leaving before? Hrm. Odd."

Kaylee looks at Saleese and Eostarra with a small smile. "You seem to be gathering attention tonight. The boys are all but drooling over by the food - whether with hunger or simply because you look good.. well it's too early to tell." She looks up as Melata bears down on them, and nods politely - eyes flicking to her knot. "Wingleader, good evening!"

R'klen wanders in from the tunnel to the bowl.

R'klen has arrived.

R’klen

R'klen has a thick head of finger-root colored hair that glints with intermingled strands of golden-blond and has been cut in a tidy manner, the longest portion being his bangs which drape over his forehead and into his eyes. The young man's hazel eyes are a warm amber color, maintaining his fiery look with interspersed flecks of reddish-brown in a deep pool of warm whiskey. R'klen's features are sharp, almost harsh -- a pointed nose, high cheekbones, keen chin, and a masculine jaw line. Broad shoulders and a thick chest taper in a triangular fashion to a narrow waist. His build still leans toward slender, despite having filled out. Well-defined muscles visible beneath tight fitting short-sleeved shirts are toned to individual tautness.

Rook wears an neatly buttoned beige shirt tucked into loose black slacks and a pair of tidy, polished boots. Oddly enough, though he seems masculine by nature, both of Rook's ears bear a simple earring -- one silver hoop. A knot with a loop of black, orange and bronze mark him for a bronzerider at Ista Weyr. Rook appears to be 25 Turns, 4 months, and 17 days old and stands just over six feet tall.

Melata raises her eyebrows as she notices Saleese, the seamstress who was supposedly working on a new vest for her, among the Candidates. Making her way through the chatting crowd, she approaches the lass. "Hello there, Saleese. I know this isn't exactly the best place to ask, but as long as I have the chance: is my vest done? Or has it been...delayed?"

"Barett." He offers in response to Tedaryn as well as a hand to shake if the other man would like. Afterwards, he shoots a broad smile at Tavrie, "Hey there, darlin'. I'd be happy to tell you some stories, though I don't think they're about that Weyrleader o' yours." He says pleasantly, then adverts his attention to Melata who'd just entered, and Saleese who she's speaking with.

Tedaryn musters a pleasant little smile when the Weyrwoman seems to manifest herself near him out of thin air. "Why thank you, Weyrwoman," he replies, Fortian accent lifted in a genuinely cordial manner. He chuckles at the conspiratorial edge to the woman's inquiry, and obligingly looks from side to side, himself. Never mind Barett and any number of potential eavesdroppers nearby. "I do have some stories, though the intrepid Weyrleader would deny them with his last breath, I'm sure - and then it's a question of who you'll choose to believe." Did he notice K'len's glower? He gives no indication, though the perseverance of his self-indulgently merry little smile may in fact /be/ indication.

Saleese says "Oh, rider Melata, it is most certainly finished! I replaced the liner with deep brown fabric, put in about three pockets on the interior on each side, and added two leather pockets to the outside. I even oiled the leather. Would you like it delivered?"

Eostarra turns and smiles up at the Weyrleader, nodding her head. "I think I was," she confirms. "I came into the barracks just as the Weyrwoman and yourself were leaving, Sir. It is good to meet you, and an honor to be here." She smiles at Kaylee and her commentary, then looks back to the Weyrleader.

Fine brows creep upward and then push toward each other as Dassah speaks. Shanlee nods just the once in response and offers in a slightly chagrined tone, "I'm sorry Das, I wasn't thinking. Came straight from a business dinner, and my mind's off elsewhere at the moment." That quite clearly displayed in the way she downs the dregs of the wine in her hand and deftly exchanges empty glass for full as another attendant wafts by.

Melata claps her hands together twice before regaining her poise. "You actually finished it...er, not as if I'm surprised, you understand. I would very much like it delivered, if you want to go that far. Otherwise, you can just tell me which cavern to go in the lower caverns to pick it up myself. I /can/ do things for myself." She ignores a snicker from somewhere behind her back. "On occasion."

Saleese grins and bons her head, that lopsided smile flashing. "Oh I'm in the Candidate Barracks now, rider. So if you like, you can simply pick it up from there. I have all of my work there now. And... for future reference, Melata, I would go easy on the treats in your pockets. There was some... mold..."

Tavrie’s gaze shifts to Barett for a moment, the friendly woman’s countenance taking on a rather mischievously unpleasant look. “I’m sure you have stories, but they aren’t likely what I’m interested in,” she notes bluntly. “And don’t ever call me -- darlin’,” she states with a cold emphasis on the last word. She turns back to Tedaryn, then, possibly catching part of K’len’s look out of the corner of her eye for she smirks. “I’ll choose whom to believe, alright. But I still think it’d be hilarious to hear what you might tell that he is so anxious not to have me hear,” she notes, bemused. This said, she tosses him a little wink and slips off again.

Kaylee slips quietly through the crowd, stopping to get a drink from one of the tables before she walks over to Dassah and Shanlee - stopping next to the former with a smile. "That still looks quite good on you, Dassah." she comments in way of greeting, then a smile of her own for Shanlee. "Weyrsecond - good to see you again."

R’klen enters with a small cluster of Istan riders, the bunch seeming to clump together as they move in and sporting wing patches that mark them as a team. So, this would be a team effort party. “Too many people,” the redhead groans, face set in a perpetual sulk. Noting the food, he finally breaks free of the others and stomps toward the refreshments. Here, he lingers at the table and stares the food down until it will submit and jump on his plate.

"Ah, so it was you. I had thought it was. Was it Deneth I saw leaving too? Te'an's certainly got an eye for the ladies this turn, as far as candidates go." K'len says to Eostarra accompanied by a quick smile and a shake of his head. He purses his lips as he overhears a bit of Tedaryn's conversation, but makes no comment - no need to make a scene here in the middle of everyone. "The food's pretty good too." He says, to nobody in particular as he munches on a bit of the fingerfood.

Melata furrows her eyebrows at what appears to be /chastising/ by a Candidate to a Wingleader. "Mold? You must have been mistaken. I would never forget firelizard treats in my pocket." She ignores the cough covering laughter originating from one of her wingmates who has sidled close enough to overhear the conversation.

Lacy strides into the cavern from the lower caverns.

Lacy has arrived.

Lacy stands a full 6' in her bare feet. All arms and legs and though considered skinny, she is not small boned. An aura of strength and determination show in every movement she makes. Thick, long red hair is kept in a tight braid that is either wrapped around her head or allowed to swing free down her back. Her face is oval shaped and she has high cheekbones, a long slender nose and large wide-set eyes that are a light grey that can turn to an almost luminous silver. Her lips are full, her mouth just a little bit too wide and while she has a strong jawline, there is nothing masculine about it.

Tonight she is wearing a dress of light wool with a shallow V neck both front and back with long sleeves and a narrow waist. The deep forest green of the dress is enhanced by the embroidered pattern along the neckline and around the wrists, just above a small ruffle that extends over part of her hands. There is another ruffle at the hem of the skirt as well as more of the embroidery that seems to drift across the fabric on a whim. The pattern of the embroidery is geometric and it has been done in a lighter shade of green that brings out the darker color of the dress. Her hair is flowing over her shoulders freely and cascades down her back in red waves. Slippers that match the dress adorn her feet.

Saleese blinks rapidly then holds up her hands, turning ten shades of red. "I... I uh... I thought there... It must've been dirt, rider," she stammers, completely missing the cough-covered laughter that filters about.

Eostarra nods in response to the Weyrleader's question. "It was Deneth that Searched me, sir," she confirms. "In fact, I think most of the female Candidates were."

Being as how her attention is still flicking back and forth between the entrance and Dassah, the Istan contingent's arrival does not go unnoticed. A muttered, "Looks like the entertainment just arrived," is given on R'klen's entrance with them just seconds before a smirk touches to Shanlee's mouth. And then Kaylee's arriving and drawing her focus back, "Candidate," she gives with a small dip of head, "Likewise," on seeing the teen again, "I trust you're settling in well?"

Barett remains unruffled despite the cold reception from the Weyrwoman. He just gives her a quick smile and a nod to encourage her to believe that he won't be calling her that again. "Yes, ma'am." He offers the pink clad woman, before turning his attention on the new arrivals from Ista. Lifting a hand to wave in R'klen's direction, he appears welcoming before his attention again wanes towards Shanlee who makes a comment to the company he just waved at.

Melata mutters under her breath, "I would /never/ forget anything in my pockets. Well, maybe that one time. Okay, /two/ times, at most." Louder, she response to Saleese, "Yes, dirt. Just a bit of dirt. As long as my new vest is ready, I thank you and I'll come and pick it up in the next day or so."

When Tavrie tells off Barett for his colloquial pet name, Tedaryn's brown eyes slide surreptitiously to his fellow candidate's face to see how he receives the passing blow. For his own part, he but smiles serenely at the notion of a later Weyrleader's youth tell-all, bidding the goldrider farewell with a slow nod. Barett's reception ultimately has him smirking slightly, an expression that belies his disbelief in the candidate's sincerity. "I'm going to have my drink of the day," he tells Barett, ducking below the elbow of a particularly tall visitor a moment later, slicing through the crowd for his escape to the nearest carafe.

"It's good you are keeping busy." Dassah replies to Shanlee. "And there's nothing to be sorry for. I know most people, even those left behind, consider Candidacy to be good memories. I just... Am not one of them. It was the first in a long series of dissapointments, and it's only recently I have started to resent them less." Kaylee's arrival draws a more genuine smile. "Candidate." She says, warmly.

Tavrie is busy observing the musicians and chatting with a few visitors, she smiles and laughs easily, seeming lighthearted and pleased despite having almost bitten a Candidate just moments before.

"Ma'am." is all Kaylee says to Dassah, but with an impish quirk of her lips. "Just wanted to pay my respects - so many folk here tonight." she turns her eyes back to Shanlee as the Weyrsecond continues to scan the crowd. "Settling in fine, thank you for asking, ma'am. How is Kaylith?"

Saleese looks like a fish out of water, completely confused and gasping for air. She sort ofnods weakly and rakes fingers through her hair. "Ah... alright. I'll... I'll have it wrapped up for you. If you'll excuse me, I think I need a drink."

Melata nods at Saleese. "As you wish." Looking around for a moment, she spies Shanlee, then sidles over in that direction.

R’klen, finally caves and pops a few things in his mouth all at the same time, cheeks puffing slightly as he chews and then moves on. The rest of his wingmates seem to have eased into the conversations and crowd more easily. The redhead tosses Barett a glance when he is waved at, just smirking and lifting his chin in a quick acknowledgment of the Candidate. I mean, it is their party, right? The bronzer wanders over to get a drink and then sets off to meet up with his friends again. In the process he spots the familiar hair of a feisty greenrider, pausing and sneering to himself as he looks Shanlee up and down.

Rilsa returns from whence she came ... originally. The weyrsecond pauses here and there to chat with folks before finding herself near her co-second, draped in black.

Lacy slips into the cavern and is already heading towards the drinks. Or maybe that's sidling towards the drinks. Her movement through the crowded cavern is smooth, yet seemingly cautious. Reaching her goal, she nods to the candidates nearby and to a couple others arriving for their own drinks. She waits her turn and takes a glass of wine before she steps back from the gathering crowd.

Shanlee catches the edge of Barett's glance in her direction and lifts her glass in politely silent acknowledgement of a face and candidate unfamiliar to her. "Lord Nabol..." the Weyrsecond starts out on her earlier whereabouts, takes a sip of her wine, then loses her train of thought. The subject of life's disappointments from Dassah draws a quick aversion of eyes and she quickly latches onto Kaylee's query to her. "Still playing nursemaid to a firelizard and trying every trick in the book to be allowed another," grin. R'klen's sneering appraisal is caught from the corner of her eye, and the greenrider patterns her mouth into a deep smirk, meant entirely for him, "Reaches duties," she greets with feigned ease.

The Harpers have finally gotten things into swing, the sound of their playing ringing through the living cavern but still allowing for conversation. K'len situates himself over by Tedaryn after a while, with the arrival of R'klen there's a somber expression on his features though he doesn't say anything at all. Instead, he just stands a little taller, and slides his gaze towards Tedaryn to ask, "How's candidacy treating you? Not slacking on your duties, are you?" He sounds critical, as though he knows something the candidate doesn't, when in truth he doesn't.

R’klen wanders a little closer, looking down at her with the nasty grin still plastered across his face. “Ista’s duties,” he drawls in reply, casually tossing back some of his drink. A wary glance is passed around the others that Shanlee is talking to before they are dismissed so he can focus on her. “You’re looking very….lady-like tonight,” he states with a little arch of his eyebrows.

Eostarra heads over towards Lacy as the Weyrleader drifts away to other Candidates. "Easy," she teases the other, much taller girl when she goes straight for the drinks. "We only get one."

Melata ends up near Shanlee. "So," she asks the younger rider, "what do you think of the current batch of Candidates? Hmm? Starting to feel, er, aged yet?"

Tavrie wanders back through the crowd, pausing to greet any of the Candidates she meets. “Congratulations,” she tells Lacy as she wanders past, waving at Shanlee and then sending a look between Shanlee and the Istan for a moment before shrugging silently and moving on. She appears to be looking for someone and finally hones in on him. Tavrie aims for K’len, a woman on a mission.

Tedaryn greets K'len's presence with a small smile that suggests nothing of the character assassination he was just pleasantly promising the Weyrwoman moments ago. "Candidacy is...treating me well," he decides, the tone of his voice suggesting he's only just now come to that conclusion. The bronzerider's tone has Tedaryn's glassy brown eyes fixing for a mark for a moment, briefly attentive to facial subtext. But, finding nothing on K'len's features to lead him, he looks back to the wine he'd poured himself previously. "Today I cleaned up in the feeding pens...I'll have to see if someone else might like to do that in exchange for something else, it wasn't my kind of chore." There's K'len's answer: Not shirking duties, per se, but already looking for ways to step around the system. Unabashedly, too, judging by that frank confession to the Weyrleader himself. That said, he takes a sip of his white wine, and looks back up at the taller man.

Kaylee quietly slips away from Dassah and Shanlee as they are beset by Wingleaders and others - retreating to a spot near one of the tables. She watches the ebb and flow of the crowd for a bit, then turns her attention to the Harpers and their music.

A drink sure would hit the spot right about now, and Barett slips off to get himself one before things really get started. May as well have some alcohol in him before he gets too far into this party; it'll make it much more interesting. However, one drink is hardly enough to make anyone enjoy a party more. "Only one, yes. A pity too. I'd sure like a couple more." He says wistfully to Eostarra, the candidate closest to him for the moment. The talk of chore swapping does tug on his ear, and he offers to Tedaryn, "Hey, Ted. If you want to swap somethin' of mine for your tunnelsnake huntin', I'd be happy to do that." He offers pleasantly, hopefully not loud enough to be overheard by those that might get upset about the talk of chore-swappin'.

Dassah, like Kaylee, seems uncomfortable by the sudden press of people around Shanlee, who is ignoring her anyway. And so when the candidate slips away, she is hot on the girl's heels, reaching out to snag her elbow and guide her towards someone else - Rilsa, as the case may be. "Weyrsecond." She says politely to the woman. "How are you and Corineth tonight?"

"I'd watch who you talk about those things around, there's some stiff consequences for chore swapping. Or, at least, there were at Fort." K'len says, frowning a little as he thinks about his old stomping grounds but it's not long before he sees Tavrie on her way towards him where he stands at the table with the finger food that isn't being circulated amongst the crowd by people carrying trays. A light hearted smile crosses his features, and he shrugs his shoulders. "But, I won't tell. Hey, we have to catch up sometime. Seems between your candidate chores and my duties, we keep missing each other." He says, nudging at Tedaryn's shoulder with his own.

Lacy's smile appears, lighting her face and she nods. "I know. And I'll take my time with this one. I'm-" she pauses a few seconds before continuing "I'm not used to crowds like this. It's been a while." She nods to Tavrie as she passes. "Thank you Ma'am." she answers before returning her attention to Eostarra who is between herself and Barett. She opens her mouth to speak when Barett does and she looks surprised. "Can we do that?" she asks, both to Barett and Eostarra. "Swap chores I mean."

Rilsa stands far enough away from the throng to be able to see what is going on and not muss her dress. "Dassah, Kaylee. Good evening. What a crowd, no?" She says, nodding with a smile. "Corineth is Corineth. What more can I say? I'm doing well. Rather be curled up with a glass of wine and a good story but this isn't too bad."

"Was that a compliment?" Shanlee asks of R'klen, seemingly somewhat amused, "Or a peace offering?" Melata's arrival and subsequent query draw a low chuckle, "Positively wrinkled all over," she quips a hand lifting in response to Tavrie's wave and mouth twisting at one corner as the goldrider makes a beeline for her Weyrleader. Rilsa's re-emergence from the lower caverns has the greenrider turning her attention in that direction and then frowning lightly through another sip of wine as both Dassah and Kaylee quietly slip away.

R’klen just rolls his shoulders in a lazy shrug and tips back the last of his drink. “Depends on how much I’ve had to drink and whether a gal like you that is so eager to get down to exchangin’ blows likes bein’ called lady-like,” he rambles, sounding as if he has had a little more to drink before turning up in the living cavern. “Ahh, and there’s the little prize herself,” he notes Tavrie in passing, sneering as he follows her progress toward K’len as well.

"If you don't announce it to everyone - right in front of the Weyrleader, you can," Eostarra answers in a decidedly more quiet tone than Tedaryn and Barett are using, looking a little annoyed at the two boys at present. "Just be subtle about it." This last is offered to Lacy, as Barett is quickly proving that subtle is not in his vocabulary.

A quick look of surprise, as Dassah redirects her towards Rilsa and back into a small knot of conversation. "Weyrsecond, it's good to see you this evening." she smiles and nods. "Quite - yes. Even moreso than the normal press of folk at dinnertime."

"Duly noted," Tedaryn quips to Barett with a sidelong glance. Whether or not that means they'll be doing business later is left to conjecture - especially in light of what K'len's just said. "Oh, really?" He opens his mouth to say something more, but K'len's assurance that he won't tell follows quick on his heels, and results in a smile rather than a comment. He's a good target for shoulder-nudges, if a little short. He settles for just poking the man's arm in return, fingers curling around his wine glass afterward. "I'm sure we'll happen to find a quiet moment for reminiscing," he returns amiably, "though I imagine my half of the conversation will be entirely more dull." A corner of his scarred mouth twitches in mirth, and he hushes up due to the Weyrwoman's approach. Nothing guilty and chore-swappy in those brown eyes, nope.

Saleese ignores the stick of the pins in her dress while pouring herself some water. Thusly situated, she was able to balance water-holding and fidgeting while managing to people watch from her assumed position near the drinks. Not that she was a lush... but that walking seemed to agitate the forgotten pins into pricking along her back.

"It is a good crowd." Dassah says agreeably. "As is proper for our Weyr and her Candidates." She motions at Kaylee by way of example. "Though I confess that this particular clutch has left me a little bit conflicted. I am glad to hear you are well, I have not had the chance to catch up with you since the clutching."

Lacy nods and casts a quick glance at Barett, noting his height first, lips quirking a little at the added comment about being subtle. Her smile widens into a grin "I'm not sure I can do subtle very well. I have expected to see you wearing your big knife in a fancy sheath. Or are you?" she steps back to look Eostarra over.

Tavrie seems to breathe a sigh of relief as she makes it over to K’len. “I think it is time for you to address everyone,” she urges him, smiling encouragingly. “There are so many people, I’m exhausted just watching everyone,” she murmurs more softly. Tavrie tries to nudge the Weyrleader a little. “Come on, get it over with,” she says.

Melata laughs politely at Shanlee's reply. "Well, wait till you have /my/ number of years. Wait until you /should/ be retired, then retire, then un-retire. It'll be enough to make your head spin. And speaking of spinning, I should spin myself over to the food before all the good portions are eaten." Back into the crowd Melata plunges, losing herself amid the color and chatting.

The Candidate Dinner Mystery

Fri, 17 Oct 2008 11:04:57 GMT

Living Cavern, High Reaches Weyr

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. Tiny bouquets of the first hardy flowers are crammed into jars and mugs, dotting the tables with their pastel colors and light fragrance. The faint, musty aroma of wet wool mingles with that of spice. 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:

Saleese

Kaylee

Eostarra

K'len

Jemah

Obvious exits:

Kitchen Bowl Lower Caverns

Saleese

Tonight, however, finds the seamstress in a simple dress of maroon panelling. The bodice portion is close-fitting, and rises to the outer edge of her shoulders. The wide neckline is trimmed in a soft cream, which is accented at the cuffs and hem of the flaring dress. Swirls and whorls are worked into the maroon panels along the skirt portion in a cream thread. Seemingly random, it might give one the impression of an artist simply twirling his brush upon a canvas. With chestnut hair simply down and loose, Saleese has left the pins and needles at her cot.

Kaylee

Looking slightly uncomfortable in an outfit as new and ornate as the one she is wearing, Kaylee is garbed in a beautiful gown of meshing colors that collaborate to bring to mind the sight of a flickering fire moving towards the viewer. The gown is a warm, finely crafted creation that sports wisps of bright, daffodil-yellow trim of stylized flame at her cuffs, shoulders, and along the hem of the dress. While her shoulders are a little broad-set on her frame for her few inches over five feet in height, they are caressed with slight ruffles of material which cooperate with her athletic build and moderate bust to present a unified image to the world. The sleeves of her gown have a bit of play, allowing for a slight flourish to accompany any excess of motion yet still revealing her strong, long-fingered hands.

Around her neck is the only adornment she wears - a snug-fitting thin strand of silver, set periodically with three small sapphires mounted near each other on the front - the middle one centered perfectly and bright against her skin and making a beautiful harmony with her green eyes and flame coated dress. Her hair is hanging loose and shimmers in soft waves down about her shoulders, brushing down over her upper back to end in a soft waterfall of brown, with hints of red and gold showing against the beauty of the gown.

Eostarra

Big, pale green eyes the color of winter mint, caged in with thick 'lashes and crowned by thin, arching 'brows are the most striking feature of the girl's rounded face. Cherubic cheeks and a small but strong chin form her soft jawline, while bee-stung lips and a hawkish nose finish off her features. Her inky black hair compliments her tan skin and is currently left to flow freely in wavy curls past her waist.

One might think her still very young based on height alone, but her diminutive stature is at odds with the womanly curves she carries - she is padded but not heavy - beneath her Igenite wraps - tonight these are a bit different than usual. Three wraps starting with a deep, rich clay red and ending on top with a dark rust are cinched tight at her chest and hang down to her feet, leaving her neck and shoulders bare. Two additional wraps - one black, one dark blue - have been folded and turned into a double-layered sash that crosses from her left shoulder to her right hip and then around back. Sturdy working boots cover her feet, and her wrists are adorned with several woven bracelets that accent her small but work-worn hands. A simple High Reaches Weyr knot is afixed to the sash at her shoulder, proclaiming her a candidate.

Barett strolls into the cavern from the lower caverns.

Barett has arrived.

Barett

With straight, sandy-brown hair and a build that leans more toward the athletic than bulky, Barett's height hovers in the region of an average 5 foot 11". Roughened hands and a deep tan speak to a life spent outdoors. Sky-blue eyes gaze at the world about him in mild and watchful amusement. Only the more perceptive might note the calculating edge held to them. His only distinguishing feature would be that of a faint scar that runs from the one corner of his mouth and ends at his left cheekbone. A marking he'll speak of easily having acquired if asked. He appears to be 24 Turns, 2 months, and 5 days.

While most might be dressed up in their formal best, Barett is modestly dressed in a beige button up shirt, tucked neatly into a pair of dark brown slacks. No, it's not the nicest outfit, but it's at least decent and clean - and that's the best any could ask from him.

The living cavern is spiffied up for this evening's festivities, glows sparingly placed here and there to give the low-light atmosphere that is desired. The kitchen has gone all out for the event - making mostly fingerfoods for the party so people can mingle and eat, without requiring a table to sit at to do it. Harpers have been commissioned, though they're doing the final preparations on their instruments before the dinner truly begins. However, the food has been laid out to allow the festivities to begin even though the music hasn't quite kicked in yet.

Barett saunters in from the direction of the lower caverns, tugging at the corners of his shirt as though self-conscious that it's not quite good enough for the party. Blue eyes take into account the contents of the room, from the tables of food that're getting set out to the Harpers getting set up. But, moreso, he's looking for someone that looks familiar.

Tavrie and K’len enter the living cavern arm in arm, the Weyrwoman talking cheerfully to him while walking close at his side. She is draped in a lovely pink dress that fits her figure closer at the top then at the bottom quite pleasantly. As they enter, she glances around her to see that everything is as planned. “I hope that all the preparations have been completed. The musicians really need to step it up and get ready,” she murmurs, already beginning to worry. Tavrie fusses at one of the curls that is falling over her cheek and then smiles to people that have already come in.

Walking in from the Lower Caverns, Kaylee looks somewhat uncomfortable in her dress - the same rich gown she wore to the clutching that went so well with her partner's. Now the fire stands alone, icy counterpoint absent, but she looks no less uncomfortable than she did at first. A slow walk over towards some of the other Candidates gives her someone to talk to as she waves Barett over as well. "Over here, Barett!"

Eostarra pads in quietly, looking tired but in good spirits. She hangs back near the archway for a moment, taking in all the decor and fanfare with an appreciative smile. At Kaylee's call to Barett, she begins to move in that direction, her wraps swishing and swirling at her ankles.

Shanlee has arrived.

Shanlee

The young woman before you is of a petit build, with narrow waist, only slightly flaring hips and slender neck and wrists. Sheer determination and strength of will, more than make up for her lack in stature, that being only just 5 foot. A thick mane of waist-length, dark red/auburn hair, is usually worn neatly braided and swinging heavily against her back. The thick fringe, frames finely arched eyebrows which sit above startling green eyes that are always a sure indication of her mood. However, a softly sensual, upturned mouth suggests a readiness to smile and a good sense of humour. The daily rigours of being a rider, have ensured the petite form is well-toned and finely muscled revealing a young woman that carries herself with confidence and quiet pride. Somewhat more worldly wise than the average. Shan is 25 Turns, 3 months, and 15 days old.

Embroidered silver stars scatter across the top half of this gown in a black network of sheer lace and fabric that molds and dips into a deep 'V' across the assets of womanhood. Each half brought together at the lowest point with an artful criss crossing of black ribbon. Pale, shoulders are bared except for thin straps that touch over them and leave her back exposed. The mingling of fabric and sheer lace flow together into the narrow waist where they join gossamer light layers of evening's black to flow over slightly flared hips and fall in flirtatious ripples to form the skirt portion. Pointed hemlines dip and whisper around slim ankles with simple, silver beaded, black pumps that cover slender feet. Worn loose, the waist-length mane of dark-red hair, tumbles in an almost careless riot of waves down the wingsecond's back. The biting cold of the Reaches is barely warded off by the casual drape of a black, soft knitted shawl slung around her shoulders.

Rilsa walks into the cavern from the lower caverns.

Rilsa has arrived.

Rilsa

Rilsa is a woman of medium height and slender, muscular build. She has long flowing honey-coloured hair that drifts down her back to her waist in carefree loops. Her eyes are a sparkling emerald colour, very light with flecks of silver that accentuate her smooth, tanned skin. Her ears are pierced with silver loop earrings, two earrings on the right earlobe and three on the left. A thin silver band with a small inlaid line of gold is on her middle finger on her right hand. She is also wearing another +detailed ring on her left hand. She wears a fine silver chain with a charm that moves like liquid around her neck. The charm, when seen one way, is a stylized dragon, curled around itself. The way the tail wraps around, however, gives a hint that if seen another way, is the shape of a heart. Her full lips are upturned in a smile as she listens to Corineth's thoughts.

Rilsa wears an exquisite gown of the palest crystal blue silk that drapes across her form. The strapless style bares her neck and shoulders, the coloring flattering her complextion. A corset-style bodice cinches at her waist, revealing shapely curves her usual riding garb hides. A draped swath of frabric stretches over the left side of the bodice, taut beneath the curve of her breasts and widening at the right to blend dramatically into the sweep of the full skirt. Finally, a scttering of beading and crystals across the bodice forms a delicate flourish pattern, catching the light and reflecting it back. Her blonde hair is caught up in a variety of small decorative clips, accented with crystals, a few pale strands sweeping her cheekbones and neck. On her shoulder she has a blue and black knot, interwoven with a brown cord to represent her position as Weyrsecond of High Reaches Weyr.

Saleese just sort of follows in after everyone else, moving at her own pace and perhaps even in her own little world. For all the seamstress works with dresses, she seems fidgety with her own. A tug here, and pull there, and she even reaches for her wrist-catch of pins, only to blush a bit when she realizes it is back at her cot. Raking fingers through loose hair rather unceremoniously, Saleese meanders with waves to those she knows, before finding an empty bit of wall to hold up with her lean.

Rilsa steps into the living cavern, pausing to make an entrance. Actually, she just pauses to see who all is there. Seeing a full cavern of people circling around, she takes a breath and steps into the room. "Evening." she says, attempting not to step on the hem of her gown with her heel.

"Don't worry so much, Tav... You're forehead'll be all wrinkled up by the time your thirty." K'len says with amusement, and a teasing tone which he carries with him into the living cavern. Once there, he looks around to see a good number of the candidates already here - and purses his lips at the Harpers that're now starting to get their act together. He's dressed up quite nicely, oddly enough for him who'd prefer to come to these sorts of things.

Tedaryn meanders in from the tunnel to the bowl.

Tedaryn has arrived.

Tedaryn

You see a young man before you, only about seven and a half hand-spans tall. He's slender, but with a slight roundness of limb that suggests metabolism rather than exercise is to thank for his lean silhouette. His facial features are, for the most part, symmetrical and well-arranged on an oval face. Blunt bangs cut low to his eyebrows give his face the illusion of being rounder than it really is, and it's only defined cheekbones that save him from looking plump. The color of his hair is dirty blond, the texture of it light and fine, and apparently probe to rebellion; his low bangs constantly sweep leftward, terminating in a little upward-curling cowlick at his temple. The rest is wispy, but can't seem to muster the energy to actually curl, only flip up here and there. Beneath the encroaching frontier of blond are a pair of brown eyes, liquidy and bordered by thick, but pale, eyelashes. A faint sweep of roan freckles covers his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, but it cannot entirely distract the eye from his mouth, specifically the scar that's sliced his upper lip in half, almost directly through the center. Whatever cut him missed his bottom lip and seems to have only shaved the nose - fainter scaring traces his nostril's edge - but nonetheless he is left looking somewhat harelipped.

Black trousers, made of some soft cotton weave, suffice to clad his lower legs. They fit neither too loose nor too baggy, tucked in to a pair of serviceable black leather boots at the knee, cinched at his waist with a red braided leather belt featuring a hammered copper-plate buckle. An eggshell white blouse covers his torso, the sleeves loose but not copious enough to be foppish. The red and orange stripe-embroidered scarflette of flimsy fabric around his neck, however, is - unless one shares such tastes. Over the body of the blouse he wears a snug fabric vest that cinches neatly at the back and buttons up the front, rust red and featureless in its coloring. On his shoulder is the knot of a candidate at High Reaches Weyr.

Kaylee smiles at Saleese as she finds a portion of the Weyr to reinforce, and takes a few steps over to make a comment. "You look fine - stop fidgeting." Her comment coming as she, herself fidgets uncomfortably in her gown as well.

Dassah meanders into the cavern from the lower caverns.

Dassah has arrived.

Dassah

A lithe figure standing around five and a half feet tall and etched with sinewy muscle, Dassah bares her strength gracefully and with proud posture. Dark eyes of bottomless klah peer out defiantly from an oval face, challenging anyone to just try her and see where they'll end up. This sternness is softened by thick, shapely lips and a pert little button nose. Long tresses of lustrous umber hair cascade freely down her back, as smooth as still water and falling nearly to her belt. Beneath a graceful neck, her shoulders are narrow, but not awkwardly so. Where they are lacking, toned biceps and lean arms recapture her look of purposeful strength. The woman's body curves softly, muscular build blending with a feminine hourglass and showing a small waist and slowly widening hips. Skin of a rich, naturally tan complexion appears soft and unspoiled by the sun. Dassah appears to be around thirty turns in age.

She is wearing an ice blue blouse with a matching skirt. The arms of the blouse and length of the skirt are both adorned with white markings in the form of flames. Occasional highlights of a lemon yellow complete the illusion that she is enveloped in a blaze of the purest flame.

Saleese grins a moment, though it is somewhat strained. "Oh.. Oh thank you, and so do you. It's just... just... I think I left a pin or two in the seam." Saleese colors hotly at this, but is also quite capable of laughing at herself. "I'm proving to be a fine seamstress, can't even wear my own creation without issue."

Rilsa manages to get a heel caught on her hem and pauses, putting a hand on a chair to balance herself as she gets the delicate material loose from the offending shoe. "Shardin' shoes. Should have worn my boots." she mutters, only loud enough for those near a wall to hear. Dropping her foot to the floor with a sharp clack, she straightens and says. "Where's the wine?"

Eostarra approaches the Barett, Kaylee and Saleese Candidate gathering, looking between them. She addresses Saleese. "Well it /looks/ beautiful, regardless of how it may feel," she offers encouragingly.

Barett wanders over to Kaylee when he is flagged down, offering her a pleasant smile. “Evening, Kaylee,” he says, taking in her formal attire. “You look lovely tonight,” he says, waggling his brows at her a moment and then laughing. “Quite the gathering, hmm?” he asks, glancing around. “You seen all the food yet?” Barett asks her. He then notices the fidgeting Saleese, smiling. “You are look beautiful, just relax,” he reassures her kindly.

Several kitchen workers, attired quite nicely in cream tunics, black trous and soft shoes circle the room. They offer trays of finger food to those clustering here and there.

Shanlee comes sweeping in through a hurried whirl of black skirts. Almost immediately, she scoops up a glass from the nearby tray of a passing serving attendant. Halting just far enough into the warmth and gaiety of the living cavern, the Weyrsecond passes a glance over the crowd, taking in those assembled and offering a slightly distracted nod and smile to those that greet her. She's a little late, and appears none too pleased about the notion, although the smug curve of lips about the glass raised to them belies the fact to some degree.

Tavrie sighs at K’len and makes a face for his benefit. “And I suppose that if I get wrinkles, you’ll leave me for someone younger without any?” she chides him. “Ahh, they’re playing music now. What a relief,” Tavrie notes with a sigh. “There are so many people here, how are we supposed to talk to even half of them?” she wonders aloud. Then, Tavrie slides her arm free and wanders over toward the cluster of Kaylee, Barett and Saleese. “Good evening, Candidates. Congratulations and welcome again!” she offers, beginning her rounds.

Dassah's enterance into the throng of people is understated, as the woman uncertainly slips in from the lower cavers. Keeping near to the wall, she prowls around the ourside with her gaze sweeping over the crowd, looking for some sembence of sanctuary. Shanlee's arrival is noticed, and a look of relief spreads over Dassah's features as she makes her way towards the greenrider. "Shanlee." She says politely as she approaches her.

Saleese bobs her head in thanks to the man who compliments her, a sort of thank you heard. "I... it's the pins," she says, in a muted tone. She decides she'd rather not have to explain exactly where those pins were left in the dress. To adjust, she clasps her hands in front of her, a method to keep from picking to ease the discomfort. "I'm Saleese," she says, opting for introductions over pin-searching. And then the Weyrleaders were near, leaving Saleese still clasping her hands and now bobbing her head in greeting to them both.

With all the aesthetically begowned ladies of High Reaches flitting about, Tedaryn's short and unremarkable self is easily lost in the milieu. Despite that, he seems utterly at home in his clothing; even the ostentatious thing 'round his neck doesn't merit a self-conscious adjustment. He loiters at the entrance, allowing other comers to find their way around him as he peers blankly at the crowd, most of whom are well above his eye level. Just when one foot placed before the other suggests he's about to head for that throng of white knots, a tray bearing food drifts by and distracts him into pursuing an hors d'oeuvre.

Kaylee's attention wanders frequently as she's talking with the knot of Candidates gathered around Saleese. Her eyes continually scan the crowd in search of someone - finally lighting up as she sees Dassah's entrance. At that point she turns back to Saleese and smiles. "You do look wonderful - and a seamstress' job is to make others look good. You managed to be both at once, pins notwithstanding..." she trails off as Tavrie comes over with K'len at her side. "Weyrwoman - Weyrleader, thank you!"

Pre-party Prep - K'len's gift

Fri, 17 Oct 2008 11:00:07 GMT

Tavrie and Nabrimeth's Weyr

Contents:

K'len

Obvious exits:

Nabrimeth's Ledge Ledge

K’len

It's not often that K'len is dressed to impress, but this is one of those days. He stands at a respectable six feet with boots on, and carries himself with confidence. His black hair has been trimmed, though it still has that rakish countenance in the front and the back isn't long enough to need to be pulled back anymore. His facial features are rather pointed and chiseled, from his aristocratic nose to his high cheekbones. He has a fairly muscular build, from broad shoulders that taper to a narrower waist, but isn't overwhelmingly muscular. Mercurial blue-grey eyes take in everything with a calculating edge, though most of the time they lend him a solemn and somber appearance.

Dark formal clothing seems to be the choice of the evening, a black linen dress jacket which is clasped with silverworked buttons over a pale blue dress shirt which brings out his eyes. Black slacks are loose, enough to define that he's slender but not overly so. Polished boots give him a couple inches in height from the soles, the tops tucked into his slacks. He lacks a knot this evening, though most know he's the Weyrleader of High Reaches.

K'len is approximately 24 Turns, 2 months, and 24 days old.

K'len actually got himself cleaned up quite nice - a haircut was sought and he's got all dressed up for the occasion. He taps at the entrance with a small box he carried over from his weyr after getting ready, figuring that Tavrie'd probably be ready soon as well. "You almost ready to go?" He asks inside, waiting to see if there's a response before just pushing his way into the weyr proper. See, he's even still polite.

Tavrie is lingering near a mirror, working on pushing a pin back in place when she hears him. “Oh, K’len, I’m just about ready,” she confirms, jamming at the hairpin one last time before turning to get a look at him all cleaned up. The Weyrwoman smooths her dress nervously over stomach and nibbles rather shyly at her lower lip.

Tavrie

Rich brown eyes of fire-warmed klah are set in a childish face with gently rounded cheeks and a softly pointed chin. The youthful appearance of this young woman is enhanced by a powdering of cinnamon freckles that have been sprinkled over her pert little nose and dimples that appear when she smiles. A pair of full Cupid's Bow lips of lively rose complete her naturally friendly countenance. Tavrie's hair is a dirty blonde, sporting natural high and low lights from white blonde to soft brown. She wears it in a twist, the hair pinned in place with a series of ornamental, silver hairpins that glitter with both light and dark blue gems as if they'd been dipped in them. Loose curls spill over the sides of the twist here and there and a pair of shorter strands curl down on each side of her face, hanging to just below her chin. Diminutive in stature, she appears to stand only five feet tall. Her build is rather average, feminine curves shaping a now quite slender figure that is lithe with well-defined muscles. Tavrie seems to have put on just a touch of weight around the middle. She looks to be around 26 Turns, 4 months, and 11 days old.

Powdery blush flows over the delicate lines of her floaty pink gown. The color is a soft, complementary rose and the cut quite flattering. A sweetheart neckline is less modest than many gowns, the heart shaped top curving gently over her chest while leaving most of her shoulders exposed by the dress' off-shoulder style sleeves. The soft material hangs off the shoulders and runs graciously down her arms before widening to form long, angel sleeves that gradually flare out from the wrists, the fabric forming a bell that threatens to hide her hands away. A line of magenta-toned curlicues have been embroidered to follow the flirty dip of the neckline, the trailing edges of the sleeves, and the hem of the full-length, A-line gown. Matching embroidery cinches off the waistline just under her chest in a flattering empire waist. It is here that a layer of sheer, pinkish mesh has been sewn in as an overlay for her skirt, adding further shimmer to its movements.

"You look wonderful, Tav.." K'len says, wandering over towards her with the small box he has in his hand. It's not wrapped, though there is a bit of twine keeping it shut. "I brought you something, and hope it's not too late for you to wear it." He says, looking at her hair and then back into her eyes. Once he gets close enough, he wraps his arms around her waist from behind to offer the box to her hands that way.

Tavrie rewards his flattery with a shy, dimpled smile and warm blush. “Thank you. You’re looking quite handsome yourself. Then again, you always do. You just looking more…lordly tonight,” she tells him, lifting her arms slightly in response to his own slipping around her waist. They lower over his a little after a moment, her left hand resting on his arm while the right hesitantly takes the box. “K’len,” she says breathily, unable to say more just yet. Tavrie transfers the box to her left hand and unties the twine, letting it droop in her palm. Then she pries up the box lid.

K'len rubs his hand over her stomach after she takes the box from him, since he doesn't get to do so very often himself. He grins a little and presses a quick kiss to her cheek. "Don't give me any bigger a head than I already have." He insists with a coy tone, then as she opens the box he says, "I had to search for the perfect thing. You know I love your hair, so.." He says, pausing before adding. "I had the gems put in to resemble the night sky. I love the starry nights here. And, it'll bring a bit of blue for you, since you can't have blue eyes." He teases a little. "Perhaps not as nice as the necklace to go on showcase tonight, but I'll work up to it."

Tavrie gives a soft gasp when she has the lid off and sees the beautiful hairpins. Her eyes begin to fill up with water, the brown really looking like klah now and yet she smiles for all she is worth. “Thank you!” she says softly, yet with a hint of childish glee. She does her best to turn in his grasp so she can plant a kiss on his cheek and then hurries to go put them in place of the old, dull ones she had been wearing. Once they are safely in place, glittering among her golden lock, she sighs happily and sidles over to slide an arm into his. “Thank you, K’len. They mean the world to me. More than any old necklace,” she tells him, squeezing his arm. “Speaking of which, we’d better go now,” she informs him.

"Much nicer." K'len comments, with the dull ones replaced by the glittering gems he'd given her in place of them. He holds his arm out so she can loop hers through his, and then scrunches his nose. "I /suppose/ we ought to make an appearance, yes. Though, the moment you start getting too tired, you say so and I'll make up some excuse to drag you away." He insists, then walks out with her to go check out the living caverns.

Going to see the Candidates.

Tue, 14 Oct 2008 03:22:23 GMT

Candidate Barracks, High Reaches Weyr
This is a large, high ceilinged cavern cut from the rock. There are rows of depressions on the floor, couches for the young dragons who will soon live here. For now, cots have temporarily been brought in for the candidates while they bide their time, waiting for the exciting day when the eggs will hatch. Men keep to one side and women to the other. At the foot of each cot lies a small press for storing clothing and other small items.

The cavern has been decorated with old dragon tapestries hung on the walls, their colors slightly faded. A threadbare rug in the middle of the room bears the emblem of High Reaches Weyr, a mountain range in black on a dark blue field. A few low tables, chairs, and pillows have been scattered about the room, and baskets of glows placed strategically throughout the room keep the place well-lit. An opening in the southwest leads out into the Bowl.

There are +views available. (Type '+view' and '+view ')
Contents:
K'len
Tedaryn
Saleese
Obvious exits:
Weyrling Training Room Bowl

Saleese
There is a quirky smile, the sort that seems to tug on the corner of her mouth in a lopsided manner. Vivid green eyes suggest a mix of both the dreamer and the adventurer, while often times becoming glazed with the distraction of inner thoughts. Typically the deep brown hair is piled atop her head, held in place with long, unadorned wooden pins. A maroon and cream bit of woven scraps is threaded through her hair, helping at times to hold it all in place. Neither tall or short, the older teen is just another face in the crowd, a seamstress for the Weyr's residents, and marked by hands already showing the signs of callouses in the right places.

Tedaryn
You see a young man before you, only about seven and a half hand-spans tall. He's slender, but with a slight roundness of limb that suggests metabolism rather than exercise is to thank for his lean silhouette. His facial features are, for the most part, symmetrical and well-arranged on an oval face. Blunt bangs cut low to his eyebrows give his face the illusion of being rounder than it really is, and it's only defined cheekbones that save him from looking plump. The color of his hair is dirty blond, the texture of it light and fine, and apparently probe to rebellion; his low bangs constantly sweep leftward, terminating in a little upward-curling cowlick at his temple. The rest is wispy, but can't seem to muster the energy to actually curl, only flip up here and there. Beneath the encroaching frontier of blond are a pair of brown eyes, liquidy and bordered by thick, but pale, eyelashes. A faint sweep of roan freckles covers his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, but it cannot entirely distract the eye from his mouth, specifically the scar that's sliced his upper lip in half, almost directly through the center. Whatever cut him missed his bottom lip and seems to have only shaved the nose - fainter scaring traces his nostril's edge - but nonetheless he is left looking somewhat harelipped.
Lined felt pants of dark grey cover his legs, cut close to form but loose enough to leave room for movement. Tall brown boots of scuffed leather protect his feet from the weather, able to be fastened up the side to the knee when there's danger of puddles, or let down in a tongue of leather to make somewhat foppish ankle-boots. At present, they're done up half-way, pants tucked into the height of them. Layered shirts keep his torso warm, namely a cream-colored long-sleveed shirt with a fading mauve long-sleeved , v-necked and button-up hooded sweater made of thickly cabled wool. On his shoulder is the knot of a Healer Hall apprentice.

"Mmm," he reflects at length. "Someone else was in charge of the not-burning part," he admits after a moment, smile slow to grow but no less sweet for its long germination. Tedaryn finally gets his candidate knot situated on his sweater, but leaves the garment aside in favor of just his undershirt while indoors. Gradually he's sneaking his feet from his boots too, intent on folding his legs up on his cot. He looks up at Saleese, chewing his most recent bite of cinnamon snap - a plate full of the freshly-baked treats sits up near the entryway on a small table, permeating the area with cinnamon scent. "I'm an herbalist," Tedaryn replies. That's, apparently, how he copes with blood.

Saleese sort of shifts her stance a bit, peering at him while he pulls his boots off. "So you pick flowers. I suppose there isn't a whole lot of blood involved there," she says with that crooked grin. Without invitation, Saleese lowers to sit on the ground, clearly still curious. "What's the Hall like?" From the question, it's clear she hasn't really left the Weyr.

"Not just flowers," Tedaryn replies, looking minutely amused at her verdict on his element of the Craft. His amusement only increases as she sits on the floor by his cot, rendering him by position some kind of storytelling old uncle. He crosses his legs, settling his elbows on his knees, cookies in a small tower next to him. He picks up one, already bitten, and holds it near his lips while he rolls his brown eyes to the ceiling, ruminating. "Roots, too. Leaves, berries...bark...and not always picking, grinding and mixing..." He bites into the cookie and looks down at the brunette, offering a small shrug that nearly sends his overlarge shirt slipping off his shoulder. "It's a lively place, being next to Harper and Fort. Always something to do, someone to see. Healer itself is fairly small in comparison to the two..." Chew, chew.

It's not often that many Candidates get to see the Weyrwoman and Weyrleader together and going to inspect the barracks, or meet the candidates - but today is one of those odd days. K'len seems partly more reluctant than the more eager Tavrie, but, he's not about to pull his hand out of hers to run off - not yet. "But, I heard Tedaryn's gotten searched." He complains a little at the entrance, if the partly whiny sound to his voice doesn't give that away. His pale gaze sweeps over the entrance as though seeking for Tedaryn, though he gives a pleasant smile at Saleese.

Tavrie laughs, the sound like little bells peeling in amusement. “The more you worry about that fellow, the more interested I become to get to know him,” the Weyrwoman informs K’len with a smirk. When they come to the door, she steps in quickly and tugs at his hand to draw him right in behind her. She glances around, looking reminiscent. “Well, this is where my journey began,” she says softly, sighing contentedly. Tavrie rests her free hand on her stomach a moment and then tucks her thumb through a belt loop.

Hearing his name, Tedaryn looks up from Saleese, cheek pudgy with half-chewed cookie as his gaze swings to the door and lands right on K'len. He quickly chews and swallows the mouthful, licking his teeth before daring a smile. "K'len! How convenient. Did someone tell you to come and claim your cookies?" He lifts a hand and points at the tray of them. There are more there than the present number of candidates really ought to eat by themselves, unless they're jonesing for stomach aches. Dropping his hand back to his lap, he smiles at the goldrider in K'len's company. "Hello, Weyrwoman," he calls, polite but informally pleasant.

Saleese turns her head from the talk of roots and berries to the doorway, a grin forming as she sees the WeyrLeader and WeyrWoman enter. Rising to her feet, she bobs a sort of weird attempt at a curtsey to them. "Hello to you both," she says, and then gestures with a broad smile to the cookies. "You both have to have one. They're very good."

"It doesn't look that much different than any other barracks, really... Did you ever see the ones at Fort? I guess not, hmm." K'len says, glancing around and taking note of the cots and such, before adding, "Except the need for extra blankets this time of the turn." He muses, not fighting against the goldrider as he gets tugged into the room. Tedaryn gets a roll of his eyes and a nod, "I don't eat nearly as much as you might remember me eating anymore. I grew up, you know." He teases Teddy, and then gives a quick easy smile to Saleese as he remains at Tavrie's side. "Appreciated, really. Teddy, bring us a couple." He insists, almost sounding like he's giving his friend an order - but the grin on his face bespeaks his amusement.

Tavrie’s gave shifts over to Tedaryn when she hears the word ‘Weyrwoman’, the euphoric look fading away. She beams mischievously at him. “Tedaryn, I presume? Must be, the face is familiar,” the petite woman sorts herself out aloud, still watching him with an almost predatory gaze. When Saleese greets them, the Weyrwoman turns her head to smile more sweetly at the other Candidate. “I know him by association, but I don’t think I’ve met you. I’m Tavrie, Weyrwoman to gold Nabrimeth,” she offers politely, eyes merry. She holds up her free hand now in a ‘no need’ gesture, still listening to the unfamiliar Candidate, but turning her attention to the cookies. Tavrie attempts to tug her hand free of K’len’s. “No no, don’t fuss on our account. I’ll come get a couple of cookies.

Walking in from the bowl, Kaylee's nose and cheeks are a bit red from the somewhat nippy night outside - making people think she'd been out longer than just the time it took to cross the bowl, for some reason or another. She stops just shy of running into K'len's back, then pauses to clear her throat. "Excuse me, Weyrleaders." she says as she slips by, waving to Saleese and Tedaryn.

K'len's grin bespeaks amusement, or a giddy delight in bossing around an old friend whom he now far outranks. Tedaryn tilts his head, fixing the Weyrleader with a wryly intelligent smirk that suggests he's weighing these possibilities against one another. Whatever his decision, he slides his bare feet to the barracks floor and rises from his cot. "Of course," he remarks, happily enough. He pads across the floorspace rather quickly to beat Tavrie to the tray of cinnamon snaps, turning K'len's jesting order into an opportunity to serve. "Allow me!" He moves more slowly when he has the tray in hand, for caution's sake, and only offers Kaylee a vague smile in return for her wave. "Saleese is too kind, these cookies are only adequate. I wish I could offer you better," he says, proffering the tray at arm's length.

Saleese smiles in that lopsided manner. "Saleese, Weyrwoman. We met briefly in the Living Caverns, but... no worries, it was a brief moment. I think the topic of discussion was taking time to slack off a bit in duties." She grins a bit longer and looks beyond them to Kaylee, her hand lifting in greeting. She then gestures to the plate of cookies with that 'yes, they are good' expression.

Unfastening her jacket with one hand, Kaylee reaches out for the proffered cookies with a grateful smile at the pair of her fellow candidates. "Thank you - who made these, you Tedaryn?" she asks as she takes a bite of the treat, eyes widening a bit at the sweetness.

Tavrie looks a little surprised, but only for a moment as she takes one of the cookies proffered by Tedaryn. “Thank you,” she says, abandoning K’len to face his friend while she speaks with Saleese. “Ahh, I thought your face did seem a little familiar. Saleese…and you took off out of the living cavern pretty quickly that one day I saw you,” she remembers. The Weyrwoman takes a bite of the cookie and chews thoughtfully. “Wonderful,” she pronounces. “Then again, I don’t think I’ve ever met a cookie I didn’t like,” the woman jokes. Tavrie seems to finally realize Kaylee is there, smiling cheerfully at the ex-stablehand. “Kaylee? How are chores treating you?” she queries.

Saleese has the grace to blush at the Weyrwoman's memory of her and she nods her head. "Yes'em, I realized I had forgotten to pick up the latest rounds of mending. Couldn't have the men of the Weyr walking around pantless, now could I?" she grins and chuckles, a hand flipping the long braid over her shoulder with the whip of maroon and cream scrap fabric.

K'len is abandoned by the goldrider who brought him here, and gives her a look out of the corner of his eye. Sighing, he looks at Tedaryn, and reaches for one of the cookies brought over by him. "I read that book you gave me. Some of it will be pretty useful to the healers, I suspect. The rest, is useful to nobody." He says, rolling his eyes a little and then arches a brow at the idea of men walking around pantsless. "Shards, no. No men are allowed to walk around pantsless, /ever/. Women, however."

Kaylee smiles at Tavrie. "They are good cookies, I agree. Oh, chores are wonderful.." she holds up her hands. "Though dishes day followed by laundry day leaves one's hands a bit wrinkly." She pauses, then blinks at the pantsless talk before transferring her smile towards K'len. "Now, now, sir - we should be equal, here in the Weyr, don't you think?" she cups her chin in her hand, looking up at the ceiling mock thoughtfully. "Bronzerider Pantsless Secondday, I think would be good." She looks over at Tavrie and out of K'len's direct sightline, gives her a quick wink. "Would that work, Weyrwoman?"

"I did make them," Tedaryn replies to Kaylee, adding needlessly, "please help yourself." He seems content to hold the tray, though a few cookies perilously near the edge of it keep earning worrisome looks. "Hm, interesting. So your first criteria in things is its immediate usefulness? I'll certainly keep that in mind." If it were said in anything other than the friendly tone Tedaryn uses, it might be impudent. As it is, he winks discreetly at the bronzerider, looking immediately pleasant and serene afterwards, lest any stray glances hit his face. To this pantsless talk, he purses his lips in amusement, looking sidelong at Saleese. "Behold the power your duty affords you."

Saleese says "Apparently there is a shortage on pants," she returns to the Healer with a grin. "The odd thing is, I get more assignments for mending men's clothing than women's." Here she fixes Tedaryn with a mock-serious stare of consideration. "Just what do you people do to ruin your clothing so fast? Hm?'

Tavrie chews her cookie thoughtfully, seeming to try and drag it out for as long as she can. She glances at Kaylee’s mentioned hands and laughs. “I remember that feeling,” she notes. “Be careful when they are like that, your hands that is. They cut super easy,” the Weyrwoman cautions. Tavrie glances between Saleese and K’len, ending with another long look at Kaylee. “Pantsless…you know, that would cause a whole bunch of problems and likely change some of the ranks around her,” she notes, eyebrows arched by and a half smirk on her face. Tavrie slants K’len a glance from over her shoulder, eyes narrowed slyly.

With a few sacks of clothes and personal belongings slung across her back, the small, sturdy Igenite Eostarra steps in from the bowl. She looks about the area, taking in her new surroundings and, for now, staying back on the edges of the current gathering.

K'len reaches for one of the cookies that Teddi made, though for the moment he seems far more interested in looking at it rather than eating it. "Yeah, usefulness is all that matters. Well, sometimes. Hey, congratulations by the way." He offers his friend, patting him on the back before rolling his eyes at the conversation the girls are having. "My rank would stay the same." He assures, crossing his arms over his chest, and then chuckling a little.

"Perhaps it's a contrived shortage...I've been told that men in Weyrs are quite eager to be free of such garments." If his lips weren't twitching with repressed amusement, it'd seem the innocently ignorant observation of a Holdbred. Tedaryn remains mum on the topic of what menfolk might do to tear their pants, settling on giving the seamstress an enigmatic smile. It turns more friendly due to K'len's congratulations, which are met with a soft laugh. "Thank you...I'd insist it was a mistaken decision if that wasn't considered terribly un-tactful." He turns and settles the cookie tray back on a low table, evidently tired of holding it. "I've need of klah, on an unrelated topic," he informs the room at large, using that excuse like a shield as he edges towards the door, inexplicably extricating himself from the bustle.

Kaylee laughs softly at Tavrie's comments, then turns back to walk towards her cot as she removes her jacket. Out of the corner of her eye she catches Eostarra's quiet entrance and waves to the girl as she stands, watching. Waving her over, she calls a greeting. "Hello, over there! Are you a new Candidate as well?"

Saleese snorts and folds her arms, her smile wiry and crooked. She was no Holdbred wilting blossom of a girl. But rather than comment, she chuckled and just shook her head. "Weyrwoman, Weyrleader, do excuse me as I am fairly certain there is a new mountain of dishes awaiting me in the kitchens. Clear skies to all." She grins and bobs that rather awkward curtsey and slips past them, grinning to Kaylee and the other Candidate she doesn't know before slipping out.

Tavrie glances around her and then walks back the few paces to stand by K’len. “Of course it wouldn’t,” she assures him with a wink. The Weyrwoman has finished the cookie now, and she gives a little yawn which is stifled behind a quick hand. “Yawning already,” she notes with a sigh. “Oh, of course,” she says to Saleese. “It was a pleasure to meet you again,” she offers as the Candidate slips out. The Weyrwoman turns, noting the newcomer now. “Welcome and congratulations,” she offers, smiling. A small glance follows Tedaryn out when he goes to get klah, one brow arching curiously.

Eostarra blinks, looking at the newly added knot she wears, then back to Kaylee with a hesitant smile. "Seems so," she replies, her voice soft. She certainly is not dressed like she comes from this area, though the added caftan seems quite warm. She looks for and finds an unclaimed cot on the women's side of the cavern, and unslings her bags upon it. Freed up, she waves to the gathered people. "Eostarra. From Igen Weyr."

K'len gives the new arrival a quick and easy seeming smile, even though Tavrie seems intent on picking on him. He offers Eostarra a quick, "Congratulations. Be sure to pick up some more blankets if you need them, quite the change from Igen to here." He says, and then loops an arm around Tavrie's waist even if he's not invited to do so. "I hope you all don't mind if I steal the lovely Weyrwoman to get some work done before she falls asleep."

Kaylee smiles at the Eostarra, looking her over and noting the warm-weather clothing and such. "Nice to meet you, Eostarra! I'm Kaylee - former Stablehand from right here at the Weyr." She tosses her jacket across the end of presumably her own cot and nods to Tavrie. "This is our Weyrwoman, Tavrie - Gold Nabrimeth's rider, and that pants-wearing Bronzerider is our Weyrleader, K'len - rider of Bronze Kalorith." She laughs at K'len and shakes her head. "Probably wise, sir - I wish you both a good night."

"Thank you, Sir," Eostarra offers the Weyrleader, adding, "And Ma'am." She smiles at Kaylee's introductions, quietly unpacking her desert-themed clothing. While it's all light weight material, it's mostly wraps, and at least covers the entire body. She'll just have to wear several more than usual, and her comfy black caftan.

Tavrie blinks in surprise as she finds herself gathered in. “Oh, err,” she notes and then smiles at everyone. “I guess that is a good idea. I’m pretty tired already, so if anything is going to get done, it better happen quickly,” she notes. “Congratulations to all of you! I look forward to getting to know you better. And, I think it won’t be much longer before K’len and I can take you down to let you get to know the Clutch,” she notes, offering them a wink. “Sleep well and work hard!” she says, turning to K’len and ready to follow him out.

Tavrie congratulates Kaylee on being Searched.

Sat, 11 Oct 2008 03:07:50 GMT

Living Cavern, High Reaches Weyr

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. The air is redolent with the smell of burning conifer wood blended with the myriad odors of the bakery's spices and the kitchen's succulent offerings. 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. The clink of cutlery harmonizes with the flowing river of talk and gossip as the weyrfolk gather for a hearty evening meal.

Contents:

Kaylee

Jemah

Obvious exits:

Kitchen Bowl Lower Caverns

Kaylee

A sunny smile is Kaylee's greeting to the world - like nothing could ever dampen her disposition. Not only does the smile brighten her face, but her green eyes shine brightly with cheerfulness and enthusiasm. Wavy brown hair frames her slightly-round-cheeked face, and shimmers and shines it's way halfway down her back - though at times the waterfall cascade of hair is braided out of the way, or simply pulled back into a snug runner-tail that bounces off her shoulders as she moves. Her nose is small and what some would term 'perky' and suffers a spattering of light freckles across the bridge and just touching her cheeks.

A newer earthen colored tunic hugs her shoulders close - the collar a slight scoop diving just a bare inch or two below the small hollow at the base of her throat. Around her neck is the only jewelry she wears - a snug-fitting thin strand of silver, set periodically with three small sapphires mounted near each other on the front - the middle one centered perfectly and bright against her skin. Her shoulders are a little broad-set on her frame for her size - a few inches over five feet in height, but an athletic build and moderate bust look just right in comparison. Attached to her shoulder is the Black-and-Blue knot of a High Reaches Weyr Candidate, having replaced the more austere resident's knot she's worn for the past turn. The sleeves of her tunic end just below the elbow, revealing pale, slightly freckled forearms, and strong, long-fingered hands. Sturdy tan trousers are belted above her hips by a slightly darker colored belt of toughened wherhide, though the uniformity of her clothes' coloring is broken up by a small yellow-embroidered daisy near her left knee, well above the newer wherhide boots that encase her feet and hug her calves snugly.

She appears to be 16 Turns, 10 months, and 12 days old.

On a cold winter High Reaches night, a lot of the weyrfolk find their own diversions. Dragonpoker, reading, drinking.. but one thing most of the people have in common is they want to do it someplace /warm/. Thus, Kaylee walks in from the lower caverns blowing on her hands and rubbing them together in an effort to warm them as a VTOL-line is made towards the hot drinks set up on a table. A mug of warm cider is quickly acquired, and cradled between her hands as she scans the cavern, looking for familiar faces - and it is Tavrie's that first comes to view. She walks over to the Weyrwoman and clears her throat to give warning. "Evening, ma'am." she says somewhat formally. "Mind if I join you?"

Tavrie looks up from whatever reverie she was lost in, her hands wrapped around a steaming mug and an empty plate in front of her. “Oh, good evening, Kaylee,” she says softly, still coming back to herself. The woman looks the stablehand over and then beams at her. “Ahh, a knew knot. Congratulations on being Searched,” she offers with a smile. “I hope you enjoy being a Candidate. I know that I did. It was so good to be a part of a group like that. It was like taking Harper classes when I was younger,” she notes and then indicates the chair across from her. “Please,” she welcomes Kaylee.

"Thank you, ma'am." Kaylee says, smiling as she slips into the proffered chair. "It came as very much of a surprise to me - between not realizing that dragons could be that mischievous, nor the idea of me as a Candidate." She leans down to breathe in the warmth and scent of her cider, then looks back up at Tavrie. "It's been interesting."

Tavrie decides to actually sip her cider instead of using it as a hand warmer. “So, who was it that Searched you? What kind of chores have you had to do?” she begins her inquiry and then grimaces. “How is Dassah taking it?” Tavrie then asks, her face suggesting she has a guess.

"Te'an and Deneth.." is said with a soft laugh. "They tricked me into feeling sorry for her and almost rearranging the whole Snowasis ledge before he brought out the knot and told me that she was faking." she shakes her head, runnertail waving behind her. "As for chores, mostly basic stuff - today was my first day back in the Stables actually - it was kind of weird." she takes a sip of cider, looking down as some of the amusement fades from her face - the usually effervescent smile a bit sad as she answers Tavrie's last question. "She's having a rough time. I had no idea it would be this bad, truthfully, on her. But.." she says, returning her hands to absorbing the warmth of the mug. "..we meet for breakfast every morning before I have chores and talk. We just can't.." a soft flush colors her cheeks. "Be more. She's just worried that I'll up and vanish on her."

Tavrie laughs, brows arching. “He’s a character! I bet that must have been interesting,” she says, grinning. “Feeling sorry for her? Why would you feel sorry for her?” Tavrie then wonders in regards to Deneth, looking confused. Tavrie nods and her smile shifts to a softer, more understanding one. “I thought that might be the case. I think it was hard on her to Stand and not Impress. I wish it hadn’t been so,” she says softly. “But you never know who is going to be chosen and who won’t,” the Weyrwoman notes rather sadly. “Well, hopefully you won’t vanish on her and you can relax and enjoy being a Candidate without worrying about her too much,” Tavrie says.

Nodding slowly, Kaylee sighs. "Well I'm not planning on going anywhere - I still love Dassah even if I don't share her bed." she shrugs, trying to shake off the worry that doesn't quite leave her eyes. "As for Te'an and Deneth - she managed to wedge herself in between a bunch of tables and a big bronze that was asleep on the ledge, and she made such a mournful little warble and managed to look so pathetic that I .. well.." she grins sheepishly in embarrassment. "I sorta yelled at Te'an a bit for being lazy and making her wait there instead of in the bowl. Then he pulled out the knot and she got miraculously unstuck, and... well." a soft laugh. "That was that."

Tavrie smiles and nods. “Well, I’m sure things will be fine for the two of you,” she offers positively. “I don’t know what Te’an was doing having her on that ledge anyway. It really isn’t a good place for dragons,” she notes, shaking her head. “That man,” she mutters, though a smirk comes to her lips. “He’s something,” she notes with a little snort of wry amusement. “Well, I’m glad for you to be Standing for Nabrimeth’s clutch. It is nice to have someone I already know a little bit to cheer on,” she says, rising slowly and stretching. “I’m exhausted, so I hope you don’t mind -- I think I’ll head back to my weyr for the night,” she says softly, smiling at Kaylee. “Again, congratulations, Kaylee,” the Weyrwoman offers.

Kaylee looks up at Tavrie, her smile bright. "Thank you, ma'am. That really means a lot to me. I hope you have a warm and good night." she grins.

Clutching Continued!

Wed, 08 Oct 2008 02:51:48 GMT

On the sands, Nabrimeth blinks in surprise at this egg's appearance and then swings her head Kalorith's way to give him a hard look. This must be a result of -his- genetic make-up, for surely, it can't be hers! Without further delay she's soon gingerly prodding and rolling it along, until it wobbles up on one end then plunks itself into position amongst the others. The gold eyes it somewhat warily a last time and leaves it alone as her hide fluctuates through another contraction.

Rilsa's lips twitch at Dassah's assessment before she adds. "Or a burly manly man."

On the sands,
Darkly Enigmatic Egg

This egg carries with it a brooding silence that matches its dark countenance as if to suggest it lies scowling at the world. One could believe that *between* itself has reached out and clasped the egg in its grasp. Strands of black, like fingers, coil tightly about its surface leaving little room for much else in the color spectrum to show through. However, the longer you look, the more it draws you in, entices you to look deeper, to discover what truly lies beneath.

Kambria hears Dassah's menu for dragons despite her focus elsewhere. Herdbeast, wherry or candidate. Without turning away from watching the sands and the newest egg that comes she can't help but laugh outloud. "Probably candidates." She smirks with a quick glance.

"Okay.." Kaylee says, watching Nabrimeth's reaction and then finding her eyes riveted to the new, dark egg. "That one is certainly unique. It's like the mirror image of the pink one." she says to the general area around her.

On the sands, K'len arches a brow at being told to wait a moment, then returns his attention to the sands long enough to realize there's a glass being held out towards him. Taking that, he returns his gaze to the stands where the journal is being waved at him and he groans. "Oh, no way..." He says, peering intently at Tedaryn and then shaking his head. "I don't know you!" He claims out loud for the world to hear, and then takes a drink of the wine. Great time for it to come, about the time as another dark egg takes the sands. "Shards, two dark ones like that. I wonder if they're fine." He comments, trying to seem far more concerned about the eggs, than whomever he might know in the stands.

Rilsa grins at Dassah. "That is the kind I like."

Saleese quirks a grin at the inky-hued egg now joining its brethren on the sands. A chuckle soon followed and she reaches up to absently scratch at her scalp a moment. "Now that isn't an egg you see every Clutching," she says again to no one in particular. Wrapping her arm back around updrawn legs, the seamstress maintains that lopsided smile as she watched the golden give the egg a study or two, before shifting her weight elsewhere.

"You've unusual taste in women, ma'am." Dassah says with amusement. "Prefer a bit of spine, myself." She motions at Kaylee by way of example. "Take Kaylee. Bright as can be, and not one you want to be on the bad side of. Got a temper a bit like the runners she works with, and she bites."

Rilsa chuckles at Dassah, glancing at the sands again to see the colorful view. "I am friends with all sorts of women. My men, however, I'm more particular about ... wicked."

On the sands, Tavrie looks between the two dark eggs and then shrugs. She frowns at K'len when he makes his announcement, looking over her shoulder. "Friend of yours?" she queries and then smirks. She continues her evaluation of the eggs and then shrugs. "Your guess is as good as mine. I would think that they're fine. Perhaps they just soaked up a lot of the natural pigments? As I said, I have no idea how the coloration works. But so far, even the dark eggs Nabrimeth has laid before have hatched. There was a pasty yellow one that didn't, once," she muses.

Kaylee looks up on hearing her name, and takes a quick moment to focus on the conversation that suddenly focuses on her. "Umm, what?" she asks, giving a bit of irony to Dassah's commentary of her brightness.

On the sands, Nabrimeth makes much of finding just the right spot for this next egg. She inspects a few spots Kalorith has dug and then picks one, scooping it a little deeper. A moment later she hurries to position herself over the hole and deposits a crystalline looking egg with lovely colored splotches. Nabrimeth turns and gives the egg a gentle wuffle, making sure that it is properly and lovingly settled before moving on to continue her work.

On the sands,
Shimmering Reality Egg

Clear yet present, ethereal yet unblurred, this egg gives the impression that one should be able to see right through the polished surface. However, shifting so that the light hits it differently, all that can be viewed is a myriad of identical shapes which differ only in shade, their energetic colors encircling the egg in a lively dance. Green splothes wrap around the apex followed by a row of red, and then yellow. The strange splotches of glassy sheen seem to march all around the shell, the shapes suspended in crystalline stillness. The most peculiar aspect of this egg comes not from its various pigmentations, but rather the unique shape of its distinct globs. Those with a good imagination will be be able to see the unmistakable shape of some little creature, all of the same sort -- with a central body, four pairs of bulbous limbs as hind and forepaws, a large head, rounded ears, a bulge for a muzzle, and two lighter areas that make ruts for eyes.

Kambria was greatly impressed and curious about the dark egg that had been laid and was busy examining it on the edge of her seat with curious interest, when another egg comes forth to be admired. And admired it was. Doing a quick count she smiles with satisfaction. Nabrimeth was doing great. And that wager she had made with an aquaintance was looking more promising for her with each passing egg.

Tedaryn blinks. Doesn't know him? He lowers the book to his side, arms settling to stillness. He seems to pout for an instant, but it's so dramatic that it has to be for show, and it gives way almost immediately to soft laughter. He waggles a finger at the Weyrleader yonder, mouthing the word 'fibber' at him, though with his lip as it is, it might be difficult to discern what he's just said. He folds his arms, accommodating the book easily enough, remaining where he stands to watch the steady procession of eggs...or perhaps he's still staring at the Weyrleader, wearing that little smile.

The giant middle-aged male butcher leans down to murmur something to the diminuitive young female butcher beside him, causing the girl to roll her eyes before replying. "Yes, Dad, which you would /know/ if you ever /went/ to one of these back home. We /live/ in a Weyr, afterall." The various greetings are returned with a wave of one small hand.

Dassah rolls her eyes. "Good timing, Kaylee." She says quietly, amused. She nods past her companion to Rilsa. "I can certainly appreciate your point of view, though I find myself rather picky about my friends. Weakness is... Not somethingI tolerate much of." She looks out at the eggs. "Good number, for an Interval."

On the sands, "Me? Know him? Of course not." K'len is quick to say, despite the fact that it's rather obvious he does. He gives Tedaryn a quick glance, shakes his head and returns his attention to the sands - you know, where it should be, and making sure Kalorith's not making the gold do all the work by herself. "That must have disappointed her awfully." He admits, taking a drink from the glass and reaching for her hand with his free one to idly distract her from asking further questions about the guy in the stands. "It's quite different to be down here when they're being clutched. Kalorith's beside himself with how pleased he is, the colors don't bother him much."

Saleese shifts on her bench, going into a cross-legged position with the skirt tucked around her. Still grinning in that quirky way, she grabs the basket and pulls it onto her lap. Clutchings could take some time, and she could just as easily work on Melata's vest here as she could anywhere else. Spreading the vest out to expose the interior, stripped of lining, Saleese roots around in the basket for her needle cushion. "That egg," she says to the basket, "Will be in the minds of many, I'd wager."

On the sands, Tavrie arches her browns and purses her lips, clearly she doesn't believe him for one moment. However, when he reaches for her hand, the Weyrwoman seems willing to let him off the hook about the strange interaction going on. "I'm glad that he's pleased. He should be, he's a father. Well, sort of. He'll be an official father very soon," she replies. "Easy, love. Rest if you can?" Tavrie then says aloud to the gold.

Rilsa smiles. "Okay, acquaintences then. My friends I am more ... particular about. I will talk with many folks."

On the sands, The next is already on its way as Nabrimeth scoots away from the ethereal egg and checks out her hole options nearby. One is hastily scooted over to, a little half-hearted digging is done, and it is time. She deposits a large, sunny yellow egg in this groove. It gets a cursory glance but little else before she hurries off to find another spot.

On the sands,
Melts in Your Mouth Egg

Large, yellow, and definitely ovoid in shape -- that is what you see at first when looking at this egg. However, a second glance will reveal that all is not yellow sunshine. A single white splotch that appears to be centered on the egg's vertical axis, almost making a perfect "W" in shape. The egg sits on its wide bottom and tapers off to a narrow top -- a uniform shade of the same citron yellow, save for that single discoloration.

Kambria dares to look around and ask quietly, "Talk about wagers," She comments having heard Saleese's words, "Any wagers on how many bronzes this clutch might produce? A half-mark says one." Why that came out of her mouth, she does not know. Going with it she can't help but cant her head and wait for an answer. As such she missed the latest egg being laid and only turned back to see it when she heard a few quietly gasp and comment at its appearance.

"Yes, exactly." Dassah keeps ger eyes on the eggs, lapsing quiet as she runs out of light chatter with her limited social skills. As the newest yellow egg arrives, she gives a nudge to Kaylee and points at it. "That one's nice."

Kaylee nudges Dassah simultaneously with herself being nudged. "Look at that one!" She beams happily at the brightly colored egg. "I like that one even better than the pink one - it's like Nabrimeth just decided to lay a big egg of sunshine!"

Saleese chuckles and holds up a hand in denial. "No wagers from me. Never been one to bet on Hatchings," she says simply. "Though... I think you might make a mark on that wager." Flipping the vest for a better angle, Saleese peers at the sunny egg. "A spot of warmth in winter? And they sands are hot, that egg fits right in."

On the sands, K'len certainly isn't very good at looking innocent, but then, he doesn't seem to care if he is or not. He just cares that it's off the table for now. He glances back at Tedaryn, and then back at the steadily growing clutch. "Almost ten of them already." He comments, even though there's only nine on the sands with that last one included. "I'm pleased too." He comments ambigiously, and takes a drink from the mulled wine that he's been given. "Poor girl looks like she's wearing down some, but she's almost down to her svelte figure." He comments of Nabrimeth, still watching.

"A big egg of... Sunshine?" Dassah gives Kaylee an odd look. "They're /eggs/ Kaylee. Just eggs. Really." She looks back out at the eggs, squinting as if trying to see what the others see in them. "Just raw dragons that haven't hatched yet."

On the sands, Tavrie groans at the comment and shakes her head. "She'll be thrilled to get back to her usual self as she watches the eggs," the goldrider comments. "She's so cranky over being egg heavy," is added to solidify the thought. Tavrie's bubbly enthusiasm seems to be waning a little as well. She watches more quietly, sipping her own drink.

On the sands, With the twist and turn of sinuous body, this egg makes its debut upon the sands, a flash of wild crimson that glitters in the glowlight. With the settlement of the egg upon the sands, there is the anticipation of what is inside. Just what lies beneath the glittering, striated shell? Nabrimeth pauses, curiously inspecting the egg a moment before proudly sauntering on.

On the sands,
Just One Lick Egg

Where at first this egg appears to be entirely covered in deep ruby, you soon notice that it is actually a striation of hues ranging from royal amethyst to glittering red. The streaks of color seem to fold in upon themselves like woven bands that have no pattern or distinction, yet they work together perfectly to make this garnet egg come to life. Proportioned nicely, it is clear that the width of the egg is greater than perhaps average, while the length is smaller. In short, the egg appears more spherical than ovoid.

Kambria nods acceptance for Saleese's words on not laying down any wagers. "That's okay. I don't even know why I even offered. Funny how my tongue seems to speak without me knowing it." She chuckles softly. "Another egg...I wonder how many more might come. This clutch is simply breathtaking. Nabrimeth is doing very well and yes, most mothers to be feel so much better when they've given...birth I'm sure Nabrimeth already feels better." Her last heartfelt words are for Tavrie.

Kaylee nods firmly to Dassah. "Egg. Sunshine." she reaches over and touches Dassah's arm fondly. "We really need to work on your imagination some, Dassah. I know it's just an egg, but it is definitely a sunny one." she trails off and catches a look at the newest egg, giving it only a cursory glance before looking back at the big sunshiney egg.

"I don't do imagination." Dassah says, shrugging a little. "You know that as well as anyone." She points at the new amethyst and red egg, "That one." She says. "That one is pretty, I like it the most of what's come so far."

On the sands, K'len tugs Tavrie a little closer to him, letting her lean on him if she wishes as she watches the gold continue through her labours. He's perhaps a little sweaty, from sitting out there, but the offer's there if she's brave enough to accept it. He sighs a little, looking at the newest ruby red addition with a hint of curiosity - seems he likes the looks of that one. "You'll be thrilled too, probably. She doesn't complain too much about being on the sands afterwards, does she?"

Saleese flashes that lopsided grin and shrugs. "I don't have any experience with birth. Well, other than standing around and trying not to get in the way when my mother was birthing my siblings." Here she chuckles and threads a needle. "I tend to avoid the whole birthing aspect." She wrinkles her nose a moment at the thought, then looks to the newest arrival.

Kaylee spares a second glance towards the reddish egg, nodding slowly in agreement with Dassah. "It's pretty." she agrees, but her eyes insistently turn back towards the spot of sunshine on the sands.

On the sands, Tavrie sighs gratefully and leans her head against his shoulder when she's tugged closer. She smiles, looking pleased with the latest egg. "There, see? They aren't all dark. We have some pink, yellow, the multi-colored one, and this lovely red. Safe bets on them," the Weyrwoman murmurs. She didn't catch Kambria's comment, but the proof of how true the words are can be seen as the gold steps slower, but seems a little more steady of foot. "I'm sure I will," Tavrie agrees with him quietly after a moment, smiling a soft, enigmatic little smile.

On the sands, Nabrimeth's casual sauntering picks up again as the contractions begin again, her dappled, rose gold hide rippling. She hurries over to a suitable hole, working here for a little longer than it has been taking her, rewarded finally with another egg. For all its knobbly looking exterior, the next egg to appear rolls smoothly enough under the small encouragements given by Nabrimeth. Once she's satisfied that it's settled just so, she proceeds to build sand up about curved sides, with much the same tenderness as a human mother would tuck her child in for the night.

On the sands,
Crisply Sweet Egg

Unremarkable in size, it's the golden yellow that passes around the curvature of this egg in thick, indulgent swirls that may draw one's attention to it. From its widest point to its narrowest, the entire surface appears as if stippled by raised knobs of light brown. Darker lines zigzag about, randomly lending it a brittle air and the suggestion that it might crack open at any moment.

Kambria grins to Saleese. "I can't avoid births and wouldn't want to. I am in training to be a midwife afterall. We sorta have to be present." She teases and then licks her dry lips. She would look around for water or juice at this point but she has already missed the laying of one egg. She certainly does not want to miss another. With eyes glued upon the golden miracle happening below she keeps an amiable smile upon her appreciative lips. Yes! Another egg. Her patient vigil was rewarded with the sight of another rather amazing egg.

Dassah rolls her eyes and pokes Kaylee. "You're hopeless." She says. "And you aren't talking very much." She looks over at Kambria and wrinkles her nose. "Midwifery." She says. "Too close to children for my taste, though the weyr certainly /needs/ good midwifes. Seems like every week some rider is getting knocked p from a flight. Breed worse than tunnelsnakes, riders do."

Left to his own devices, Tedaryn's been staring towards the Sands, like so many others here. After a while he crouches to return the book in his hands to the duffel bag at his feet, but hesitates, and instead settles himself on the bench and opens the book to peruse its contents. Every so often, cued to the arrival of another egg by the murmurs of the crowd, he gets up again to inspect the newest addition. Other than that small measure of participation, he seems content to read, smiling to himself.

On the sands, K'len curls blonde hair around his finger as he lets her rest against him. The heat takes it's toll on him as well, and he seems content to just sit there and watch while letting the commentary about the forthcoming eggs swirl around. There's a moment he glances back towards the stands, but then the water that was brought is reached for and drank from - wine wasn't doing the trick anymore. "They're perfect, of course and all will hatch." He seems certain of that, confident in the dragons that'd made them.

Saleese opens her mouth to comment on birth, then closes it as the sight of the seemingl fissured egg is laid. Her sewing stops a moment as she slowly looks over the egg, tracing those deceptive lines with her eyes. Once more there is the need to touch the surface to make certain it is more optical illusional than reality. For good measure, Saleese simply sits on her hand, that way she isn't looking silly with one hand slightly raised and extended.

On the sands, Tavrie sips the mulled wine again and then risks setting the glass down near her feet on as even a spot as she can. "May I?" she asks K'len, hoping to have some of the water after he has finished with it. "I better get used to this. If I'm going to see much of Nabrimeth, I'm going to be stuck out here a lot. I remember her first clutch...I only left her when I had to," she admits. "I don't think I'll be here quite as much this time," Tavrie admits. "It looks like Nabrimeth found a second wind," the Weyrwoman observes.

"If you want to watch," Eostarra tells her ursine foster father - they look /nothing/ alike - "Then at least do it right and watch from where you can /see/." She takes his hand, dragging him forward. "I can see fine, Ester," he grumbles in protest. "Yeah, well /I/ can't, and I'm far too old to be hoisted up on your shoulders." She pulls him towards the seating and tugs him down to sit beside her. "Sorry," she offers those nearby.

On the sands, It is over from one moment to the next. First Nabrimeth's sides spasm quickly, three times in a row and then she turns to position her tail above a groove at the edge of the clutch. Seconds later a glossy brown egg has appeared on the Sands and the gold, with a quick sweep of her forepaw, covers much of the ovoid to hide it from sight.

On the sands,
Rejected Imitation Egg

Tilted slightly on its side, this small, carob brown egg sits at the edge of the clutch, separated and alone. The dark brown of the egg gives way at the very top, revealing lighter sienna shapes that look like stacked cylinders. A semi-circle breaks the edge one of the shapes, shimmering with an even lighter terracotta that leaves the pattern looking as if someone took a bite out of it. Around the twin tubes of mock-carob can be seen rumpled looking traces of white. Most of it appears to be curled under the seat of the egg like a peeled away wrapper to house the rejected offerings. As it rests on its side, the sand exposes more smudges of white that almost look like letters if you have a good enough imagination.

Kambria can't help but laugh at Dassah's comment about riders. "They do seem to have this...hazzard...with their occupations as riders, don't they? Oh but each and every one are wonderful additions. You must agr-. Oh another." She grins brightly as yet /another. egg is laid. "I've won the wager. Pasha will be proud. I'm thinking this might be the last." She judges with a careful eye trained upon Nabrimeth's belly and position.

Kaylee smiles without taking her eyes off the sunny-egg, seeming to memorize every curve of it before finally turning her attention back to the world at large. "I know what I like, Dassah." she says quietly before giving the woman next to her a smile. She leans closer to speak more for Dassah's ears. "Besides - you've a lot more folks talking to you - so enjoy being social!" Then her eyes are drawn back to the sands in time to see the new egg appear.

"No, I don't must agree." Dassah replies to Kambria. "Children are invariably frustrating and tiresome." Kaylee's words do elicit a faint flush, and she speaks bac to her in similar tones. "One of us has to have manners, y'know, since you've only eyes for the omelettes." She turns her gaze past Kaylee to Eostarra and her compantion. "High Reaches greetings."

On the sands, K'len offers the glass to Tavrie, with most of it's contents still inside since he didn't want to seem -too- weak, after all. He grins a little, "It'll be interesting, for me. I was sure Kalorith'd never catch himself a gold." He says, and the bronze gives him a huff of protest in his direction. Yawning slightly, he peers between the eggs and Nabrimeth, "Should be done soon. Can't be too many more, I shouldn't think."

Saleese returns to the sewing, the needle picked up as she watches the golden bury that last egg so deeply that only a glimpse of the top is seen. She canted her head a fraction, watching a moment longer before lifting the vest once more. "No rhyme or reason to them all it seems. But I'm sure she knows," she said simply, the 'she' being referenced being Nabrimeth.

"Igen's greetings," Eostarra returns with a pleasant smile. For his part, her foster father grunts what could be interpreted as a greeting, but his attention is fixed upon the gold on the sands like a child's might.

On the sands, Tavrie accepts the glass appreciatively. "Thank you," she muses before drinking a little and passing it back. She scans the now egg laden sands and smiles. "It is a decent size, for an Interval. I'd wager there won't be more than four more. Maybe only one?" she tosses out some numbers.

On the sands, Nabrimeth is noticeably slowing. She moves with less eagerness and slightly weary wobble to her gait. She surveys the eggs around her with a measuring gaze and moves carefully around to find a new place. Stopping in a relatively clear area, she looks toward Kalorith and patiently lurks until he has dug a few quick, shallow holes for her. Selecting one with much less vigor, she hunkers and pushes, rumbling a soft complaint before leaving behind a pleasantly be-speckled egg.

On the sands,
Fizzy Wizzy Egg

This egg seems to have been spattered all over with color as if a pallet of paints suddenly exploded to leave bursts, splatters and splotches wherever the pigment made contact with it. Trails of color run all over the shell -- not quite mottled, but instead a random chaos of colors, sizes, and spots. There is a certain bubbly feeling to the lively hues bursting all over the egg, an effervescent quality that speaks of the tingles and werrybumps.

Kambria can't help but counter Dassah's words with logic. "You were once an infant, and then one of those frustrating children." She smirks good-naturedly. "And yet here you are, a blessed addition to the weyr...or not." She teases with a friendly glance. "/Another/ one? I figured her for done. Interesting." Her attention has been drawn back to the sands as she studies Nabrimeth once again and then the eggs she has laid. "Simply amazing." She mutters appreciatively to herself.

On the sands, K'len watches Nabrimeth get slow, and wobbly, a hint of concern crossing his features at seeing her that way. "Poor girl." He comments, but smiles none the less. "Much larger and she looks like she'd pass out before laying them all. You can't pick random numbers to wager on, you know - and you have a bit more insight than most would on how many." He says, and takes a drink from the glass once it's handed back to him.

"And there, you prove that you are unfamiliar with me." Dassah replies to Kambria. "As anyone will tell you, I was born old and cranky, and have only gotten moreso over time. Few would call me a blessed addition to anything." She says, laughing.

Kaylee fans herself quietly as the heat from the sands starts to get to her a bit. She looks between Dassah and Kambria as the two talk, then looks back to the sands at the upturn of sound from the crowd. This egg makes her tilt her head curiously as she regards it, then nudging Dassah to draw her attention to it.

On the sands, "Well first, I don't wager my marks on much, especially not betting," she notes. "And secondly, I don't know exactly how many she'll have. She doesn't even know that. I just know better than others how she feels physically," Tavrie informs him. "Are you a gambling man, Weyrleader," she then asks him, raising her eyebrows. Her attention doesn't linger on K'len long, instead being drawn back to her lifemate. "Come on, love," she encourages the tired gold.

On the sands, Nabrimeth may be tired, but she is on a roll and doesn't seem to be finished just yet. She digs her own depression from one that Kalorith had started and then shifts around to find just the right place to lay the next egg. The rush was for good reason as it comes quickly. Nabrimeth lingers there, mounding it half heartedly before heaving a huge, draconic sigh and curling herself around it. She lays her head down on the warm sand, eyes closing as the tired queen seeks some much needed rest.

On the sands,
It's Just Not Fair Egg

Grim and gravely, this egg is a clumpy mess of brown and grey from narrow apex to wide seat. It is small in size with a textured surface that only seems to add to its defeat -- tiny, shadowed pockmarks turning the ovoid into something crooked and uneven. While the egg looks like something someone just picked up at the lake shore and tossed onto the Sands, it is quite cleverly camouflaged and not without a certain hidden charm. Upon closer inspection one will see that the shadows playing across the surface of the egg are hiding a lovely, elongated shape and a myriad of glittering flecks. Tiny sprinkles of crystalline white, raw gold, unpolished copper and chipped obsidian are a pleasant surprise for those that pause long enough to have a second look at this odd egg.

Kambria can't help but laugh as well when Dassah mentions being Old and Cranky from birth. "I suppose you are probably right." She comments with an amiable grin. Hearing the gold shift her weight down below, for she had been listening intently, she turns back to barely witness yet /another/ egg. This one makes her raise and eyebrow with added interest.

"Most people usually accept my inherent rightness." Dassah replies, though she is distracted by the nudge. "What?" She she asks, her gaze moving back out to the eggs as she tries to find what has piqued Kaylee's interest. "They are very nice. Sparkly, that last one.":

Saleese bends over the vest, slowly working the needle through leather and simple brown lining. She looks up as the queen eases into rest, her body curled about that pockmarked egg. Her smile flares to lopsided life as the sewing pauses.

On the sands, K'len chuckles lightly, "I was /mostly/ joking. I can tell when Kalorith's tired, or hurt, and whatnot. Figured it'd be a lot similar for you, for these things. I wouldn't know, though. Kalorith'll never lay eggs." He says with a smirk, and then shrugs his shoulders. "Depends on if I think the bet's something I won't lose at. - So, not often." He says, and watches the gold curl up with a contented sigh. "Looks like that's the end. What, thirteen or fourteen eggs? I don't know what numbers are supposed to be lucky."

Hearing murmurs of betting going on, Tedaryn looks up from his reading to pay attention to those around him daring enough to put marks on the line. If 'attention' can be construed from a kind of glassy-eyed gaze that sweeps across unknown figures indiscriminately. He blinks and sets his book aside, the short man climbing atop the bench to get a view over the tall people milling about. Just in case K'len thought he was going to escape, the blond waves slightly to try and get the man's attention, going for a gesture that points from the bronzerider to himself, a fairly clear 'I want to chat with you, mister' signal Pern-wide. At least he's smiling and not glowering intimidatingly.

"It looks like she's done." Kaylee says quietly to Dassah. She starts to slowly count the eggs, having a hard time as some are eclipsed by the others. "Thirteen or fourteen, by my count." she says, echoing K'len's almost-heard commentary.

Kambria sighs with contentment and rises from her seat when it is clear that Nabrimeth has completed her labored task. Looking around at those nearby she gives a smile to those that meet her gaze. "A well done miracle by Nabrimeth. Congratulations Tavrie...K'len." Bowing respectfully she turns quietly and hurries away to look for something cool to drink. The heat emanating from the sands has left her parched.

On the sands, Tavrie shifts in her seat, sitting up again and smiling fondly at Nabrimeth. "I'm going to go check on her a moment," she excuses herself from K'len and those nearby. Tavrie wanders back across the sands, careful to avoid the eggs. Coming to her lifemate, the petite Weyrwoman leans over the exhausted gold's muzzle and strokes her jawline. "Rest well, Nabrimeth. It is a fine clutch," she tells the dappled gold.

Dassah stands as well, her ice-blu skirts swirling about her legs. "Done, indeed." She says, offering a hand out to Kaylee. "Would you, Kaylee, care to join me in the caverns for some cool juice and maybe something sweet?" She looks over to Kambria, who seems to be of a similar mind, "We'd not be alone."

On the sands, K'len gets up once Tavrie wanders off to check on the gold, Kalorith curling up nearby even though overall - all he did was dig ditches. He's watchful of the crowd now that the clutch is laid and the queen is resting, taking the first 'guard' duty, as it is. K'len sighs, and wanders up to the rest of the galleries to get away from some of the worst of the heat. "Thanks you all, for coming. Looks like 14 by my count, if there's any bets going on. Any winners?" He asks, curious to see.

Kaylee takes Dassah's hand and stands as well, looking a bit overly warm in her gown. "I think something cool and refreshing would go over quite well, Dassah, please." She looks out and smiles at Tavrie and Nabrimeth, then looks back as K'len approaches. "Congratulations." she says to the Weyrleader.

Dassah takes a cue from her companion and turns towards the weyrleaders. "They are lovely eggs, Tavrie, K'len. You should be very proud of them. I am sure it will make for an altogether fascinating hatching, as they always do. Will you be joining us in the caverns?"

Eostarra rises, her foster father doing the same. "We should be heading back," she notes. He nods in agreement. "Our ride will be leaving, soon." They offer a wave in parting to those still assembled, heading towards the exit.

"Shards, it's /hot/ down there." K'len says, running a hand through his damp hair and pulling at his clothes that've gotten a bit damp from him getting too hot. Broad smiles are given none the less, and he seems all too happy to take the beseeched accreditation. "It is an interesting bunch, some of them are really neat looking." He'd know, he sat closer so he could see them all. "I think.. I'd like to. But, maybe I should wait for Tavrie." He says, glancing to see how her and the gold are doing. See, he's distracted, can't be talked to by Tedaryn..

Tedaryn hops off of the bench as K'len begins his approach. Two feet on the ground, he takes out the little book and moves past a cluster of Weyrfolk sternly reiterating and sorting out their bets, aiming for the Weyrleader. "Congratulations, K'len," he murmurs, coming up to flank the bronzerider without delay. Clasped in both hands, the little book is held forward with a degree of ceremony, and a saccharine smile to accompany the gifting. "What auspicious circumstances in which we meet again. A fine clutch." A beat, and his smile blooms into a grin as he utters a soft exclamation, "and how you've grown!"

On the sands, Tavrie leaves Nabrimeth to rest, following K'len up into the galleries to greet people. The Weyrwoman looks a little warm, her cheeks a rosy pink and her steps slow. The gold seems to be sound asleep already, despite people still being around.

Saleese rises with her basket and picks her way along the tiers towards the exit. How she would ever concentrate for the rest of the day?

Kaylee watches Tavrie approach and tosses her a small wave of greeting. "Nabrimeth was wonderful, Tavrie! Congratulations!"

"We are happy to wait." Dassah says to K'len, offering a polite smile to him. "We are not in a rush, and it's been a while since I have had the chance to see a clutch. I haven't much cared about them since the one Nabrimeth came from."

Tavrie ambles up to the group and heaves a sigh, smiling at Kaylee in return for the wave of greeting now that she is up here. "Thank you for coming to share this moment," she says. "Looks like a good batch," she notes, glancing around at the gathered people.

Kambria reenters the galleries holding a satisfied smile and a small container of water. Taking another refreshing drink from it she reseals it so it will not spill and then leans upon the railing as she views the scene below for another lingering moment.

K'len reaches to snatch at Tedaryn's book, so neatly folded in hands in front of him to peer inside it to see if it's what he thinks it is. Yes, he does it without asking, and no, he doesn't seem to care if it's personal or not. "Of course it is." He comments to the healer, and then closes the book to hand it back to the man. "Haven't changed, have you?" He asks, and then adds, "Not that much taller. There's lots of guys taller than me still." He comments and glances as Tavrie ambles up to the group. "Tavrie, this' Teddi. An old... friend that hasn't seen fit to visit in turns." He says, glancing at the offending person with a grin.

Tavrie notes the return of Kambria, something about the young woman causing her to go a little shy. "Huh? Whom?" she muses, attention snapping to K'len when she finds herself being introduced. "Oh, a pleasure, err, Teddi," she offers, grinning rather sheepishly. "Welcome to High Reaches," she extends.

Book snatched, personality assessed, introductions made on the fly with an accusation and a grin...Tedaryn blinks sedately at all of this, then smiles a little slow. Maybe the heat's gotten to him. Or maybe he's a bit thick. "I don't see what's wrong with enjoying the study of herbs, Weyrleader," he muses, gently thumbing open the book to look down at a full-page spread of botanist's sketches devoid of text. "This is yours," he insists quietly, closing the book and holding it out again towards the rider, a hint of intelligence coming to the fore in his gaze in the form of slyness. You wouldn't refuse your friend a gift, here, in public, would you? He blinks then, and looks towards the Weyrwoman, affording her a respectful bow with saplike slowness. "A pleasure to meet you." He looks back to K'len, one corner of his mouth rising higher than the other with a meagre smirk. "Which of us has the ability to travel anywhere on Pern in an instant? And you chastise me for not visiting...I see you're still wicked," he teases.

Dassah looks around at the clearly tense reunion. "Perhaps, pet, it would be better if we moved along." Dassah says quietly to Kaylee. "This doesn't look like anything we need to be part of." She turns, taking a few steps away, and glancing over towards Kambria. "You're welcome to join us, too, Kambria. You can take the oppertunity to try to help Kaylee convince me that I would really like children, if I just game them a chance."

Kaylee nods towards Kambria with a soft smile. "It may take all night and several wineskins, but you are welcome to join us." she takes a few steps after Dassah, glancing quickly at K'len before turning away and heading down the steps away from the heat and into the cold of the bowl.

Kambria just happens to glance at those still gathered in the galleries when she notices Tavrie's look in her direction. It immedeately reminds her of their hurried conversation up on the diving cliff. Canting her head just slightly she examines the weyrwoman from a different perspective. Approaching with respectful salutations to each, she speaks politely, "Tavrie. Nabrimeth did a fine job. You and her must be feeling a bit relieved that this part of her cycle is complete?" She tests. "How are you feeling?" Hearing Dassah and Kaylee's words to her she smiles amiably and says, "I might catch up with you soon. I think I'll linger here a bit longer. Thanks."

K'len takes the book as it's offered to him, not going to turn down the offer especially if it's claimed to be his in the first place. He doesn't look quite well, though, the heat not quite agreeing after getting acclimated to the cold - or so one would probably think. "Yeah, yeah.. You don't know how hard it is when my 'ride' has a mind of his own. He's not very fond of Keroon either. But, then, you wouldn't have been there if you're at the Hall?" He asks, looking at the knot the man displays.

"We'll watch for you." Dassah says to Kambria with a nod. She looks back to Tavrie and K'len, "Congratulations again, Tavrie, K'len, and have a good day." With a swish of her skirt she turns, following Kaylee out of the oppressive heat.

Tavrie favors Tedaryn with a sweet smile at his formality and bowing. She shifts her attention away now, leaving K'len to catch up with his friend. As Dassah and Kaylee disappear, she follows them with her gaze, looking thoughtful. She is snapped back to reality when she hears her name. "Oh, Kambria, right?" she says, fidgeting nervously. "Thank you, I'm quite proud of her," the Weyrwoman admits, grinning shyly. "Oh, me? I'm fine," she tosses out there. "Though I suppose I would be better if I came to visit with Pasha and yourself," she mumbles to her boots instead of Kambria.

"That's correct," Tedaryn replies, looking quietly pleased that K'len's taken the book off his hands. What kind of healer would he be, though, if he didn't notice that the bronzerider doesn't appear too well? "But," he goes on, lifting a hand, "there'll be time for reminiscing later, I'm certain. I've no intention of leaving here too soon." After delivering that happy news, he pats the taller man on the shoulder, and turns towards his bags again. The Weyrwoman gains another nod and smile before he turns his back on the pair and goes to retrieve his baggage and, presumably, foist it off on a drudge to be dealt with somewhere less sweltering.

Kambria a slight, knowing smile is hinted upon her lips at the Weyrwoman's suggestion of a visit from her. Nodding politely she schools her face into one of amiable interest and says, "We would be happy for your visit. There are no labors in progress so far this evening or if you wish for tomorrow, that is fine too?" Her tone was professional and kind.

K'len tucks the book against him, and glances as Tavrie moves off. He's not her shadow though, and seems content to catch up with Tedaryn a little - at least for now. "Staying, huh? Well, I guess I'll see you around the weyr, then. You didn't get posted here, did you?" He asks, but then sighs a little as he gets waved off to go take care of something by a rider that pokes his head into the galleries. "Sorry, Ted, I gotta run. Look me up later?

"Mmhmm!" Tedaryn's answer to the in-demand Weyrleader is offered, singsong, as he hoists his bags for his escape.

Tavrie shuffles a foot nervously. "Tomorrow, perhaps? I'm pretty drained from the heat," she admits. "I'll stop by tomorrow or maybe I'll send Ardon with a message to see if you have time," she tells Kambria. The woman seems guarded and shy now, glancing about her. "I'd better go and rest a little before Nabrimeth wakes," she says. "I'll look you up tomorrow. I'm glad you could make it," the Weyrwoman offers. Tavrie sets off quickly, seeming ready to get away from the awkward subject and into a cooler room. "Thank you for coming," she can be heard echoing to various people on her way.

Kambria nods agreeably. "Yes of course. Tomorrow will be fine. And I was glad to come. You both did great. It was an honor to see it. G'night ma'am. Rest well."

Kambria watches the weyrwoman and others depart for various homes and places and joins the stragglers out of the galleries. A fresh mark is delivered by a begrudging wage loser on the way.

HRW's Clutching, log thanks to Sunika! <3

Wed, 08 Oct 2008 02:49:46 GMT

On the sands, Tavrie hurries onto the Sands to meet her lifemate and the gold pauses in her pacing long enough to give the small woman a look of what is most likely appreciation. The Weyrwoman wanders over to rub Nabrimeth's muzzle once, whispering something to her before moving away over the hot sand to let the queen be. The word is likely spreading quickly, it is time for Nabrimeth and Kalorith's clutch to appear. The gold busies herself digging small grooves, warbling for the bronze clutchsire.

Kambria mingles with several others as she enters the galleries and looks around for that 'perfect' spot. A soft grin plays upon her lips as the excited anticipation builds up in those around her. Spotting that 'just so' seat, she calmly moves along and claims it for her own when she gets there. The row is the first. A nice area to watch the beautiful Gold in her valiant efforts down below. It looks like the blessed event would happen soon.

On the sands, K'len isn't far behind Tavrie, and if looks aren't decieving - it almost looks like there's an invisible rope dragging along his dragon behind him. Reluctant, much? But, when the bronze finally makes his way to the sands, he dutifully warbles to the gold and gives her an arched look like expecting her to tell him what to do. She should know, better than him. K'len looks almost as lost, but he wanders over towards the Weyrwoman. "Hey, time already?"

On the sands, Tavrie's smile couldn't be any brighter as she welcomes K'len to the Sands and then glances out at Nabrimeth. "It's time!" she confirms simply. The Weyrwoman glances towards the galleries, cheeks already pink from the heat. The gold croons in a needy manner, willing to instruct the bronze and seeming patient about the whole thing. However, her sides are beginning to ripple and she is looking about quite seriously for good spots. Another look is tossed to Kalorith, clearly readable without hearing her words -- just dig!

A quick walk across the sands on mincing feet brings Kaylee hand-in-hand up into the galleries with Dassah right beside her. The stablehand looks a bit out of place in her finery that contrasts smoothly with the woman next to her. "Okay, you weren't kidding about the heat, Dassah!" is the comment that blends in with the murmuring of the crowd as they ascend the steps and settle near the front for a good view.

On the sands, Nabrimeth swings her neck about to investigate this, the first egg on the sands. Behold, a green-and-red gemlike thing, glistening still - but hardening quickly. The queen eventually noses the terribly spherical egg around for a moment, flares of her nostrils suggesting some investigation going on. Anything alive in there? It is rather round, for an egg. Whether by smell or another sense, the mother is apparently satisfied. Nabrimeth nudges it across the sand, grains sloughing off of its dried surface as it goes. She employs her foreclaws in digging it a little grooved nest, into which it obligingly rolls. By chance, it settles with the blaze of red at its north pole, looking like some candidate already vandalized it with a bucket of paint.
On the sands,
Bejeweled Bounty Egg

Whether born of wherry, chicken, or dragon, an egg has a very definite shape. This particular specimen breaks with convention, however, possessing an almost spheroid silhouette. Its squat nature might suggest ill health, but its shell is robust and in fact, very much alive. Smooth and unblemished, the surface of this egg looks as though it has been attacked by an artist's sponge dipped in faint reds and crisp greens. Earthy and fleshy blushes blend together across it, reminiscent of an orchard in full autumn harvest. More spectacular is the swath of glistening red at its 'top', a bright and illusorily brittle coating that drips towards an invisible equator.

Kambria leans forward in her seat as if to get a closer look at this first egg. "Beautiful. Well done Nabrimeth." She calls gently, encouragingly.

"I warned you." Dassah says, a fainylu amused tone in her voice as she walks next to Kaylee. The icy blue skirt she wears swirls around her legs as she walks, seemingly unwrried by the fancy outfit she is in. "She's already started." She comments, pointing out at the newly hatched eggs. "And her eggs are attractive, as they always are."

On the sands, K'len lifts a hand to his hair, running fingers through it as he watches Kalorith finally shimmy over towards where the gold's digging, and the first egg makes its appearance. "Look at that!" He says, as though he'd never seen a gold laying eggs before. Clearly pleased, he wanders over towards Tavrie and grins broadly. "Not bad for a first egg. Kalorith's quite pleased too."

Kaylee arranges the flame-red skirts of her dress around her feet as she sits.. the reds and yellows a striking contrast to the ice blues of the woman next to her. She lifts her eyes and looks out over the sands towards the first egg. "Are they always that colorful?" she asks, looking towards the taller woman.

Sunika arrives with a Fortian rider as an escort; she's quick to murmur her thanks and then moves onward to pick decent seats. As soon as her eyes hit the sands, she 'ohs', hands fluttering to her mouth at the sight of the first egg. "Oh, how lovely," she breathes.

On the sands, Tavrie seems calm about the whole thing, yet she certainly looks pleased. "It's a fine start, K'len. It was a great flight, I'm sure the clutch will be excellent," she assures him, smirking at his enthusiasm and even tossing him a wink. Then, her eyes are back on her lifemate again. Nabrimeth shoves at Kalorith, seeming to want the hole he is currently digging. She inspects it thoughtfully, trying to make up her mind.

Dassah offers a thin-lipped smile to the other people around them, and a more genuine, if probably unseen, smile for the couple on the sands. "Usually so, I've found." Dassah says. "Certainly more than they were back at Southern. I wonder if the colder weather here does something to them that makes them be all.... Pretty."

On the sands, Nabrimeth takes care in choosing just the right sized depression, prepared in advance by Kalorith, for her next egg -- a creamy one of tubby proportions. Once it has been correctly situated there is not much more than its sweet head showing blushingly above the warm sands.

On the sands,
Soft and Squishy Egg

There is no other way to describe this plump little egg except charmingly sweet. With a spongy looking surface, foamy white is the predominant color with only the faintest hints of blush appearing in soft swirls at both its squat base and marginally tapered tip. An exterior that speaks to melt-in-the-mouth delights buried within beckons you closer, perhaps even tempts you to reach out and touch it.

Kambria glances up and around as more spectators still flow into the galleries. Giving a friendly wave to some she knows, she smiles. "There are a few seats still left open up front. Come sit. The view is perfect." Welcoming them pleasantly she asks softly, "How is your young one? Doing well?" An affirmative answer is given as the couple sits next to her. Her gaze then returns, like the others towards the sands below. Hearing Kaylee's question about eggs being colorful she turns briefly with a smile and says, "Everyone is different. Isn't it beautiful though?...Oh look another."

Kaylee turns towards Kambria and almost misses the laying of the next egg as she opens her mouth to reply - then turns back towards the sands in time to watch the arrival of the pale egg. "They certainly are beautiful!" she agrees with Kambria's statement, then turns back to her companion. "Look at that one, Dassah!" she says with a smile, pointing rather unnecessarily towards the new arrival.

On the sands, K'len scrunches his nose at Tavrie, not sure if she's just toying with him or if it's actually a compliment. "I bet you say that every time." He teases right back with a smirk, crossing his arms as he watches Kalorith do his part - now that he's getting the hang of it. He watches the dragons, making sure that he's not going to be in the way of any prime sandy spot that he's standing on. "Shards, it's hot out here. I haven't been out on the sands since I Impressed." He muses, and glances towards the filling galleries and murmurs something to Tavrie.

Dassah laughs softly at Kaylee's excitement, looking entirely amused. She looks over towards Kambria, "They are beautiful. Nabrimeth has always made good eggs, her hatchlings will be every bit as awe-inspiring as the eggs." She inclines ehr head a little. "Don't think we've met. I'm Dassah, one of Sirana's assistants. This is Kaylee." She glances over at the girl in question, "Who hasn't seen a clutching before."

On the sands, Tavrie snickers and gives K'len a look of mock-innocence. "I might have said it once before," she notes with a little shrug. She nods in agreement. "We can move over toward the bleachers now, I doubt we're doing much to help anyway," she tells him, attempting to take him by the hand and begin the walk over to the lowest part of the seating area. "Look around you," the Weyrwoman says, wafting a hand toward the galleries and then waving experimentally. "I doubt many people are watching you. This day is about the dragons," she replies a little more seriously.

On the sands, When it comes to her next sweet offering, Nabrimeth appears to have a difficult time of it. Very slowly, as she stands at the edge of the growing clutch, a black and silver protrusion can be seen to slowly appear. As it comes out, the mass of brown which follows becomes increasingly lighter with slivers of paler tones accenting its voyage to the sands. Finally, the rest of the egg appears and drops softly on the sands, the top half just as dark as the first portion.

On the sands,
Stressed to Perfection Egg

This egg is a mass of brown, varying in shades but still uniform in hue. While the summit and base are primarily composed of a rich mahogany, there are streaks of chestnut within the darker swathes. The nearer the eye gets to the center, the lighter the tones become, shifting to hazel, then amber, and finally swirling into caramel in the very center. This pattern is present over most of the shell -- darker tones with streaks of lighter tones. The base holds the only exception which is nearly covered by the sands that warm it -- a mass of black and silver, a wrapper for this delectable treat.

Kambria grins at Dassah. "Well met Dassah and Kaylee. I'm Kambria, a midwife in training under my cousin Pasha." Her head turns quickly as the next egg comes to rest upon its sandy home. An overwhelming desire to touch that one comes to her but she easily refrains. With a small shake of her head and a nervous chuckle under her breath, she comes back to her senses. Peering over towards the bronze sire and then the riders down below she cants her head a bit with curious wonder at their perspective. "It must be hot." She murmurs absentmindedly to no one.

On the sands, K'len rolls his eyes, but lets his hand get taken none the less and himself led away from the activity of the sand digging dragons and over towards where it might be a little more comfortable to be. "I know, I know. I'm just so vain that I think everyone should be watching me instead." He chides, waiting for her to take a seat before a thought crosses his mind. "Need anything to drink? These things take a while, don't they?"

Saleese scoots along the teir of her choice, her ever-present basket of sewing balanced on a hip. It was one of those moments when work simply had to stop, and Saleese capitalized on the moment. Sitting on the tier, she places the basket beside her, a crooked grin on her face. It was simply an amazing sight to witness, regardless of the simple nature of the moment.

Kaylee grins up at Kambria. "Well met, Kambria - and I can't imagine how hot it is out there, but the walk was hot enough." She turns her eyes to Dassah and smiles. "First one, perhaps, but you can't tell me you aren't excited as well."

"Very hot." Dassah agrees with Kambria. "I Stood in the hatching Nabrimeth hatched in, and it was... Well, I think I drank about a gallon of water afterwards. More than a few people get lightheaded out there." She looks over at Kaylee, "Pet, I don't do excited, you know that. I've a reputation to maintain, after all."

On the sands, Tavrie leads him right up to the bleachers, the first row having a small section left empty. "Oh, that would be a great idea. I didn't have time to grab anything when Nabrimeth called for me. You could send a runner for drinks?" she suggests, seeming unwilling to let go of his hand. The petite woman glances back out again, taking stock of the eggs. "Wow, no pattern to the colors for sure," she murmurs. "You can't go anywhere...you'd disappoint the crowd," shen then adds teasingly.

Rilsa makes her way down the gallery stairs to view the clutching Queen and her mate. Her heads gives a nod of greeting to the sire and dam ... oh, and their riders as well since, well, she tends to be sort of polite. At times. When she feels like it. The Weyrsecond crosses her arms and stares at the three eggs, brow lifting at the ... um ... looks of them before glancing at the crowd. "'evening." she says to no one in particular.

On the sands, Nabrimeth shifts her haunches, stretching somewhat in between the last egg and the next. Before too long though, she uses her tail to swish clear a groove in the sand, eyeing Kalorith askance. Sands prepared all by herself, the queen hunkers down to lay the next egg. A bright addition to the already colorful clutch emerges, settling in stubbornly right where it's laid.

On the sands,
Sweet, Squat 'n Squashy Egg

Squat and short, this egg sits on the sands with a feeling of solidity to it. It doesn't seem the kind of egg to roll or shift without much effort thanks to the way it broadens out at the bottom, but it certainly is eye-catching. The lively reddish orange coloration is mostly uniform, broken only by a pair of black splotches above a wider, more horizontal splotch -- vaguely reminiscent of a smiley face if you look hard enough or have had a bit to drink. The top of the egg also fades quickly from the orange of the rest to an odd green -- as if it had just dropped off a vine in the garden.

Kambria grins towards Kaylee and Dassah with a nod before resting her gaze upon the sands again. She notices Tavrie and K'len seating themselves nearby. "It is a fine day! It must be hot out there." She comments kindly. And then peers over towards the clutching gold again. Her mindset was objective and curious. As a midwife in training she found this dragon birthing to be fascinating and looked on with keen interest. Another egg is then laid giving her added awe as she watches.

Kaylee grins at Dassah, her nose wrinkling. "Well, you could maybe fake it a bit so I don't look so silly and eager, you know." she looks up to wave to Rilsa as the Weyrsecond arrives, and waves her towards a seat near the pair. Then, with the short attention span of easily-distracted youth, she turns her eyes again out to the sands and the newest egg. "Does that look like that egg is grinning at us?"

On the sands, K'len appears much like he's about ready to drop Tavrie's hand and go and get the drink she wishes for, but when it's not let go of easily he simply sits down beside her. "Send a runner, oh.. Right!" He says, waving over someone to go and get the Weyrwoman something to drink. Himself, well, he's a guy and he's going to tough it out, of course. Peering at the newest egg he arches a brow, "No... No rhyme or reason. Guess that's Kalorith's fault, hmm?"

"Weyrwoman, Weyrleader. Weyrsecond." Dassah's greeting of each is as polite as ever. "Nabrimeth is doing well, as always." She looks back to Kaylee with a soft laugh. "The mind plays tricks, dear. It's just an egg, after all. And I don't need to fake anything. I am proud of our eggs, if not, as you would say, excited."

Saleese blinks at the newest egg on the sands, a chuckle escaping as she squints at it. It was.... grinning. Yes, the was grinning at her and quite frankly, she'd never seen anything like it. Drawing both feet up to bring her knees beneath her chin, Saleese shifts her attention from the merrily grinning egg to look at the dame herself. She seemed so intent, so focused, that Saleese began to wonder just what the golden lovely was actually thinking.

Sunika is quietly settled near the front, elbows on her knees and head propped up on upturned palms. A look of utter and childlike wonder is on her face and she's lost in watching it all as it unfolds, to the point that she's scarcely aware her escort has slipped away to get something to drink. "Oh. Oh, look," is murmured to no one in particular.

Waves to Tavrie and K'len are eagerly tossed about as Kaylee notices their approach - mainly due to Dassah's greeting of the pair, since she's squinting at the latest egg. "It's grinning at me." she reiterates firmly. "I think."
Rilsa makes her way toward the Dassah contingent and motions to a spot. "Mind if I join you all?" She glances over at the latest egg, her brow arching yet again. "Unique, for sure."

On the sands, Tavrie finally offers to let go of his hand, either because he seems to want to be free of hers or because she is pleased that he won't be running off. She intercepts the runner he calls over, encouraging the teen to bring back two glass of wine and a skin of water -- the blonde won't stand for any male 'tough stuff'. She smiles at the comment from nearby and nods, replying. "That it is. Hotter than I one might think," she notes. She then shrugs at K'len again. "I don't think it is a matter of fault, they are just always different," the Weyrwoman replies. "I think, if someone could discover what made them different colors and sizes...that person would have more marks then they could use," she jokes lightheartedly. Noticing Kaylee and Dassah next to her, the cheerful Weyrwoman returns the wave. Nabrimeth heaves a little dragon sigh in a whuff of warm air, she better not be tired already.

On the sands, Nabrimeth rests for a few moments, seeming to catch her breath and settle herself for another round. The telltale ripple falls upon her again and the gold dutifully moves off in search of just the right spot for this next egg. Kalorith is crooned for and Nabrimeth urges him to dig her a small depression. This is then inspected before she moves over it, rosy haunches straining with effort, and deposits a very large, very pink egg onto the Sands.

On the sands,
'Bout to Burst Egg

Quite large in size and wide around the middle, this egg is a gaudy blend of cheerful pinks from apex to end. It has a look that is soft and sleek, as if the shell of this egg were a thin membrane of primrose pink, stretched until it simply can't be drawn out any further. This illusion of tautness comes from patches of powdery blush, a much softer shade than the rest of the egg, which occur here and there across the shell. The pink behemoth of an egg looks oddly fragile, as if just a touch will cause it to rupture, however, it is actually much harder than it appears.

Kambria chuckling at Kaylee's question about a grinning egg, she looks upon it and screws up her eyes as if to concentrate or produce the smile there upon its shell. Try as she might she just can't see it. Shaking her head, she turns and says to Kaylee, "I suppose it could be, but I can't see it." She grins and turns back to look at the Gold.
"Please do, Rilsa." Dassah replies, motioning to the spot Kaylee made fo the weyrsecond. "Always space for you. How are you and Corineth?" She motions to Kaylee, looking uncomfortable in her dress next to Dassah. "Have you met Kaylee? She's one of or stablehands, but she's a bright future here, I am sure."

Rilsa settles into the spot, giving Dassah a warm smile. "Corineth is as incorrigible as always." With a smile to Kaylee, she nods. "I have met Kaylee. Nice to see you again." Bringing up a glass of wine to her lips, anything she may have drunk or said is lost for a moment as she stares at the pink egg. "Ugh. I don't like pink."

Saleese turns her head just a fraction so that her chin rests more comfortably on one of her updrawn knees. An absent gesture rearranges her skirt for a modicum of modesty. Arms wrap about her bent legs as she settles in, the fall of chesnut hair shadowing her features. For now, the intensity of green eyes are kept to focus on Nabrimeth, an exhale coming from the seamtress as she watches the next egg find its place on the sands. "Like a rose in the midst of a desert," she says to no one in particular.

On the sands, K'len lifts a hand to wave towards where Dassah and Kaylee are from where he's sitting, and peers at the others to try and find familiar faces within the crowd. His attention is drawn back to the sands by the shifting movements, scrunching his nose a little at the next egg. "Shards, that one's /pink/. Really pink. I don't think I've ever seen one like that." He says, not entirely discouraged by it, but just uncertain about it all. Kalorith eyes it speculatively as well, but just whuffles at it. "Did you bet on the clutch at all? I didn't, I have a bad habit of losing. She's going fairly quickly, steady even."

"My, my. What have we here...?" Softly spoken, there's an inquiry from the Western Bowl entrance. Tedaryn's scarred lips are lifted in a smile as it becomes readily apparent there's a clutching in progress. He hefts the over-stuffed rucksack on his shoulders, and moves with some slowness up the stairs of the Gallery to find a good vantage bench. He has a duffel bag in his hands besides the heavy thing on his back, and he's not the biggest of men. Nonetheless, he gets himself situated and relieves himself of his burdens, stepping onto the bench to peer down at the Sands with an expression of anticipatory curiosity - an expression that turns into a bright grin as he spies K'len.

"Pink's not so bad." Dassah says, watching the new egg's arrival. "Though that is a particularly intense shade of it. Still, I like it." She grins a moment, a more common sight than it often has been with her. "Do pass Corineth my regards. I've not seen him in a good few turns now." She looks at the quiet girl next to her, and gives a brief comforting touch to her shoulder before looking back towards Tavrie. "It's an interesting selection of colors she's managed, Tavrie."

Rilsa notices a newcomer to the area and lifts her voice in greeting to Tedaryn. "Welcome to 'Reaches!" The Weyrsecond says from her perch near Dassah, Kaylee and that group. "Welcome to our clutching." At Dassah's words, her nose wrinkles. "Pink is not so bad?" She repeats incredulously.

On the sands, Tavrie even does a double take at the pink egg. "Well, that is quite, err, pink. Interesting," she notes. Nabrimeth tosses her a look and the woman laughs. "Lovely, it's lovely dearest," she amends. Nabrimeth looks the egg over critically, but seems pleased with it. Tavrie works on suppressing a giggle and then clears her throat to tell K'len, "She says that it is -her- egg because of the rosy colors in her hide." The Weyrwoman sits quietly for a moment and then asks him, "So, how does it feel to be more than just a spectator?" Tavrie shifts to answer Dassah, grin returning, "I don't feed her paint or dye, I promise."

Kaylee had nodded to Rilsa's greeting with a smile before returning her intent gaze to the sands, watching the latest egg with a critical eye. After a few minutes, she weighs in on the great pink debate, turning to the rest of her group with a smile. "I like it. It's like the egg is screaming to be paid attention to."

Eostarra slips in and stays near the back, standing next to a big bear of a man. They both wear butcher's aprons smeared with old, dried blood. They are content to watch from the rear, as unobtrusive as can be.

Dim recognition registers when she espies Tedaryn from the corner of her eye, which is enough to warrant a wave to the young man. Sunika flashes him a fleeting smile, then turns back to look at the latest egg with a delighted croon of a sound. "Lovely!" A gentle, delighted clap is given, and then she leans forward again.

On the sands, Nabrimeth scoops out a deep hollow, taking time to prepare the space -- it would seem it's a big one coming. But no, she settles over the sand and barely a moment later she's up again, leaving a dark egg in her wake that seems rather small and awkward in the too-big hole. She noses it speculatively before moving on, leaving Kalorith to pile sand about it.

On the sands,
But It's Good For You Egg

This egg looks wholly disappointing -- small and withered, it's dark all over, highlights of deep purple and red only brought out when the light hits it just so. The shell of this egg appears to be wrinkled and will remain so even after the heat has had time to harden it. A touch will prove otherwise, but from a distance it seems to collapse and crinkle in a series of shiny folds and valleys.

Kambria keeps looking on, letting others converse around her. Attention is focused solely upon the sands now as Nabrimeth labors on.

"What's wrong with pink?" Dassah asks, a defensive note creeping into her voice. "It's a bright, cheerful color. Everyone should like it." She offers a politely raised hand to Tedaryn and Eostarra, neither going unnoticed though neither spoken to. "I dunno, Tavrie." She replies, "But maybe it's her diet? Does she prefer one thing over another, herdbeast or wherry or candidate?"

On the sands, K'len watches the dragons curiously, not because of the movements and actions, but because of the sheer oddity in the coloring of the eggs. When Tavrie speaks to him, he arches a brow at her and then snickers. "Kalorith says she can keep that egg as hers, certainly he's not got anything to do with how pink it is." He assures, but by then there's another egg - a much darker one gracing the sands. When Tavrie's attention shifts to Dassah, his spies out a face that seems familiar. Quite familiar, yet still, also different. Peering at Tedaryn for a long moment, it's like he's waiting to see if he's right by earning a calling of his name, or something.

Saleese frowns a moment as the next egg is lovingly laid and cared for. It isn't a frown of disappointment, but one of concern. There was a need to touch that one, to make certain that it was healthier than it appeared, certainly when contrasted with the brilliance of the pink egg. Lifting her head a bit, she glances around her as the conversations rise and fall. She knows this egg will be the subject of great debates throughout the Weyr... and more than likely several wagers on whether it would even hatch.

"I just don't like it." Rilsa responds to Dassah, her gaze taking in Dassah with an odd look at her defensiveness. She turns to look at the crowd and then lifts her voicein greeting to Eostarra as well since she is being the greeting type.

Tedaryn looks away from the Sands upon hearing some welcoming words, liquid brown eyes finding their source after a moment of searching. A look to her knot. His lip twitches, then he smiles and braces his forearm across his ribcage as he executes a slow bow of thanks. "A privilege," comes his soft reply, arm drifting to his side again. Sunika's wave earns an extension of his smile, delivered with a quiet confidence that suggests recognition. He looks at the Sands again, and finding K'len peering at him, grins again. He holds up a finger - wait a moment - and crouches to unbutton his duffle bag. From within its overstuffed confines he pulls a slim book, nondescript and bound in inexpensive leather, and rises to wave it like a beacon for the Weyrleader, looking quietly proud of himself.

The bow that is directed at her from Tedaryn has Rilsa arcing a brow in something akin to amusement. The woman shakes her head ever so slightly before lifting her wineglass to her lips to continue to watch the colorful show.

On the sands, Tavrie just shrugs in response to either Dassah or K'len, maybe even both. She watches her lifemate intently now as things are well under way and the queen is exerting. The newest egg is met with a frown, brows furrowing in concern. Before she can comment or note any concern, a distraction appears. The runner returns, dropping off the water skin and offering two glasses of mulled wine - one is held out to K'len, the other to Tavrie. The Weyrwoman smiles and offers the youth her thanks as she accepts it.

"Well, I do." Dassah replies. She gives an uncharacteristic grin at the weyrsecond, "But then, my days of worrying about which egg I like and don't like are long past, so it doesn't much metter to me. It will be interesting to see who gets chosen by that one, though. Possibly some little slip of a girl, timid and weak?"