Through the Bottom of the Bottle

Ista sorrows

Fri, 08 Dec 2006 05:42:27 GMT

The Flying Mug
A few shades too bright for the lighting to ever be called quite dim, the interior of the Flying Mug reveals upon closer inspection the marks of a much-frequented bar. Although the tables all match and the chairs are of a set, one or seven chairs have a wobbly leg, a few tabletops have big gashes across them, and each surface has an intricate pattern of turn-old mug rings. A well stocked, well polished and well maintained bar stretches across the expanse of the wall, facing the series of shuttered windows looking out on the courtyard. The bar stools are better maintained than the chairs, with low backs. And they spin, too! An intricate 'mural' covers the ceiling and there's a 'note' on... [look closer]
High in the rafters are fifteen firelizards.
You see Steel Dice and Bartender Lem here.
Tye is here.
Obvious exits:
Dining Hall Great Hall

"Bartender, pop open the best, most potent wine you've got!" Tye yells out, slamming the door open as she walks in. "I'm here on a mission, and I ain't leaving till I'm knee deep in alcohol." With her wits no longer about her, Faranth forbid. The bluerider finds herself a good chair, looking over her shoulder. "Don't try to hide, you're here with me and should be proud." She calls to Vaeli, who had better have followed. The bartender gives the 'rider a look, but puts a glass and a wineskin in front of her all the same. And so, the night begins with the first few sloshes of alcohol falling into the glass.

Vaeli reluctantly drags herself in behind the exuberant bluerider, none too happy about the situation. "I'm telling you, it's a bad idea. It'll be hours yet before that scribe has my copy ready." Nonetheless, the goldrider plunks herself across from Tye, back facing the door. She snags the bartender's attention before she saunters off and asks for something potentially fatal in large quantities. "I'm not hiding. I'm keeping quiet."

Tye lifts her glass, bringing it up to eye level to give it a good once over. With a nod, she raises the wine up in a toast and slams it back. "Ah!" She says, smacking her lips with satisfaction. "That's what I'm talking about. One glass down, an entire skin to go. "Bah, quiet. Now is not the time to be quiet, Vaeli. Now is the time for us to say exactly what we have on our minds. /Especially/ you. Forgot the scribe for a bit. You'll get what you need, they can't just deny /the/ Weyrwoman her record or whatever it is you're getting." Tye keeps the wine coming, settling into her seat with a happy sigh. "I can't tell you how much I've needed this."

Vaeli winces as the table bounces with the force of Tye's slam. "They could try," she reluctantly chuckles. "Although if you're still here, and have done with that," she gestures to the wine, "I don't think they'll be holding onto it long. Pseudo coweyrleader, and all." Her small tumbler glass is finally brought, the liquid being a deep brown color. Vaeli sniffs the brew appreciatively and then snarls at the wine in Tye's hand. Offhand, "It's Lendai, isn't it. How long has she been gone, now?"

Tye lets out a harsh laugh, "That's right, I /am/ Weyrleader," In that weird, completely messed up way. "They couldn't deny me either!" Yeees, the rush of power is there! Or maybe that’s the alcohol. Either way, Tye suddenly goes quiet at the sound of her daughter's name. "N... no. It's not." She never was a good liar. Roughly jerking her riding gloves off, she tosses them on the bar. "It's just really lonely in my weyr without her. It's all quiet, in a way that not even Valedath's blabbering can't fill." A sigh is let out, and another sip is taken. "You haven't seem yourself lately. Not as 'in your face'. Why did you agree to come here with me, exactly? Normally, you'd tell me to get lost." Maybe not exactly, but lately, Tye is taking everything to the extreme.

Vaeli swirls the alcohol around in her glass, which seems to be intensely interesting to her. "Look at the bright side. You can have as many women as you want to go home with!" The last is stated with forceful cheerfulness, and yes, a tad of wariness. Setting the tumble down, the rider shrugs out of one should of her zesty yellow jacket and then the other, looping it over the back of her chair before setting back down again. Rather harshly, Vaeli takes the moment to rant. "I can't just not be such a bitch anymore? What about company? Besides. It was a matter of convenience. I needed to come down here for copies of records. You wanted to come down here for...well. I'm not entirely sure." As the vent wears on, she sinks in on herself a bit, and chases the self-pity with a good stout drink of whatever she's drinking. "Plus, I needed a lookout scout." The comment is added hurriedly and quickly drank down with the last of the alcohol. Vaeli leaves the glass in the air for an unspoken command for a refill.

Tye purses her lips, looking a little chagrined. "I didn't mean to make it sound like that." Okay, well maybe she did. "Not to say I'm not glad that you came here with me, cause I am. You're really one of the last friends I've got. I've lost Jala, now Lenda-- Wait..." Tye turns her chair to face the goldrider, a look of slight confusion on her face. "Did you just say that you needed a lookout scout? Cause that's what it sounded like." Oh boy, she's gonna need a lot more booze than originally planned. The rest of her glass is finished off, glass two down, and another is poured. "I think, my good friend, you need to explain this."

Vaeli grunts. "Friends. Didn't know I still knew how to have them." At the mention of lookout scout, the weyrwoman actually sinks down into her chair as the bartender rushes another similar drink out. "No I don't," she states meekly. Vaeli, meek? Naw.

"Pfft, don't get snippy. Of course you still know how to have friends. I'm here, aren't I? I went with you to Ista, and am now doing my duty to make you feel better by any means necessary!" Even if she has to wrestle the goldrider to the ground and force booze down her throat. "C'mon, Vaeli. I know what you said, I'm not deaf. And you look miserable; you have for the past couple days. What in the name of Faranth is going on? All of Pern knows my problems, so why don't you share yours? Y'know... I saw you land on X'ian's ledge the other day." Got to love nosey blueriders. "Did he do something? Is that why you're so upset? Cause I swear, I'll get him good if he did..." The threat hangs in the air, Tye letting a growl escape, as she yet again drinks more.

"Wait, I thought you said that /I/ went with /you/ here? So which is it? I came with you, or you came with me?" Nothing like Vaeli trying to confuse a drunk bluerider. "I thought you came for Lendai. What, exactly, prompted /that/ revelation? Letting Jala take her, and all." Of course, the talk of her late night rendezvous makes her choke in midsip of her liquor. "You saw that? Bloody shards. You should have been /asleep/." Pause. "No. He didn't bother me. He actually...helped." Well color the turkey pink. "I'll tell you like I told him. I'm going to be an old auntie, toothless and useless." She nurses this drink better than the last, and Vaeli huddles the glass in her hands.

Tye has to actually stop and quirk her head to the side, the act of thinking becoming rather difficult as her brain begins to fuzz over. "Uh... well. I think I meant I went with you to Ista for the scribe... thing. But then got you to come and drink with me." Cause when you drink alone, that makes you an alcoholic! "I-I-I... I don't KNOW!" And now it's Tye's turn to let out some of her pent up frustration. "Lendai is so /not/ like me. She wants to wear pink, Vaeli, /pink/! What the shells do I have that's pink? Nothing! She wants ribbons and bows and pretty dresses. I can't do those things! I'm half of a bloody female as it is, since I've constantly got Valedath sending his manly urges at me. I want men, but then I want women and poor Lendai just wants to be what she is!" And she wails! And wails. It takes s few hiccups to get her emotions back under control. Her glass is caressed. "I thought with Jala, she'd have a chance to be a girl and to be with her sister. I can't hold her back and force her to follow my steps." Shaking her head, Tye just leans her head on her hand. "Vaeli, the only reason you'll be an old auntie is if that's what you actually want. I believe we normally let our goldriders retire with dignity, but who the heck knows in the bloody Interval." She won’t even get /started/ on that subject.

Vaeli laughs deep in her throat at Tye's confusion, and then at the 'pink' thing. "She's a girl, Tye. She's supposed to like pink. And play with dolls. You were a girl once, and a woman now." Pause. "That...likes women. Alright, so I can see where your problem is coming from." She raises a hand slowly to her vibrating eardrum, as if that will kill the dying wherry sounds. "Calm down. With Jala, never fret. Your darling daughter will be all over men like spit on a llama." She sniffs and turns the tumbler in her hands. "I'm just a few turns shy of forty, Tye. No weyrmate, no /mate/, period, no children. Nothing." A grumble is faintly heard through the walls. "Except you, Nissionath, I know," she mutters under her breath. "There could have been. But that's been squashed. Which is why you're the lookout scout tonight. Would you believe this is the first time I’ve left the weyr in over six months?" As an afterthought, she tacks on another statement with wariness. "What were you doing around the feeding pens the other night, Tye?"

Tye shakes her head, "I just wasn't meant to be a mother, simple as that. I'm now scared that not only will Jala teach Lendai how to be a girl, but how to be a whore as well." Oops, did Tye just say that? A little giggle escaped. "Don't tell her I said that! She'll kill me. Not that we're even talking." Back to sighing. "And I don't just like women, Vaeli, I like to think of myself as an equal opportunity bluerider. Not that anyone would come near me in anything but a mating flight." She mutters darkly for a few moments, then turns her attention away from herself and back to Vaeli. "Forty isn't that old. You still have time to pop one or two out. Just stop taking the good ole greenstuff. You'll find yourself with child sooner or later." The wineskin now half gone, and Tye on her way as well, the bartender comes over to pour the wine for the inebriated bluerider. "Err... at the pens? Nooot contemplating having a dragon eat me, if that's what you think." A hand is jerked through her cropped hair, and her shoulders shrug. "I couldn't sleep, so I took a walk and that's where I found myself." At least that's the version she's giving.

Vaeli contemplates her drink for a moment for calling the bartender back over a third time. "Could I get a case of this to go, good woman? I'll leave you the marks on the table before I leave." After a bit of reluctance, the bartender agrees - what else was she supposed to do? - and begins to make her way back. "Make that two!" Vaeli shoots before turning back to Tye. "Well. If things don't work out will Jala, she can bunk with me. Briefly, mind. Until you find a new place for her. Speaking of bunking, that means you have a spare bed in your weyr, right?" She waves the age thing away. "There's a brand new batch of candidates soon-to-be riders that you can coerce in a few months. Have hope. They don't know you yet. Maybe you should ask one of the greenriders for some clues for some, excuse me, better skills?" Vaeli smartly leans back in her chair out of punching range. "I want consensual children, Tye. Besides." She narrows her eyes further. "And you were watching the ledges."

Tye will not deny the allegation; instead she will simply ignore it. Her third glass is finished and put to the side, though the wineskin is re-corked (badly) and thrown over her shoulder. "Vaeli, that's just wrong. They'll all be babies, and I'd rather sleep with someone closer to my age. Not a bunch of little, inexperienced wannabe 'riders. Plus," She sniffs, grabbing a hold of her leather gloves and putting them back on. "I don't like a single one of those candidates. None of them are even remotely worthy." Except the one that Valedath Searched, but that's besides the point. "They are all a bunch of lazy resource sinks, who'll possibly get a dragon and waste the poor creature’s potential as well." A fierce look appears on her face. "Not that that matters, for we all have no more purpose anyway, with Thread gone." But that's a topic for another time!

Vaeli rolls her eyes as the bar wench comes back with the cases, and Vae tosses the appropriate amount of marks down on the table plus a few in exchange for a boy to cart them out to Nissionath. The goldrider finishes her drink and sets the tumbler back down hard on the tabletop. "Spring wherries, Tye. They might be rather fun. I haven't had a good chance to meet them yet. I think I may just do that." She peers out the window. "I think that scribe should be near about done by now. Let's go have a look. And if you see B'ane, distract him, would you?" No exaggeration, although the bluerider will probably harass her on the way out. "Would you mind if I bunked over at your place tonight? We both could use the company. No getting fresh, though." Vaeli points and shakes a finger at Tye for emphasis on the last.

Tye peers at the cases, an eyebrow raising, "It's going to be one of those nights, isn't it?" Tye could really use one of those nights, just maybe not one of those morning. "Aye, I'd say that scribe is done, and if he's not, I'll harass till he /gets/ done. It's about time I resume my position as Weyrleader." Or her job as part of a Weyrleader. "Sure, sure, I know. You're all about the penis, no lady-lovings for you." She giggles softly, turning towards the exit. "I won't get fresh at all. I've tried the weyrmating a friend thing, and all that got me was pregnant and hated." Not about to go that route again. As she nears the doorway, Tye can't help but flash a look at Vaeli. "B'ane? Now why in the world would I need to distract B'ane?" And she's gone, back to her dragon's side to get the heck outta dodge.

Vaeli was hoping not to have to explain it, but she does as she follows the bluerider out.

I will not RP past midnight...

Wed, 06 Dec 2006 22:35:42 GMT

*scritches on a chalkboard already covered in a repetitive sentence* I will not RP past midnight...I will not RP past midnight...

Logfile from HT.

Morchainth's Ledge
Barren and clean-swept aside from an occasional herdbeast bone, Morchainth's ledge couldn't really be described as inviting under any circumstances. Already heavily scraped by talons, there's a single smooth spot roughly the size of the bronze where he tends to sun himself.
It is a summer late night.
Green Vespurath, bronze Morchainth, and gold Nissionath are here.
X'ian is here.
Obvious exits:
Weyr

As it is warm out in 'Reaches, X'ian is without, rather than within - at least, in terms of Morchainth's weyr. The dusky bronze is coiled into his usual place, a bulk of varying shades of black and greenish gold that ripples up into the angles of folded wings. It's against a bit of rock wall near the beast's foretalons that X'ian is settled on his rear, a handful of glows sifted lazily from hand to hand.

The considerably bulky (read: fat) form known as Nissionath is a rather hard figure to miss. The queen drawls out a quiet trumpet in the form of a greeting before squishing herself on the lip of the ledge to let off her fare. Vaeli isn't too graceful about dismounting, either. A thump, thud, and a scuffle later, she has her feet under her and peering mostly towards the entrance to the weyr itself. In a nasalish voice, "X'ian?"

X'ian startles at the trumpet. Morchainth does not. He does, however, do some rather uncharacteristic ruffling and scrabbling when it becomes clear that the large gold intends to land - svelte lines and slender curves pressed rather unceremoniously into the rock face to avoid being smushed. As a direct result of this, X'ian is half on his feet by the time Vaeli has thumped to hers, glows scattered sparsely about the wide bases of his boots. Morchainth's eyes narrow sourly. "Right here, genius."

Nissionath takes the hint and tilts over the edge of ledge to flutter (read again: fall slowly) to the ground to wait like a good taxi who just received half of a hundred dollar bill. Vaeli stops short when she sees the commotion and hears X'ian. It being dark, it's probably not possible to see her tilt her head to stare at the glows for a dumb minute. Her shoes announce her approach by thumping closer and stopping somewhere around five feet away. "Busy night, I see." Same voice, like she has a really bad cold.

With excessive care, Morchainth proceeds to unfold himself - the dusting of stars overhead screened soft by the stretch of broad wings as he goes about the delicate process of stretching and then coiling deliberately back down into His Space. This is a process that takes some time, and so it has only just begun, when X'ian reaches back to dust off his butt and presses his brows down low and serious at Vaeli in the dark. "Well, I was..." he pauses a beat, and glances down to the scattered glows, "...performing some important scientific observation. Somethin' wrong?"

Vaeli looks over her shoulder at the bronze doing his ritual for a brief second before looking back the rider in question. There's a moment of blind staring, and then Vaeli crosses her arms. "Right. I'm sure the glows will last longer for your efforts." She looks away from the X'ian to the glows, and then out towards the bowl. The question is ignored with a sniff. "If I asked you for a favor, would you?"

"Yeah. I mean...I guess." A reassuring sort of answer to be sure. Brows tilted a little more askew once she's looked away, he peers briefly back down at his glows before folding his arms across his chest (manfully) and focusing the full of his attention on what parts of her he can make out in the night. Morchainth rustles and rumples on in in the background. "Unless you want me to jump off the ledge or somethin'. That might take some negotiating."

Vaeli bends down to pick up a wayward glow that happened to make its way close to her feet. She stalls, tossing it a couple inches up into the air and catching it again, followed by tossing in back down close to its familiars. There's a sniffle, an intake of breath and then a puffing of exhaling. She turns back to face him, for all the good it does with the shadows on her front. "Hold me?" Yeah. She's had THAT bad of a day.
What, like a baby? X'ian's expression retains some level of muddlement while the tiny part of his brain devoted to social awareness does the math, and his hands drop abruptly to his sides. "Oh." This is said out loud after pause that is made all the more silent by Morchainth having stopped to stare a bit. The wind blows, and a broken rib rattles over the ledge's lip. "Right now?"

Vaeli would silently congratulate herself on stunning the pair if she weren't in such a shoddy mood. Vaeli's sarcasm comes through the nasalness after a pause on her part. "No. A sevenday from tomorrow." Silence. And then, completely uncharacteristically meek, "Please? You said you would." Nissionath actually squeaks when the bone lands on her generous rump, and a few scuffles echo up from the gold as she turns around to inspect the accused weapon and sends a silent berating up to the four-legged dragon who owned the said bone.

Paired slits of narrow green glow down at the gold only once Morchainth has deigned to stretch his neck enough to peer down at her. There is no apology - just a scuffing of dust and pebbles that rains down from the spot where the bronze's chin has come to rest. Meanwhile, X'ian takes a wary step towards Vaeli. "Yeah, I know. It's just, a little. Y'know." He lifts an arm all the same, and his second step brings him near enough to give her the option of coming in the rest of the way or making him do it.

"Weird? Strange? Odd? I know." Vaeli doesn't waste the opportunity and attaches herself, probably a little hastily, on the man under the lifted arm. She doesn't bite. Honest. By this point, her face has probably caught enough flickering light to show that she had, in fact, been crying. As she stuffs her face into a probably unwilling shoulder, she mutters a mumbled, "No groping allowed." Nissionath, having heard the song and dance before, simply growls back at the bronze out of her own narrowed eyes and moves out of the way of incoming pebbles. This time, however, she continues to stare up at the ledge, awaiting any new projectiles that could possibly whack her again. Think pissed-off feline.

X'ian 's jacket smells like old leather, and a bit like sweat - but mustiness is probably to be expected, and he brings his left arm around to loop in comfortably beneath the right. He does not grope. Well. He does not grope with his hands. Even now, he is not above the /slightest/ of downward glances down her front before he looks up and focuses hard on the angular bulk of Morchainth, who is in the process of teasing a jaw-bone closer to the drop off with the forked tip of his tail. Still watching Nissionath, rather than the pair on his ledge. "I don't guess I'm privy to findin' out what happened."

Vaeli's face is stuffed on a jacket. She cannot see these glances, probably a good thing for X'ian's health. "No," is stated simply, followed by a sniff. "I don't want to talk about it." Typical female. There's a shudder, and then another, and it's probably due to the fact that she's crying again. Nissionath creeps backward at a snail's pace, not trusting the bronze enough to take her eyes off. The gold's bad attitude is most likely attributed to her rider's current mood, but Morchainth, one can assume, is sadistic by nature. "It's not fair," comes out of the blue.

"Alright." X'ian flinches a bit against an itch at his brow that he can't scratch, but he does not make any move towards disengaging - the cool slate of his glare tracking idly after the irregular progress of the jaw bone before it plummets over the edge, and Morchainth leans a bit further to make certain he catches the impact. An overlay of the inching Nissionath splays thin across Axle's cone of vision, and he opens his right hand to smooth it a little awkwardly over the space between Vaeli's shoulders. "Can't really argue, there."

Vaeli is really just getting worse. "I'm going to end up as one of those old aunties in that sit by the hearth knitting sweaters for canines one day, aren't I?" Left field, that one. This is between muted hiccups and sobs. Not loud woe-is-me drama, but quiet. Nissionath sees this one coming and scuttles out of the way. Think fat gecko with wings backing up. The gold stares at the fallen bone a good minute before she swats it quite forcefully across the bowl. Vaeli ignores the feuding pair and proceeds to take the leather of the jacket and crinkle it into her fists.

"Er," says X'ian, brows lifted as Nissionath backs safely out of the way, and Morchainth backs up into a slouching sort of sit. Damn. He blinks. X'ian, that is. "Only if you want to, I s'pose. Has Pyrene gone senile or somethin'?" Across the bowl, there is a very quiet smack and shatter wherever the jaw happens to land, and Morchainth gruffs quietly to himself.

"No, and no." Vaeli finally pulls away from his shoulder long enough to eyeball the damage caused, which she remedies by wiping her sleeve down the leather a few times and pulls at the creases. "I'm sorry, X'ian." What for isn't specified. "Rough sevenday." She takes a shaky breath and puffs it out. "All that goes on is work. No social life. I'm working forty turns. No children. Never had a weyrmate. Or a mate." Pause. "Those don't count, Nissionath. I'm going to be an old auntie that no one really knows where she came from with a dozen felines." For some odd reason or another, she's still wiping at the man's jacket. Everyone has their twitches. Nissionath, down below, hasn't stopped rumbling whatever curses she's slinging Morchainth's way.

"Well, I'm not really all that great at makin' people feel better about things, but. You're senior weyrwoman and you're...y'know," he looks over her, as if to calculate accurately, "pretty good lookun. And you have a big shiny friend that you can talk to her in your head." X'ian lifts his brows, apparently quite ignorant to the abuse his poor jacket happens to be suffering. Morchainth gruffs again. "I tried bein' in a relationship once and it was bad news anyway. Maybe some of us are just bad at it."
*that you can talk to in your head

Vaeli waves a hand as the tears slow down. "I know, I know. Nissionath does wonders but...there's that want of human companionship, you know?" Okay, maybe he doesn't know. "A shiny hide and knot do not a pretty woman make, but thank you for the effort." She gives a final sniff and straightens up to wipe her face clean. "I haven't even tried and somehow I know I'm bad at it." She peers up at X'ian, and, for the first time since she got there, the awkwardness of it all smacks into her, and it shows in the body language. "I must really be having a bloody bad night. I need some inhibitors." AKA alcohol.

Brows knit a little more incredulously now, X'ian looks her over again, a little more shamelessly this time.
"What, you don't think guys find you attractive? Faranth, you're such a woman." This added in an undertone, he lifts a brow and takes a half-step back to get a better all around view. "Maybe you're a lesbian." The subject of alcohol isn't addressed until he's had a moment to figure out what she means, and he glances back into the weyr proper.

Vaeli snorts. "That particular orientation would make one eager bluerider happy." The stuffy nose hasn't quite gone away, but her voice is a little less shaky. She isn't facing X'ian at the moment, but instead peering off down towards Nissionath, who has bunkered down with her tail wrapped around her but hasn't stopped glaring up at the ledge. But she does happen to turn back around to find herself getting leered at, which is returned with a head-to-toe glance of her own. "Don't tell me you don't have anything to drink, because I won't believe you."

"Yeah...yeah. I've got booze." If he seems a little reluctant to admit it, well. X'ian rolls his eyes and stumps off into the cavern of his weyr, and there is rather a lot of scuffling and rustling within while he works to dislodge a crate from beneath the snarl of them that haven't really been unpacked yet beneath his bed.

Vaeli makes a rather forced effort not to be weepy and to get free liquor. "I'm pulling rank. You must share and allow me to drink myself too silly to fly home." Kinda joking. Kinda not. She follows uninvited and stands over his shoulder while casting an eye about. No motion to help, though. "Good Faranth, X. You need some housework done."

"It's neat enough when it all lives under my bed and I haven't got it dragged out in the open." This grunted between shoves, X'ian finally manages to come upon the box he's looking for. It's hefted further out, and immediately, he sets about pushing the others back out of sight. That which remains is home to three dusty-but-full skins of a mystery substance that is very likely /not/ wine. "I don't have any glasses. You're going to have'to drink from the skin like a commoner."

"I am a commoner. Or was," Vaeli mumbles, taking the initiative to snatch one said wineskin and blow off the dust. When that doesn't work, she shakes it to create a small cloud. "What is it, or do I want to know?" In the better light, she really does look like crap. Unkept hair slipping out of its standard short ponytail, bloodshot eyes, and a nose that would make Rudolf jealous. She pulls the plug and sniffs the so-called mystery liquid, and jerks her head back from the smell. "Bloody hell. This is potent enough to drug a dragon. Cheers." No holding back to the drinking, either.

A bit stiff in getting back up onto his feet, X'ian leans into his bed to reach for a skin of his own. "There's really no point in half-assin' it if your only goal is to be drunk, is there?" As for what it is, exactly, no answer is provided. He just pops his own open and takes a swig that's enough to make him shudder a bit before it's down. "Your nose looks like a piece of fruit."

"Such the charmer. Drink some more. You won't notice." Although she does look a little hurt from the comment. But, one to take her own advice, Vaeli does. The wineskin is already half deflated. She does remain the intelligence of mind to sit down to lean against the side of the bed, which she judges is the only decently clean area in the whole room. She lays her head back and closes her eyes. "Ever regret being alone, X'ian? Person-wise, that is?"

X'ian settles somewhat when she does; the majority of his weight rested down into the comforter next to her. Truth be told, the majority of the mess is dust that collected while he was out, though a pair of boxes full of hides are out in the center of the room, with a few scattered across a clear spot on the floor. His own wineskin is sampled regularly. "Sometimes. It just sort've happened."

Vaeli answers without moving or opening her eyes. "It happens that way, sometimes. Bloody sucks." True to her task, she kills off the remainder of the poison and sticks out the arm holding the wineskin in X'ian's general direction. "I'd replace it, but I don't know what it is. I'll send some nice virgin wine up with a pink bow to make it up to you."

"Well, I mean. It isn't really like I can claim I didn't have a role in it." This confessed while the booze sits in his lap, he sighs and looks over at her only once her emptied sack is thrust in his general direction. He takes it from her, but on a definite delay, and only to toss it back into the box with the remaining skin. "Gee, thanks. Maybe I can use it for decoration."

Vaeli makes some sound or another that could be considered dismissive if it didn't sound like a dying cricket. "You should try again someday. You're not half as bad as they think you are." The wineskin gets waggled a time or two before it's finally taken and thrown. "You can. I'll include some nice white flowers and a tuft of mint. You smell." Her lips pull into a minor cock-eyed smirk at her attempt at humor, but it doesn't last. Pause. "Do I have to go home?"

With half of his stock still remaining, X'ian replugs the skin in his lap before pushing it off the edge of the bed after its companions. It lands awkwardly, and he finds himself studying it with unnecessary intensity before he leans back to prop himself up on his arms, and turns his attention more fully aside onto Vaeli. "You can stay, but if we're going t'have sex I can't have anymore to drink."

Vaeli cracks an eyelid at him and turns her head ever so slightly. "One, who said anything about sex? Two, you turned me down the last time, and three," This is the point where she lifts up to fake-glare with semi-glazrd eyes. "It looks like you were already planning on it." Pause. Stare. "Are you one of those men that alcohol...ah...holds them back?"

*kept in just because it was funny*
...glazed. WTF is glazrd?
X'ian says, "GLZARD"

"We're already in bed together," X'ian points out, then bounces the mattress half-heartedly for emphasis. "I dunno. You're good lookun and I like you and I guess we're friends, but last time I tried havin' sex with that kind of equation it was with Wyn...and there was this whole thing with pastries. Or...pies, actually." He considers his memory of the last instead of answering her last question. It is not a comforting memory to entertain. "...Wait, what?"

Despite it all, Vaeli laughs. A drunken laugh, but it's a laugh. She gets bounced with the bed, and she slaps a hand to her head. "Don't do that. Makes the room spin. Pies? Bloody hell. You're into food sex." Apparently her stately manners and speech get tossed out the window when severely intoxicated.

"I...what? No! She said," and here, X'ian laughs as well, if a little less drunkenly as he flops down onto his back, "she said she'd rather eat pie than have sex with me or something like that and it was a little off-putting, if you know what I mean. Nothing against...pie. Or cooks." He sniffs, and knits his brows hard at the rocky ceiling. "/Food sex/. There's something wrong with you."

Vaeli is still chuckling as she stretches out on her stomach on the bed. "You had a conversation with a woman about the advantages of pie over sex and you say something is wrong with /me/?" Deciding that the room won't spin as bad if she lays her head down, she does. "Don't say you're not thinking about it, because I won't believe you there, either." Food sex, that is. "At any rate. Food with sex is better than sex with food. /Then/ there's something wrong with you." American Pie, anyone? She crumples her still red nose, this time from sheer drunkenness. "Unless, of course, you want to include beef with food sex. Then it's time to visit a mindhealer." Pause. "Why are we talking about food sex? /How/ did we start talking about food sex?"

X'ian, who lies silent through the entirety of this monologue, just chuckles a little hoarsely to himself. "You're the one talking about it - I'm staring at my ceiling. Everyone hates me, I get kicked out've the Weyr for four turns, and then I come back and however many days later, the Senior Weyrwoman is drunk in my bed talking about having sex with beef." He lifts a hand to scratch at the side of his nose, and ponders the ceiling very seriously. "I cannot claim any responsibility for what's going on."

Vaeli coughs, which makes her have to clear her throat. "I am not talking about /having/ sex with beef, unless it's a slang term for a man's equipment. I simply said that there's something wrong with having sex with beef. Real beef. From a herdbeast. Or beef with sex." She proceeds to take a moment to focus on a loose thread before trying to grab it. "You're enjoying it," she slurs accusedly. "Which makes you party to it. Therefore blame-able." Loose thread forgotten, she reaches over to tug half-heartedly at X'ian's clothes. "And I can claim intoxication."

"You are too! And I'm not going to do it if you're going to pass out in the middle," X'ian cautions, though the warning is made rather hollow by the fact that he rolls up onto his side to shrug his way out of his jacket. "If you choke on your tongue or something and die when they find you people'll think I am the sort who sleeps with real beef. On the bright side, it'd probably take some've the gossip heat off've Eit."

"Are not. At least I would die happy?" Vaeli offers in response. "I'anex. Now there's another one. Apparently one dragon-happy time with me was enough to send him off the ledge." She considers this while tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "I don't think I like my corpse being referred to as 'beef'." Before the jacket is even off, she's tugging at the shirt. "You're taking too long." The goldrider sits up to help, even though she wobbles a bit (a lot) in the process. "Besides, my passing out in the process probably depends on your skill these days. And if pies really are better..."

"This might be a little easier if you slow down a little on bringing things like dragon-happy time with Eit and dead animals into the conversation." The jacket wrested off and pushed unceremoniously aside, X'ian bats her hands away after making an attempt to get his shirt off through her efforts. "Faranth, I'm not the one who needs help, here. Start gettin' naked." This, of course, is muffled into the tug of his shirt up over his head - and when it's off, he rolls over into her, regardless of how much progress she's made.

"Dragon happy times, dead beef, and alcohol. I'll make a list of X'ian's sexual no-nos. Although you still haven't entirely discounted food in general yet." Vaeli's progress only has the shirt gone, but nonetheless wraps around X'ian in answer. Good times, good times.

Another one!

Mon, 04 Dec 2006 05:57:34 GMT

B'ane makes Vae cry. This is a first.

Galleries
Row upon row of stone benching rises above the Hatching Grounds, seats for those who come to watch the incredible experience that is a hatching. Each individual seat is embellished with a worn cushion, the only concession to comfort in a place that traps heat, holding it within so that those who watch are inflicted with its intensity, though on a milder level than those who must stand and face the dragonets. The expanse of sand that is the hatching grounds spreads out in front of the benches, a huge stage for a spectacular show.
Type 'help here' for info on how to view objects on the sands.
Settled along stone are three firelizards.
B’ane is here.
Obvious exits:
Dragon Ledges Stairs

Vaeli is situated somewhere in the middle of the middle of the relatively quiet (and squeaky clean, thanks to the thankless labors of the current candidates) galleries. Her feet are parked on the seat in front of her and her hands are clasped behind her head in some sort of permanent stretch position. Her gaze is centered somewhat in the direction of the creepy eggs down in the sands, but it is a blank stare. No one's home.

Aboleoth's wings are scimitar sharp as he cuts the convection of air above the sands. Halfway between horizontal and vertical the foreign bronze slips a burbled greeting to Cadgwith while breaking a landing. B'ane is eased to the ground by a body tip from his dragon and he lands flatfooted. Jarring. Peeling back a stiff collar the Istan pays a brief homage to the clutch of eggs from this loft.

The bronze's landing is duly noted with a slow turn of Vaeli's head, followed by an unfocused blink. Her scattered wits take a second (or five) to recuperate, and then she simply says, not without feeling, "You." This, of course, probably isn't heard by Aboleoth or his rider from this distance. But apparently the Istan is rewarded with the somewhat less vacant stare previously given to the unborn critters down below. Her body posture has stayed the same, the only difference being the way her head is cradled by her hands as it is turned towards B'ane. Staying up or coming down? The new Shakespearean question to ponder.

B'ane treads a path dangerously close to the lip of the ledge on his way towards the more socially accepted area to gawk. A hundred flashy greetings light up his mind and he's left with the lamest and least creative. "Hey." Careful purview with Aboleoth gives a little more oomph. "Is High Reaches big enough for the both of us?" B'ane/Aboleoth or Vaeli/B'ane isn't distinguished.

A few more blinks, a few more seconds, and Vaeli visibly forces her eyes to focus and smiles (which is not forced). "It depends on whether or not Nissionath plans on joining me. She has a way of...ah, occupying space." She twitches an eyebrow along with her last words for emphasis. Upon closer inspection, the bags under Vaeli's eyes are quite prominent. And are those little /wrinkles/ somewhere near the corner of her eyes? Surely not. "What brings you to town?" No need to say it, Vae hasn't moved except to tilt her head up towards the bronzerider. And no, she hasn't moved her feet, which are still parked on the seat in front and, inconveniently so, blocking the rest of the aisle.

B'ane's style of slow measured steps bear softly on the floor. Time, too, has dusted strands grey at the temples. Otherwise he physical seems redundant. "She's a gold, what else are they good for?" Clearly ironic when they overlook a small squadron of eggs. Glib, but not very firm, the bronzerider's words grow a little moss. After a while, eye contact meets, "so fill me in." The request is broad.

"Not much, I'll give you that." Somewhere deeper in the weyr, a familiar grumble rolls through the area. Judging by Vaeli's response of a weary chuckle, one could judge on whose dragon it was. She shifts her arms and rolls her shoulders, this time flopping a hand down in her lap and pressing the back of the other against her forehead. "Twelve of 'em. Creepy little beings, too. The candidates were tripping all over themselves to get out of there during one of the first egg touchings. I think one little boy, twelve turns or so, ended up with a mindhealer for the sevenday." A pause. "Leave it to Cadgwith to spawn horror creatures from the deep. Haven't touched them, myself. Not going to."

B'ane shows surprise, a short leap of eyebrows. "I'm glad Aboleoth didn't add to the problem by winning Cadgwith then. Faranth, /pink/?" B'ane still hasn't quite gotten over Minoyath. "They'd look /and/ act a fright." A more natural smile is enclosed while he stares straight ahead. "But that was probably all Nissionath's doing. Ista claims higher standards."

Vaeli swivels her head towards B'ane. "I believe the /pink/ was your doing, dear. Or Aboleoth's, as it were. Nissionath has had prettier babies since," is stated matter-of-factly with a hint of humor. "Do you /see/ that thing?" The goldrider waves a hand towards one egg stuck out in the middle of the sands, the To Feed the Hunger Egg.

From the sands, Cadgwith opens one eye and swivels it towards the galleries and then towards her clutch. There's a decided 'hmph' from her cavernous nostrils, although the eye remains blue.

"It was a trial and error sort of thing. They ironed the imperfections out by their second clutches. No one gets it right the first time anyway." A finger scratches at his forward hairline. "You can't judge the dragon by its shell. Isn't that in your Weyrleading manual, too?" Aboleoth is invested with studying the aura of the eggs, trying to interpret it. The facets in his eyes slow their whirling to dead color.

Vaeli clears her throat in the direction of Cadgwith and continues in a quieter voice out the corner of her mouth. "See? Even she thinks so." 'She' being Big Momma. In a regular tone, she says, "If there ever were a manual, it's collecting dust down in the archives." She shifts her feet slightly to cross them at the ankles, left over right. "The most paperwork I see these days are requests for the riders to continue in some craft or another. You said you were in the area for...?" The last is toned as an open-ended comment, awaiting finishing.

From the sands, Cadgwith shuffles her tail protectively around a couple of eggs, yawning and stretching as she wakes up. Sending an absent croon towards Ghraith, she absently begins shuffling the eggs around, starting with Feed the Hunger. It's a /lovely/ egg.

The dynamics of leather help hold his arms in place as they fold against a length of rail. "No reason really." Either the man with a plan now flies by the seat of his pants or he's caught in a lie. Either doesn't suit his personality or at least his old template of such. Haunches tensing in the act of standing, Aboleoth swings his tail, it's tip, against the side of the chamber in a new habit. The percussion seems to start the swirl of his eyes again. Or maybe his reading of the eggs is over. "What about you, you picking up Herder duties here and there?"

Vaeli simply raises a single eyebrow at the bronzerider and doesn't comment further on the subject. Instead, she pauses while a drudge passes through a few rows down to pick up the very rare piece of litter here and there. Eventually, the old woman leaves, and Vaeli speaks again. "No time to, really. Ever since thread, I've had nothing but administration mess to deal with. Pity, really. I don't think I've went farther than an hour outside the weyr in...half a turn or more." This realization on the actual time frame draws Vaeli's face down into a scowl.

B'ane picks at a rough spot of wood and pays the piper for it. The soft skin under his fingernail is pierced. He shakes it free and weighs his options. "They say Thread's on leave for quite a while now, surely that's got to free up some of your time. You'll come apart at the seams if you don't take some personal time off." Or she can abandon like he prefers.

Vaeli rolls here eyes wistfully. "I wish. Maybe once everyone gets settled into their post-Thread lives, they'll leave me be for a while. Until then, good luck dragging me out for more than a day."

From the sands, Cadgwith noses Harvest Moon Egg, peeking at Vaeli over the top of it. Guess who gets to train /this/ weyrling?

Corner movement attracts the bronzerider's eye; Aboleoth wearies of inaction. "Look for your replacement in one of those eggs." B'ane's chin juts forward in an obvious point. "Vaeli, you- what I want to say, I'm sorry things didn't work out." Sudden, spare, ambiguous, it's his latest trend. Cadgwith's brooding seems most entertaining.
Aw, poop. She hadn't thought about that one. Weyrling training, that is. "That behemoth of a mother is trying to tell me something, isn't she?" She casts shifty eyes towards the said beast. "Ashli might beat that one to it, though." A few seconds later, she's back to the blank uncomprehending stare directed at B'ane. "What?"

It's forever B'ane's hope people come to their own conclusions when they deal with his vagueness thus he avoids expending unnecessary energy. But he has yet to truly realize his strategy sucks. He tips his head down so shadow veils his eyes and lower features. "Us."

Vaeli blinks slowly. "Us." A few beats later, "I never knew you were overly interested in an 'us', B'ane," she drawls out carefully. "This isn't part of that making-amends-to-everybody-they-never-knew-you-hurt thing that you were going through the last time I saw you, is it?" Again, stated carefully devoid of any tirade-inducing emotion. She's still obviously trying to put the pieces together, here.
never-knew-you-hurt

B'ane looks from the sands to the railing, from the future to confinement. "Yeah." Admission. "Although I'm kind of at the point where I didn't even know I hurt them and just make a blanket absolution. I'm starting to wonder how I even dress myself in the morning." Aboleoth gives eye shine at this. "But it's not like our ledges touched." Distance is a bitch.

A hint of a smile curves on the lips of the otherwise blank face. "B'ane, you've never been able to dress coherently." After second thought, she points a finger at the bronzerider. "You mean /that/ blanket absolution, right there?" She doesn't elaborate further. Fight fire with fire, and all.

B'ane tucks in the trailing end of his half-tucked shirt behind his belt to show he's progressing. "Is it? Honestly I don't know if I've ever pained you because as far as telepathy goes, even Aboleoth sometimes eludes me. If our two separate spheres were one who knows what might have happened," and because he's either got a terrible rash or he's performing it out of desperate distraction, the Istan stops scratching at the back of his hand. "But they weren't and they aren't."

Vaeli opens her mouth, closes it, sucks in a breath and lets it out, slowly. "Okaaay. If you're not entirely sure anyone was hurt, and nothing was ever official, and they weren't and aren't, why the nervous tick and confusion?"

B'ane practically has skin cells falling from his hand like snow flurries. "What tick?" Since the question both hands arc behind and clasp behind his back militantly. "I'm just saying so I can get back to some sort of normalness around you." If normalness was a B'ane adjective. "So when do you expect snow?" Deflection!

Vaeli eyeballs B'ane. "Screw snow. It's summertime." The goldrider waves it away with a bat of her hand. "Normalcy? When have you never not been normal? B'ane, I've known you for...over a decade, at least. You've always acted the same way, apart from mid-life crisis's." If crisis's is a word. Crisi? Crises? "Enlighten me. What do you want me to say?" None if it is angry and only slightly tinged with frustration.

How do you say it's all about his perception and what wheels turn inside his head? This ineffectuality that defies coherent expression throws a little stubborn defiance into the sudden heavy lean onto the railing with wide arms. "I don't need you to say anything. I loved you once and that's for my benefit or bane alone so if we could please move on to other topics of conversation..." If confession makes one feel clean, there's still a gritty residue.

"Interesting." Vaeli crosses her arms and simply stares at the bronzerider for a moment or two. "Of all the things you could have done to return our relationship to normalness, as you put it, you say the one thing that changes everything," is said in a tone of simple regret. After a moment or two, she grants his request and continues. "Snow. Four months." Is that a watery glimmer in the eye?

B'ane winces when his eyes dry out after neglecting to blink for several seconds. "I shouldn't have come." The realization comes at a trickle and then torrent. It's not really a question up for debate. "Tell Nissionath I said hello for me, will you?" Exaggerated dragon shadow creeps across the floor as Aboleoth moves ever closer.

Vaeli wipes at her eyes, unsuccessfully, and has to do it again with the other hand and other eye. "I guess you found the pain you never knew you gave, hm?" Sufficiently barbed, it's probably the first time B'ane ever got the barbed treatment from her. She tries to stifle a sniffle -- Hey look, it rhymes! -- and fails. Trying to recover a bit of that hard dignity, she leans forward and shields her face with her hands on either side, pretending to look back out at the sands. A simple nod from her covered face has to suffice for an answer, because she's not talking anymore.

B'ane pulls out pieces the lining of his riding jacket sheds from prolonged wear. "The guy who said honesty is the best policy was a liar." Softly, indirectly, as if soliloquy. Caught between trying to comfort and making things worse, B'ane stands lonely ground. What can he say that won't sound hollow?

Vaeli makes a muffled comment in a voice that sounds like she has a severe cold. "Honesty would have been a bloody lot better when there was still a window to make it matter."

Aboleoth comes with the sound of moving wind from paced flight. << Yours needs to get Out of a smothering place.

Nissionath grumbles at the distress of her rider. <

[Error: Irreparable invalid markup ('<she's>') in entry. Owner must fix manually. Raw contents below.]

B'ane makes Vae cry. This is a first.

<lj-cut text="'B'ane, you've never been able to dress coherently.' *B'ane, Vaeli*">

Galleries
Row upon row of stone benching rises above the Hatching Grounds, seats for those who come to watch the incredible experience that is a hatching. Each individual seat is embellished with a worn cushion, the only concession to comfort in a place that traps heat, holding it within so that those who watch are inflicted with its intensity, though on a milder level than those who must stand and face the dragonets. The expanse of sand that is the hatching grounds spreads out in front of the benches, a huge stage for a spectacular show.
Type 'help here' for info on how to view objects on the sands.
Settled along stone are three firelizards.
B’ane is here.
Obvious exits:
Dragon Ledges Stairs

Vaeli is situated somewhere in the middle of the middle of the relatively quiet (and squeaky clean, thanks to the thankless labors of the current candidates) galleries. Her feet are parked on the seat in front of her and her hands are clasped behind her head in some sort of permanent stretch position. Her gaze is centered somewhat in the direction of the creepy eggs down in the sands, but it is a blank stare. No one's home.

Aboleoth's wings are scimitar sharp as he cuts the convection of air above the sands. Halfway between horizontal and vertical the foreign bronze slips a burbled greeting to Cadgwith while breaking a landing. B'ane is eased to the ground by a body tip from his dragon and he lands flatfooted. Jarring. Peeling back a stiff collar the Istan pays a brief homage to the clutch of eggs from this loft.

The bronze's landing is duly noted with a slow turn of Vaeli's head, followed by an unfocused blink. Her scattered wits take a second (or five) to recuperate, and then she simply says, not without feeling, "You." This, of course, probably isn't heard by Aboleoth or his rider from this distance. But apparently the Istan is rewarded with the somewhat less vacant stare previously given to the unborn critters down below. Her body posture has stayed the same, the only difference being the way her head is cradled by her hands as it is turned towards B'ane. Staying up or coming down? The new Shakespearean question to ponder.

B'ane treads a path dangerously close to the lip of the ledge on his way towards the more socially accepted area to gawk. A hundred flashy greetings light up his mind and he's left with the lamest and least creative. "Hey." Careful purview with Aboleoth gives a little more oomph. "Is High Reaches big enough for the both of us?" B'ane/Aboleoth or Vaeli/B'ane isn't distinguished.

A few more blinks, a few more seconds, and Vaeli visibly forces her eyes to focus and smiles (which is not forced). "It depends on whether or not Nissionath plans on joining me. She has a way of...ah, occupying space." She twitches an eyebrow along with her last words for emphasis. Upon closer inspection, the bags under Vaeli's eyes are quite prominent. And are those little /wrinkles/ somewhere near the corner of her eyes? Surely not. "What brings you to town?" No need to say it, Vae hasn't moved except to tilt her head up towards the bronzerider. And no, she hasn't moved her feet, which are still parked on the seat in front and, inconveniently so, blocking the rest of the aisle.

B'ane's style of slow measured steps bear softly on the floor. Time, too, has dusted strands grey at the temples. Otherwise he physical seems redundant. "She's a gold, what else are they good for?" Clearly ironic when they overlook a small squadron of eggs. Glib, but not very firm, the bronzerider's words grow a little moss. After a while, eye contact meets, "so fill me in." The request is broad.

"Not much, I'll give you that." Somewhere deeper in the weyr, a familiar grumble rolls through the area. Judging by Vaeli's response of a weary chuckle, one could judge on whose dragon it was. She shifts her arms and rolls her shoulders, this time flopping a hand down in her lap and pressing the back of the other against her forehead. "Twelve of 'em. Creepy little beings, too. The candidates were tripping all over themselves to get out of there during one of the first egg touchings. I think one little boy, twelve turns or so, ended up with a mindhealer for the sevenday." A pause. "Leave it to Cadgwith to spawn horror creatures from the deep. Haven't touched them, myself. Not going to."

B'ane shows surprise, a short leap of eyebrows. "I'm glad Aboleoth didn't add to the problem by winning Cadgwith then. Faranth, /pink/?" B'ane still hasn't quite gotten over Minoyath. "They'd look /and/ act a fright." A more natural smile is enclosed while he stares straight ahead. "But that was probably all Nissionath's doing. Ista claims higher standards."

Vaeli swivels her head towards B'ane. "I believe the /pink/ was your doing, dear. Or Aboleoth's, as it were. Nissionath has had prettier babies since," is stated matter-of-factly with a hint of humor. "Do you /see/ that thing?" The goldrider waves a hand towards one egg stuck out in the middle of the sands, the To Feed the Hunger Egg.

From the sands, Cadgwith opens one eye and swivels it towards the galleries and then towards her clutch. There's a decided 'hmph' from her cavernous nostrils, although the eye remains blue.

"It was a trial and error sort of thing. They ironed the imperfections out by their second clutches. No one gets it right the first time anyway." A finger scratches at his forward hairline. "You can't judge the dragon by its shell. Isn't that in your Weyrleading manual, too?" Aboleoth is invested with studying the aura of the eggs, trying to interpret it. The facets in his eyes slow their whirling to dead color.

Vaeli clears her throat in the direction of Cadgwith and continues in a quieter voice out the corner of her mouth. "See? Even she thinks so." 'She' being Big Momma. In a regular tone, she says, "If there ever were a manual, it's collecting dust down in the archives." She shifts her feet slightly to cross them at the ankles, left over right. "The most paperwork I see these days are requests for the riders to continue in some craft or another. You said you were in the area for...?" The last is toned as an open-ended comment, awaiting finishing.

From the sands, Cadgwith shuffles her tail protectively around a couple of eggs, yawning and stretching as she wakes up. Sending an absent croon towards Ghraith, she absently begins shuffling the eggs around, starting with Feed the Hunger. It's a /lovely/ egg.

The dynamics of leather help hold his arms in place as they fold against a length of rail. "No reason really." Either the man with a plan now flies by the seat of his pants or he's caught in a lie. Either doesn't suit his personality or at least his old template of such. Haunches tensing in the act of standing, Aboleoth swings his tail, it's tip, against the side of the chamber in a new habit. The percussion seems to start the swirl of his eyes again. Or maybe his reading of the eggs is over. "What about you, you picking up Herder duties here and there?"

Vaeli simply raises a single eyebrow at the bronzerider and doesn't comment further on the subject. Instead, she pauses while a drudge passes through a few rows down to pick up the very rare piece of litter here and there. Eventually, the old woman leaves, and Vaeli speaks again. "No time to, really. Ever since thread, I've had nothing but administration mess to deal with. Pity, really. I don't think I've went farther than an hour outside the weyr in...half a turn or more." This realization on the actual time frame draws Vaeli's face down into a scowl.

B'ane picks at a rough spot of wood and pays the piper for it. The soft skin under his fingernail is pierced. He shakes it free and weighs his options. "They say Thread's on leave for quite a while now, surely that's got to free up some of your time. You'll come apart at the seams if you don't take some personal time off." Or she can abandon like he prefers.

Vaeli rolls here eyes wistfully. "I wish. Maybe once everyone gets settled into their post-Thread lives, they'll leave me be for a while. Until then, good luck dragging me out for more than a day."

From the sands, Cadgwith noses Harvest Moon Egg, peeking at Vaeli over the top of it. Guess who gets to train /this/ weyrling?

Corner movement attracts the bronzerider's eye; Aboleoth wearies of inaction. "Look for your replacement in one of those eggs." B'ane's chin juts forward in an obvious point. "Vaeli, you- what I want to say, I'm sorry things didn't work out." Sudden, spare, ambiguous, it's his latest trend. Cadgwith's brooding seems most entertaining.
Aw, poop. She hadn't thought about that one. Weyrling training, that is. "That behemoth of a mother is trying to tell me something, isn't she?" She casts shifty eyes towards the said beast. "Ashli might beat that one to it, though." A few seconds later, she's back to the blank uncomprehending stare directed at B'ane. "What?"

It's forever B'ane's hope people come to their own conclusions when they deal with his vagueness thus he avoids expending unnecessary energy. But he has yet to truly realize his strategy sucks. He tips his head down so shadow veils his eyes and lower features. "Us."

Vaeli blinks slowly. "Us." A few beats later, "I never knew you were overly interested in an 'us', B'ane," she drawls out carefully. "This isn't part of that making-amends-to-everybody-they-never-knew-you-hurt thing that you were going through the last time I saw you, is it?" Again, stated carefully devoid of any tirade-inducing emotion. She's still obviously trying to put the pieces together, here.
never-knew-you-hurt

B'ane looks from the sands to the railing, from the future to confinement. "Yeah." Admission. "Although I'm kind of at the point where I didn't even know I hurt them and just make a blanket absolution. I'm starting to wonder how I even dress myself in the morning." Aboleoth gives eye shine at this. "But it's not like our ledges touched." Distance is a bitch.

A hint of a smile curves on the lips of the otherwise blank face. "B'ane, you've never been able to dress coherently." After second thought, she points a finger at the bronzerider. "You mean /that/ blanket absolution, right there?" She doesn't elaborate further. Fight fire with fire, and all.

B'ane tucks in the trailing end of his half-tucked shirt behind his belt to show he's progressing. "Is it? Honestly I don't know if I've ever pained you because as far as telepathy goes, even Aboleoth sometimes eludes me. If our two separate spheres were one who knows what might have happened," and because he's either got a terrible rash or he's performing it out of desperate distraction, the Istan stops scratching at the back of his hand. "But they weren't and they aren't."

Vaeli opens her mouth, closes it, sucks in a breath and lets it out, slowly. "Okaaay. If you're not entirely sure anyone was hurt, and nothing was ever official, and they weren't and aren't, why the nervous tick and confusion?"

B'ane practically has skin cells falling from his hand like snow flurries. "What tick?" Since the question both hands arc behind and clasp behind his back militantly. "I'm just saying so I can get back to some sort of normalness around you." If normalness was a B'ane adjective. "So when do you expect snow?" Deflection!

Vaeli eyeballs B'ane. "Screw snow. It's summertime." The goldrider waves it away with a bat of her hand. "Normalcy? When have you never not been normal? B'ane, I've known you for...over a decade, at least. You've always acted the same way, apart from mid-life crisis's." If crisis's is a word. Crisi? Crises? "Enlighten me. What do you want me to say?" None if it is angry and only slightly tinged with frustration.

How do you say it's all about his perception and what wheels turn inside his head? This ineffectuality that defies coherent expression throws a little stubborn defiance into the sudden heavy lean onto the railing with wide arms. "I don't need you to say anything. I loved you once and that's for my benefit or bane alone so if we could please move on to other topics of conversation..." If confession makes one feel clean, there's still a gritty residue.

"Interesting." Vaeli crosses her arms and simply stares at the bronzerider for a moment or two. "Of all the things you could have done to return our relationship to normalness, as you put it, you say the one thing that changes everything," is said in a tone of simple regret. After a moment or two, she grants his request and continues. "Snow. Four months." Is that a watery glimmer in the eye?

B'ane winces when his eyes dry out after neglecting to blink for several seconds. "I shouldn't have come." The realization comes at a trickle and then torrent. It's not really a question up for debate. "Tell Nissionath I said hello for me, will you?" Exaggerated dragon shadow creeps across the floor as Aboleoth moves ever closer.

Vaeli wipes at her eyes, unsuccessfully, and has to do it again with the other hand and other eye. "I guess you found the pain you never knew you gave, hm?" Sufficiently barbed, it's probably the first time B'ane ever got the barbed treatment from her. She tries to stifle a sniffle -- Hey look, it rhymes! -- and fails. Trying to recover a bit of that hard dignity, she leans forward and shields her face with her hands on either side, pretending to look back out at the sands. A simple nod from her covered face has to suffice for an answer, because she's not talking anymore.

B'ane pulls out pieces the lining of his riding jacket sheds from prolonged wear. "The guy who said honesty is the best policy was a liar." Softly, indirectly, as if soliloquy. Caught between trying to comfort and making things worse, B'ane stands lonely ground. What can he say that won't sound hollow?

Vaeli makes a muffled comment in a voice that sounds like she has a severe cold. "Honesty would have been a bloody lot better when there was still a window to make it matter."

Aboleoth comes with the sound of moving wind from paced flight. << Yours needs to get Out of a smothering place.

Nissionath grumbles at the distress of her rider. <<She's not smothering. She's bothered by something. >> There's a pause, presumably dragon-to-rider speaking. <<Something I'm not allowed to share. >> Nissionath's heat grows to something torn between anger at the bothersome problem and fretting warmth in an attempt to comfort her life mate.

B'ane experiences the dry pull of wind-chapped lips, but does nothing to alleviate it. His mouth no longer seems to have sufficient moisture. There seems to be a cracked quality in his voice as well. "I think we both know that window never could have been truly opened."

Vaeli turns a blood-shot eye towards the man. "Is that a fact, or one of those blanket absolutions to cover your actions?"

B'ane whittles a glare that poor glowlight doesn't illuminate very well. "How long would you have taken the letter-writing and scant visits?” Wish you were here' starts to lose its credentials after the third or fourth use." The post under each hand is gripped in a tighter squeeze that makes knuckles pale.

Aboleoth gains and regains a sense of equilibrium that dives and pivots in a point guard's precision. << She should fly every one in a while. >> White froth, white caps, roll in. << It isn't easy to understand him. >>

"And how was I supposed to know that you actually wanted something other than friendship of convenience? It was never even tried." Vaeli finally stops trying to hide her face and stares at him head-on, even if he doesn't look her way. Her eyes and nose are red, and there are a few wet streaks down the cheeks. Not one of Vae's better (or prettier) moments. "Maybe you're right. I couldn't tell you how long I would have dealt with it. I've never bothered trying to have a long romantical relationship." This admission, of course, does not stop the tears from flowing. "As it is, I can't leave the weyr for long. And there's no one here for me. So, is this how it ends, B'ane?"

Nissionath snorts in response. <<We noticed, >> the gold replies in a huff to the non-understandable comment. <<We believe we'll get time off after the other dragons and their mates settle into their new lives. We'll fly then. >>

B'ane pushes off the rail with that last hand to leave falling listlessly to his side. "I can't give answers to those because it's out of our control and there are other things at stake." Lzi's image is invoked behind temporarily closed eyes. "Whoever said business before pleasure was ignorant, too." His dragon's leveled head points in his direction. "I think the longer I stay here the worse it'll be."

Vaeli turns away. "Probably." To which that is meant for is anyone's guess.

Aboleoth adapts a few images, flickers, of his rider. They don't seem to have an age to them. They are erased as a new slate begins. << Just don't hit your heads on the moons, all right? >>

Nissionath is still whirling around in ashes trying to give comfort where she can, but her response to Aboleoth is calm, calculated, and unblaming. << We can take care of ourselves. You two won't be back for a while, >> the gold states smoothly like it's a fact, not the question it is.

Suddenly the sight of gloomy, vicious eggs don't seem so bad now. Words, like actions, would only hinder. Plus B'ane doesn't feel like dealing in absolutes right now. Sticking close to the barrier, hands held up slightly at his sides, the Maverick forces his feet into the loops in Aboleoth's straps to ascend. The bronze chooses to freefall into the embrace of heated air. Shallow wing strokes carry him over the crest of rock and out of sight.

Vaeli also suddenly doesn't feel much like lounging around the galleries. Luckily, there's a shortcut through a small tunnel that leads directly to the common room behind the queens' weyrs, and thus her home. It's this tunnel in which she slips out of sight just after stumbling down the stairs as the bronzerider takes off.

Aboleoth: A strobe of quick imagery flash, memory and fresh sight both. Focusing is impossible, but it's the whole picture that counts. << Sometimes borrowed strength works just as well as the real thing. >> Like a bad connection the bronze's conscience greys and rescinds into blankness.

B'ane carefully moves onto one of the nearby ledges.

</lj-cut>

Gasp! A Vaeli log!

Mon, 04 Dec 2006 05:35:54 GMT

X'ian shows back up after some four turns gone.

Bourbon Street
Austere and intimidating, the polished granite stone of the queen's couch dominates the first and longest segment of the indoor living quarters. Beyond it, behind a heavy canvas serving as a door for the person-wide opening, lies the sumptuous residence of the rider. In the main living area there are several comfortable-looking chairs, deeply padded and upholstered in a well-aged dark, rich burgundy hued leather. Along one wall near the hearth, a skybroom wine holder serves dual purposes in displaying a varied stash of liquors and hides. The range of plush deep reds could give a Vintner's red wine cellar a run for its money, broken up only by the sooty bourbon-like golds interspersed here... [look closer]

Nissionath has carried herself who knows where. She's not on the ledge, she's not on her couch, and she's certainly not in here. Which leaves Vaeli unaware of anything proverbially heading her way. Which also leaves Vaeli kneeling elbow-deep in the trunk at the foot of her bed, shuffling things about with dull thuds and muttered curses.

A small collection of compactly packed clothing, hides, and belongings unloaded into the cramped space of Morchainth's old weyr, and a few hours spent rearranging things within, a bronzerider is on the move again. Leathers that were crisp and new are scuffed and scarred - light lines crossing the deep dyed browns and tans of the hide with little care for its expense. For that, however, they are certainly more comfortable in appearance, and better fitted now that the last hints of gangly wire have worked their way out of X'ian's construction. Morchainth's talons scrape in over the unoccupied ledge, providing the only indication of his rider's arrival before heavy boots are pacing quietly in behind Vaeli. Uninvited.

To further shed light on the state of the room, no pun intended, little trails of mist whirl from the open canvas flap that covers the doorway to the woman's bathing chambers and a full two-thirds of the glow baskets are open; all along the inner walls, leaving the area behind Vaeli rather dark. Which does not serve her much of an advantage. Finally coming up for breathing space from her hunt in the box, she pauses, tilts her head towards the outside, shrugs, and rocks back on her bare-footed heels to stand. She's clutching something that she deems extremely interesting as she turns back around and catches sight of boots. Knees. Waist. Torso. Person. Holy jumping jeehoozafus! A startle, gasp, and one of those little girly yelps later, Vaeli is back on her butt, sitting on the trunk with a murderous glare. Speechless, thus far. For the good, surely.

Beyond having filled out a bit, X'ian looks much the same as he always has. His goatee has been retained, and his hair kept short and scruffed, though hints of grey speck through the black - less visible in the low light than they might be otherwise when he tilts his chin down to follow her progress in that direction. "'Allo, Weyrwoman."

Vaeli retains a little bit of dignity by straightening up on her nonvoluntary perch and squints an eye at the intruder. "X'ian?" She tilts her head again, still clutching whatever it was that she retrieved from the trunk. The murderous glare retreats into something a little more pleasant. "Where in bloody shards have you been?" Cue murderous glare again right on the heels of that statement. Self-preservation takes over, and Vaeli's empty hand involuntarily clutches at neck buttons of her shirt. "Couldn't knock?"

"Watchridin' in the ass-end of nowhere for four turns. Maybe you missed the report." A brow already lifted, X'ian glances first to whatever it is she's clutching, and then after her neck buttons when her free hand goes up to grasp at them. He smirks (just a little), and hesitates before continuing - the returned hint of an old accent suggesting a rough location, if he seems otherwise disinclined to go into detail. "I thought I'd surprise you."

Vaeli narrows her eyes in response. "Surprised enough for you?" The little dainty bottle she's clutching is barely visible in between her fingers; snatches of blue and red glass with something solid filling it roughly halfway. "I must've missed that one. Back in Pyrene's time. Not that it's been any less hellacious without you." Pause. "I dropped by once. Your weyr was empty. For the most part." After discreetly feeling to see if all buttons were, in fact, buttoned, her hand drops away. The minor leer is not noticed. Probably another good thing. "How long have you been back?"

"Yeah. Nice work, with the little squeal and everything." Right hand lifted enough to add a little wiggle of his fingers for emphasis, he takes a slow step aside. His head tilts in lazy acknowledgement of her description of current affairs, and the fact that the Weyr has not ceased to exist in his absence, but otherwise, he is difficult to read as he watches her. "I've been around for a few hours. It was sort've a last straw type of thing. Pack your bags and move out, or else. Not a lot of time to say goodbye, and then I was all. Y'know. Bitter. What's in the bottle?"

Caught in a moment of embarrassment, "I did not squeal. I yelped." Like there's a difference. Vaeli wraps the bottle tighter in her fist and hugs it to her stomach. "Stuff." There's an awkward silence from the woman's end as the both appraise one another. Out of pure curiosity, she moves to half circle X'ian, peering upward. "A few hours, huh? And I'm the first one to receive a near heart-attack?" This is absently stating as she continues to stare down his hair. "Damn. Time is a mean little creature, isn't it?" Vaeli half forgets that she's hiding the object as she motions to the multi-colored hair.

"Yelpin' is so much more dignified, after all." This, of course, is withheld until she's commented upon his hair, and good humor has been tainted by the onset of poorly suppressed annoyance in the slate of his eyes and tightened muscles in his half-clenched jaw. "Wyn's busy bein' Wyn and Eit apparently had some sort've breakdown after I left and he became Weyrleader." Snatch. Old, thieving experience leads X'ian's right hand to snatch up hard and fast over the gesturing bottle.

Vaeli let's a moment of something other that pissy or happy come over her face. "Drank himself straight out of dodge. The hair, though. It's-- Hey!" The bottle, of course, is snatched due to Vaeli's sad reflexes. There's a moment of dumbfounded slow snatching for the bottle, but that doesn't work. So the hands go to her hips. "Fan of aroma bath salt, much?"

"I am, as a matter've fact. Keeps me smellin' fine and fresh." Definitely smirking at her over the curl of his hand, it's a second or two before he drops his glare to study the bottle before he lifts it to sniff experimentally at the top, and then offers it back to her. "I was always amazed the kid could even walk and talk with all the family shit he had to put up with. Guess I shouldn't be surprised.

"Well, you can't have it. It's the last I've got until I pilfer some more from the Hold." Vaeli resists the urge to snatch and quirkily zips the bottle back into her possession. The steam from the open doorway to the bath chamber has almost made its way halfway through the room by now. The weyrwoman simply grunts in response to the I'anex comment, a sore topic, and asks, all attention-deficit like, "North or South? I'm thinking South."

"I don't want it anyway. Fine'n fresh is one thing. Girly is somethin' else." In response to the gathering humidity, the scruff of X'ian's hair has gone a bit lank - a problem that is not helped by him rubbing a hand up into it as he glances to the source. "Doesn't matter. I don't plan on goin' back any time soon. What about Marond?"

Again, the defensive pops out. "Bath salt, of whatever flavor, is -always- girly, if you put it that way. This is a fresh, fruity smell. Kinda like a good brandy." Said bottle is opened and sniffed briefly. "Haven't seen him. Shit mostly hit the sands when Pyrene fell, death sentenced, mating flights, Thread stopping, weyrleaders going berserk, and wingleaders posing as quasi-Weyrleaders instead. Must've crawled back into whatever hole he made for himself somewhere."

X'ian nods, temporarily distracted as his eyes track blandly over an invisible and imagined version of listed events in rapid succession. "Maybe gettin' shipped off into the boonies wasn't such a bad thing, in retrospect. I'm surprised you have time to bathe at all.”

"Can't leave out life's necessities." Vaeli shoots X'ian with an appraising raked stare, head to boots and back again. "Of course, I suppose it's a matter of personal priority." She sets the stopped bottle on her desk and half turns back. "Shipped off, now, is it? Who would do such a thing?" It's phrased as a rhetorical question laced with some dry humor. "It'll be good to have some dark intelligence back around the place."

"When was the last time I cut a guy's kidney out and fed it to him, eh? I got a four year sentence for a few nasty words." Still, his end of the argument lacks conviction, and the bitterness he mentioned earlier largely seems to have faded with time. "I bathe. And I'm intelligent. Good to hear someone admittin' it. What about you?"

Vaeli quirks an eyebrow at him. "Since when do a few nasty words get you booted out to Faranth-knows-where?" The bitterness earns a minor flinch from the goldrider. "What about me? I'm here. I live. No Thread sucks. And it's lovely. A love slash hate thing, and all. And I need a bath." During such statements, the bottle is retrieved, again, and waggled in the air.

"Well. I might've waved my knife at him. A little." X'ian's right hand pats over the knife in question, resting placid in its usual place at his hip as his brows lift - decidedly lacking, where innocence is concerned. "You look good. Payin' somebody to pick out your own grey hairs?" Brows still lifted, he looks to the waggled bottle, and then back to her face, where he nods. "Yeah, alright. I'll leave you to it, then."

Vaeli unexpectedly lets out a peal of laughter. "There the X'ian I remember." She walks over and pulls out a towel from some cabinet on the nearest wall to throw over the arm holding the salt before turning to fully face her company. She leans her weight against the now closed cabinet and subconsciously runs a hand through her hair. "They blend in rather well. Surprisingly, I haven't got that many. Knock on wood. I like the past-your-prime look on you. It suits, in a good way." Pause. "Crashing back in your old home tonight, then? No drinking yourself silly in the caverns during a homecoming party and waking up somewhere unfamiliar?" A hint of a smile comes through the last. "At any rate, yes, unless you want your first night back spoiled by the memory of some politicky woman reeking of the stables. I would ask for help, but. There's only so much salt to go around."

"If I had a prime, I must've missed it." A half-hearted commentary on the life and times of X'ian, rider of bronze Morchainth, from the man himself, and he traces one last look over the weyr in its entirety. "Maybe now I can trick people into thinkin' I'm responsible. But yeah - my place, for tonight." A marginally more genuine smile is managed, and he dusts one hand over the other before passing one final look over Vaeli, and then turning back for the entrance. "I have a feelin' my return isn't exactly a party-worthy affair. And as much as I'd like to see you naked, I think I'll wait to make sure some heavy-knotted asshole isn't gonna beat me about the head for tryin'."

Vaeli pushes herself up with a smirk and watches X'ian go. "What, another four-year sentence just isn't worth the hassle?" Again, rhetorically phrased. "It's good to have you back, X. Get some sleep." She's on her way to the bath chambers before she turns back with a hint of the earlier glare. "And knock next time." Attention deficit, that's what happened to her. And there she goes, flopping and solidly securing the canvas flap behind her.

X'ian chuckles to himself as he goes, right leg still carrying a twinge of a drag to it that slows an otherwise even pace for the way out. "Yeah, I will. You too. Sleep, that is." Now that there's a chance on him walking in on something /unusual/ if he doesn't knock, it seems the odds of him suddenly developing manners in that area have been diminished.

OOC: BABY!

Mon, 19 Jun 2006 15:15:14 GMT

Carson's here! Okay, he's been here for a little while now. Anyway, here's his first picture that the hospital staff took of him a couple hours after he was born.

Check out baby Carson!

Also, I know I've been dead in the past couple months, but once things settle down (and preferably after a good night's sleep), I'll be kicking again.

OOC Character Meme thing

Tue, 28 Feb 2006 03:46:05 GMT

Because I'm bored, and I've never done one with Vae before, I'm going to dredge up the age-old Q&A character meme where you ask Vaeli a question and she'll answer it. If she doesn't know/care or would avoid answering, I'll answer for her. Or something to that nature. Fire at will.

Everything in its place.

Fri, 24 Feb 2006 20:17:12 GMT

I added a new log that takes place right after the current TP started. It's actually a 'continued' log of when Vaeli went to visit B'ane and ended up on Windcrest Island for a short getaway. Even though it was just logged last night, I like to keep things somewhat in order, so I backdated it and posted it here.

Annoying Headmen

Wed, 22 Feb 2006 20:44:45 GMT

Marond finds Vaeli. See Marond annoy Vaeli. On purpose.

Quiet Corners
Thick woolen tapestries dull the noise from the rest of the caverns, turning this well-lit little room into a welcome escape. The stairs up place it against the bowl wall somewhere above the living caverns, carpeted against the winters chill or left as cool stone floor in summer. Some high and narrow windows can be opened to the world outside, or secured with their heavy metal-sided shutters and blue-threaded curtains.
Glowlight gleams, brightening the well-cushioned stone couches and lighting the weyr residents half-finished projects: knitting undone, sewing only started, leathers being worked soft, and even a hide of sketches or half-finished Thread-chart spread out across one of the tables.
Curled up amongst the baskets of wool are thirteen firelizards.
Marond is here.
Obvious exits:
Inner Stairs

Marond
Shadow and light play off this man as wind off water. Pale skin appears nearly sallow, with an aura of barely concealed ill health. From dark eyes trickle discontent and pensive thought -- brown infecting black. Dark hair pours to his shoulders, the smoky sheet rarely held back. The consequence of such upkeep leaves the man's angled features perpetually under a bundle of black strands. Tall and somewhat lanky, Marond's appearance is a contradiction in terms; pale contrasting starkly with ink.
A dark blue tunic is observable only in its high neck from beneath a sleek coat of ovine wool and cured hide. The coat itself drapes over Marond's arms and torso --brown sifting into brown-- before stopping its fur detailed bottom just above trousers of thick black flax. Sturdy boots of black leather and blue laces complete the man's winter apparel.
Marond wears the slightly toussled knot of High Reaches Headman.
He is an adult of about 42. He is awake, but seems rather distracted.

Vaeli is perched the arm of a sofa quite far from the doorways and is currently pointing out the various preferences to an old auntie weaving together some knot or another. A mug of something steaming is clutched as she leans over the auntie's shoulder to take a better look at the strings being pulled by the old woman's fingers. "Through there. Yes. That yellow one right there is the perfect color. Use it, if you please."

The faint scuff of boots against stone and the audible ripple of shifting fabric is the only heads up of Marond's approach. The man's spindly claws hold a mug of cider between them, his quiet eyes electing to snap towards the sound of someone asking for some sort of-- Oh, Vaeli. There's a pause as Marond sinks in this new discomfort, but as the confrontation between the two was inevitable, he continues into the caverns with an exceptionally pointed "Goldrider," to set the tone.

Vaeli has set down her mug and is busy helping the auntie measure out the length of thread at the time she hears her name being called. This causes her to glance up quickly, and to flick her head back up to look at the person for a clearer view. For a brief second, her face remains blank before she pulls it into some hooded over version of composure. "Headman," is replied in an neutral tone. "Forgot your stitchings somewhere around here?"

Marond cracks an unpleasant smile for Vaeli's attempt at humor. "Cute," fingers pull his mug a little closer as he peers toards the auntie with quiet expectation. As the woman doesn't seem to be taking any sort of silent cue, Marond vocalizes. "Perhaps you could leave for a few minutes? You look tired and they just brewed some klah downstairs."

The old auntie glances between the two, and Vaeli quickly encourages her on her way. "I'll be down before the day is out to get that from you," she states politely. The auntie, one foot already in the proverbial grave, gathers her things and creeps out the door and down the stairs. Vaeli, for her part, retrieves her drink and circles around the arm of the sofa to sit the just vacated spot and lifts and eyebrow at Marond. "I heard you came back." Simple, almost conversational, although her voice does hold a little bit of wary undertone.

Marond slides into the seat opposite with a slight tilt of the head to acknowledge the statement. "And I heard you're the acting Sr. Weyrwoman." Sallow features twist and tighten as a genuine smile creases chapped lips. "Things sure got interesting in the last couple months, didn't they?"

After a small hesitation, Vaeli inhales calmly. "Not 'acting'. Am. Or so they tell me." She leans some of her weight into the armrest and props the mug-laden arm on top of it. She meets the headman's face, if not directly in the eyes. More like the bridge of the nose. "If you mean 'interesting' in the fashion of 'severely unsettling', then yes. Is that what caused you to run home?"

"Well, I understand why everything would come at you in such a disconcerting way. We were all horrified when Pyrene took the plunge. I know how traumatizing it must be to be forced into a position of authority that you weren't ready or remotely prepared for." Eyes flash towards Vaeli's gaze but as she wont meet his; he settles a little more comfortably into his chair and slides one long leg over another. "I came when I heard the news, yes. I had also wrapped up with my duties at Southern so the timing simply worked out as such."

Vaeli's eyebrow lifts again, but otherwise shows no change in expression. "'Traumatizing' is a little excessive, but I'll concede the point." Perhaps by not commenting on the 'unprepared' aspect, she agrees as well, but refrains from giving any more fodder for veiled insults. On the timeliness: "How...convenient. Since you must be dying to know, I'll go ahead and tell you that your place as headman is still secured. It's a good role for you. Ego stroked enough?"

Marond snorts, giving a tiny chirp of delight, if only for Vaeli's benefit. "Vaeli, I had very few doubts you wouldn't touch my position in this Weyr. As much as I'm sure you would like to sack me, your current candidates to take reigns of the caverns are utterly incompetent." In other words, you didn't have a choice, honey. "Besides, we wouldn't want to upset our Weyrwoma--Pyrene any more then she already is." Lanky clumps of black are pulled in oily streaks behind Marond's ears as he takes a long draught of cider. "So tell me, have you decided how you're going to dispatch of Uriala yet?"

"They wouldn't have the gale to act outside of their station and weyr, you mean." Vaeli's features take a hard cast to them and her hand tightens, but otherwise remains visibly unperturbed. As if the concrete evidence of a mug in her hand reminds her of it's existence, she sips her brew through the Pyrene part and comments on the last. "Execution, of course. Or were you asking about the 'how'?" A hint of impatience touches through this time, as if she really doesn't want to repeat it. Again.

Marond is always willing to dig a little deeper into a recognized place of impatience. Marond has already figured his personal pleasure over however long Vaeli remains in power is going to be the subtle prod and peeling at the woman's tender points. At least it will be some consolation to the reality that Vaeli will never be manipulated or nearly as easy to work with as Pyrene. “Yes, the method of execution. Last I talked to the Weyrsecond she said there hadnt been an agreement.”

Vaeli closes her eyes and sighs as she reluctantly begins again with the mess. "A private death, at an as yet undisclosed time. Her body will be brought out for a public funeral pyre." It's not the full and complete back story, but Marond doesn't know that. "It took a while to come to a method satisfactory for all of the deciding parties. The weyrleader and 'second will be taking care of a written announcement. Glean what you can from what they write, as I voted to have no part in recording even more things down on hide."

Marond looks sharply at Vaeli as she states the decision. "A private death? I know you enjoy making my job more difficult Vaeli, but it's not just me you're going to be screwing." Marond's fingers gently press between his eyes as he squeezes them shut with a little sigh. "A public funeral pyre is great, but in case you hadn't heard, the caverns erupted into a riot when news of Pyrene's attack hit the public. A lot of people are going to feel personally insulted that they can't be witness to the actual carrying out of the execution." And /he's/ going to have to deal with the rabble.

Vaeli smirks at the headman's annoyance, but she manages to hide it behind the rim of her mug. "Aside from assuming I actually care about making this particular aspect of your job more difficult, that public funeral pyre is only granted because I felt that those rioters, along with myself, needed something more than a private death." A pause. "I can't say that I'm any happier with it than I was the first time it we argued about it. But it's settled and preparations are under way." She shrugs.

"As much as you may not like me, I'm a part of your leadership here. I would appreciate a little more inclusion into the politics of this Weyr." Sure, he's been knee-deep in Southern politics lately, but now that he's back home he's finding his lack of sway more then a little irritating.

"You're part of the lower leadership. Quite frankly, we could do anything of substance regarding the weyr as a whole entirely without your regard." Vaeli snaps, her own eyes flashing, but she's making the physical struggle to keep calm, for various unknown reasons. "But I'll pass along the message. It'll still be a private death, no matter how loud you yell. You run the caverns, Marond. Not the weyr."

Marond snorts, graciously accepting with a smile that just nicks the surface. "Whatever you say, Weyrwoman."

Vaeli stares at the man for a long moment, trying to understand the sudden agreement. "You right in the fact that I really don't care for your personality, Marond, and I assume it's mutual. But let's try not to make ourselves archenemies in the first few sevendays of my promotion. Is there anything else you need to speak with me about?"

Marond watches Vaeli quietly, his expression neutral despite the challenge on the table. "Vaeli, considering the amount of responsibility you're going to have to shoulder I doubt you'll find the time to rub elbows with the common people. I don't think we'll be seeing enough of each other to become archenemies." And moving upwards, Marond slips towards the stairs.

Vaeli bristles, and would retort, but by the time she finds her voice, the man has moved out of earshot. In an act of irritation, she throws what little remaining liquid in the mug out one of the open windows and proceeds to go find that old auntie.

End of Log

Solution Found, Weyrwomen talks, and the good kind of drugs

Tue, 21 Feb 2006 19:33:20 GMT

Vaeli, G'deon, and Wyn discuss and come to an agreement on Uriala's execution.

(I also formatted it so it'll be a little easier to read, and edited the whole journal entry to contain three logs in one rather one log in each. Go me.)

The Vor Imperium
Grey granite vaults upwards to form the high cathedral ceiling of the main part of the weyr, cool, solid and undecorated. Refracted light sparkles from the quartz veins streaking walls carved partially by the hand of man, partially the forces of volcanism. The standard large raised couch is located off to one side, sheltered from the winds of the short access tunnel. The wall across from it houses a massive 'hearth'. A braided rug, quartet of elderly 'chairs' and a wine-crate-turned-coffee-table stand in front of that, while pegs and shelving appear alongside. Near the back, the ceiling height drops rapidly, a demarcation between human areas and draconic. Heavy curtains in a conservative... [look closer]
On the ledge, you see three dragons.
Peering from a crevasse in the wall is a gold firelizard.
You see Grey Leather Satchel, Chess Set, Hearth, and Chairs here.
Wyn and G'deon are here.
Obvious exits:
Inner Weyr Ledge Shadow'd Crevasse

G'deon
As G'deon enters his forties, the very first signs of age finally start to show their marks, though there are still a couple smiles that bring out his more youthful appearance from time to time, and he still has the same calm and collected countenance, and that same mischievous gleam in his blue eyes that he's had from childhood. Those same smiles, however, have started accenting mild crow's feet near his eyes, and if you look at him in just the right light, his hair and occasional stubble might hold a hint of silver. But only a hint. On the other hand, the last few Turns have seen an increase in more strenuous duties, bringing about a rather built body reminiscent of his Smithing days, and at just a couple inches over six feet, he's pretty hard to miss. His shoulders especially have filled out again, and his arms and chest have a bit more muscle on them than in about the last ten Turns. His legs however are still the wiry limbs of his youth, which he will likely never lose. His loosely curly hair of sandy blond is kept quite clean, but it is as usual just a little too long, managing to look a bit tousled at times. The mop of locks makes a golden frame for a lightly tanned face accented by his calm eyes of sapphire, clear and blue as the summer sky over High Reaches.
G'deon wears a dark blue, long sleeved shirt, with bits of white lace sewn on at cuffs. A dark brown, slightly lightweight wherhide jacket that has obviously recently been brushed covers that. He is also wearing rather tight fitting pants a few shades darker blue than his shirt, tucked into black, knee-high, wherhide boots, recently shined and buffed. All in all, the outfit is simple and yet speaks of subdued quality.
He is an adult of about 43. He is awake, but seems rather distracted.

Wyn
Thick brown hair frames a heart-shaped face, falling in a gentle wave to just brush her shoulders. Grey eyes appraise the world calmly, although a dry humour often lurks in their depths. The woman is petite and athletically slender, height rising to a mere 5' 4. Her skin is a smooth shade of olive. While not one to make her presence unduly felt, she is possessed of a quiet and purposeful strength, manifest in every movement. Coiling irregularly about her right shoulder when the skin is exposed, the silvered flesh of an old scar tells the tale of the agony and adrenaline of flying Threadfall.
Leather worked and dyed with a master tanner's hand forms a sleek pair of riding leathers that walk well the fine line between style and function. The jacket is a dark blue in colour, a touch more grey than her lifemate's hide, but a good match to Wyn's colouring. Lined with sheepskin and with collar and hem graced with a fringe of grey rabbit fur, darts at the waist give an illusion of an hourglass, despite its protective bulk hiding any figure to be found within. The pants are slate grey; simple, clean-lined and durable, they vanish into the tops of fitted and meticulously polished black leather boots. A gold firelizard is perched on her shoulder.
A keen eye indeed is needed to decode Wyn's shoulder knot as anything more meaningful than 'complex' and 'important'. The base colours of the double cords are black and midnight blue for High Reaches Weyr, their triple loop bound with a silver thread to indicate a weyrsecond's position. Three ribbons extra twine around it: blue for her lifemate, and purple and white to indicate her dragonhealer's rank.
She is an adult of about 36. She is awake and looks alert.
Wyn has no apparent threadscoring.

Normally neat and organized, if with piles of academic and political research all over available surfaces, Wyn's weyr is even more disgustingly tidy than usual. Books and hides have been stowed away, leaving her coffee table (Or the Pernese equivalent.) free to play host to a tray of teapot and good teacups, attendant fixings, and a little plate of delicate cookies that probably took the cooks several hours to prepare. The perks of being leadership. There are also three copies of a summary of events spaced at seats around the coffee table, two before the couch and the third in front of Wyn and her armchair.

G'deon enters from the ledge looking a little careworn but generally better rested than he has in days. He's carrying his own leather folder of odds and ends that may or may not come in handy. Probably just his own notes on the subjects at hand. "Good morning," he says quietly, nodding to Wyn as he moves towards the couch to take a seat. He sets down his folder, moves the summary closest at hand to lie on top, then settles in as if preparing to be there for several hours. Or maybe it's just that comfy a couch.

Vaeli arrives on the proverbial heels of G'deon, being the last by only a moment or two. Well-groomed and empty handed, she pauses briefly inside the door to adjust her bearing. A quick nod in greeting accompanied by a quiet "'Morning," is given to both occupants as Vaeli moves to the last available summary. Aside from the faint rings under the eyes, and her rigid posture by sitting on the edge of her seat, she seems well enough. "Cookies are for company, yes?" No breakfast, you see.

In Wyn's weyr, cookies are -not- just a sometimes food. "Good morning, G'deon, Vaeli. By all means help yourselves," she invites," one hand indicating that she's already got a cup and saucer and a cookie for herself. "You're looking like you're both surviving this," she ventures. Wyn herself looks exhausted but determined, neat and polished because it lends her strength to be so.

G'deon nods slightly to Vaeli as she takes a seat before he leans forward, quickly scanning the summary. "Surviving is what we do, Wyn," he replies lightly, possibly an attempt at humor, though he's still just a little too strung out to make it work correctly.

With a nod of thanks, Vaeli does help herself by reaching for the platter depositing first one cookie inside a loose fist for safekeeping and another poised ready-to-eat style. The fact that she's not space-saving the area between her and G'deon could be assumed as vague lingering tension. The summary, for the moment, is left where it is and pages flipped with Vaeli's free hand. A deep breath and grunt is the only thing she can somewhat politely manage to say around a mouthful of cookies, so that's exactly what she does.

"So, do we want to exchange small talk a bit first, or get down to it?" Wyn wonders, quirking an eyebrow and lifting cup and saucer tidily. "I've summarized the salient facts about the case, and also the strongest historical precedent attendant to them. There are also some quotations on ethics I obtained from both some borrowed Harper texts and my own Healer scrolls on the subject from when I was an apprentice."

"I think it would be best for everyone concerned," G'deon says carefully, voice kept specifically neutral as he keeps his gaze trained on the summary, "if we got straight to the point. I believe we're all agreed as to whether or not there needs to be an execution." Finally, he looks up to glance at both Wyn and Vaeli alternatively. "We just need to find an... agreeable method."

"Before we begin, I'll state that my own leaning is towards as merciful a method of death as possible, so that my bias is clear," Wyn raises her hands, either in self-absolution or something less defined. "But in general, Healer ethics state that, if one -must- do harm in order to heal, do so swiftly and as painlessly as possible. We can extrapolate that we're harming Uriala in order to heal the fabric of weyr society, if you like. Harper is more in the way of observing that the method of an action sends a message as much or more than the action itself."

G'deon nods slowly as he leans back once more, leaning against the couch's armrest. "That's rather interesting, really," he states after a moment's thought. "Uriala claims to be acting as a healer on society itself. Perhaps she missed the part regarding the harm caused to do so." He waves a hand slightly, however, already discounting the thought as irrelevant. "So the question becomes, which messages are we willing to give, and to whom?"

Vaeli eyes flash briefly at the 'merciful death', but otherwise makes no gesture or comment aside from finishing off the snack in her hand. "Uriala could have just as easily claimed to be helping nature with it's natural selection." In which she missed a few, but that doesn't get voiced. "While I agree that, perhaps, long and drawn out is unnecessary," G'deon gets a pointed look, "We need something more substantial than simply putting her to sleep like the family canine." If they do such things on Pern. The point is there, nonetheless.

"Why do we need something more substantial, Vaeli?" Wyn wonders, the question simple, honest and direct. And accompanied by a nibble of cookie.

G'deon gives Vaeli a brief look, but that is all. The heat is long gone as far as their previous argument goes. He turns instead to Wyn, waiting to hear her reaction. At Wyn's question, the very briefest and smallest of tugs pulls a corner of his mouth back in what might almost have been a smile... except it's definitely not a smile. He shifts, propping an ankle on his knee. He's just so relaxed, see? Totally at ease. Or maybe he's bored. Tired! That's it. He's just tired. Can he be tired and restless at the same time?

"Sleep is a little -too- merciful. I'll concede the point and admit that allowing Thread to have her may be a little...disturbing, to some." Vaeli's expression clearly says that she wouldn't be included in that 'some'. "It's the fact of the matter with a little anger, yes. There are people that have been killed or hurt in a far less merciful way that simply going to sleep. You remember the mobs when Pyrene fell. They, and I, need more closure than a apparently sleeping body. Beheading is quick, merciful, painless, and quite visibly final."

"So, for closure, we need to see her body publicly desecrated in death?" Wyn wonders, the words sharp and precise, even if the tone behind them is cool and measured. She punctuates the thought with a sip of the herbal tea. "Have you considered allowing the disposal of the corpse to function in this regard? A public burning in the middle of the bowl, for example?"

"Her pulse will stop, her brain will die... is she any less dead with her head still attached?" G'deon asks, barely missing a drawling tone to his voice. But he shrugs. He and Vaeli hardly need to get into this all over again. Again, he looks to Wyn. "I just don't feel that's enough justification for something so... messy. While the weyrfolk /might/ want some sort of gratification out of this, I don't think seeing a beheaded body or a bodiless head is what they need to see. Let them see her for dead, let them know we made the decision to execute her and why. But I see no reason to literally spill her blood simply to give /us/ gratification." Then he subsides once more.

"Yes. Death needs to be seen, not presumed. Are you going to allow each and every disbeliever 'desecrate' her body by checking for a pulse, G'deon?" Vaeli's own voice comes out controlled, but there is heat underneath them. She inhales sharply in lieu of actually retorting further and reheating their prior argument, and finally scoots herself to rest against the back of the couch. At Wyn's latter suggestion, Vaeli's face closes over, contemplating for a long moment. "I hadn't," she admits slowly, reluctantly. "But the idea is, sadly, appealing."

"So then, let's compromise. Let her death be private, and her funeral public," Wyn suggests, glancing from weyrleader to weyrwoman in turn. "Thus allowing us to avoid becoming the sort of monsters we seek to prevent, but also assuring the weyrfolk that she is, indeed, dead."

G'deon gives Vaeli a look that borders on disbelieving... except he's just too tired to truly carry out the entire expression, really. It's all just so dulled by now. "That would be fine," he replies to Wyn finally, regarding the pyre idea, "as long as no one gets it into their heads that it's some sort of... rite of martyrdom. Unless, of course, we truly /are/ corrupt and need the masses to rise up and revolt." The statement holds sarcasm perhaps, but oddly enough, his tone only carries a hint of it.

Vaeli returns G'deon's look with hard stare of her own before turning back to the weyrsecond. "I agree, then." She has no comment on the martyrdom remark, sarcastic or not. "My only other question. Who will carry it out, and when?"

"I would suggest as soon as possible," Wyn voices, the tea set down, and the summary picked up, along with a new pair of reading glasses. "As for the who, it should either be weyr leadership, or the captain of the guard. If we do use poison, I'd like to be involved, as a Healer would have significant conflicts with their oaths, but I have enough training to be able to calculate and prepare a lethal dose."

"I'll handle it," G'deon answers quietly. He stares at the summary in front of him for a moment, but in a distracted way, not really trying to read anything. "I've stated I would, and I told Uriala as much. But I don't want to be involved with the public display, unless some sort of... statement is required." Faranth. A speech?

Vaeli had figured as much from G'deon and is thus unsurprised. "Poison would be the best means considered the method of death. If it will be a leadership ordeal, I say let Wyn take care of the dosage, and G'deon can carry it out." She closes her eyes briefly while some unknown expression distorts her face, although a grimace is in there somewhere. "I had hoped to be at a relative distance, but it seems scandalous to have the two of you handle it all. I can help light the pyre."

"As far as public announcement goes, I suggest posting written declarations in advance," Wyn suggests, tone flat and even and betraying nothing of what goes on behind her eyes. Her body language is less composed, as her arms wrap across her chest in a bracing self-hug. "For the actual... procedure, I say we carry it out without spoken announcement. Get it done."

G'deon nods in agreement to Vaeli, waits for Wyn's reaction, then begins to gather his things. "I'll speak to Zethlen. The execution itself should be as quiet and quick as possible. We should probably decide on who should be in attendance, other than the three of us, and likely Zethlen as well. Perhaps Pyrene, if it can be managed. Anyone beyond that would need a pretty good reason, I think."

Vaeli has since lost her fire. Inner fire, that is. A quiet rumble issues from her stomach, but the slight tint of green on her features suggests that the goldrider won't be eating any time soon. "Pyrene has a right, if she wishes and is able to be moved. I'll leave the written announcement to you two, and input if necessary." Vae, left to her own devices, would most like end up writing something similar to 'Ding dong, the witch is dead'. "Day after tomorrow, perhaps?"

"That... seems acceptable. Perhaps, given that she's willingly accepted her death, we can simply conduct this in the ground weyrs, then carry the body out to the bowl." After this, Wyn falls silent, staring meditatively at a knot in the surface of the coffee table.

"That should give us enough time to prepare," G'deon agrees, tucking the summary into his folder for more thorough reading later on. "I'm sure we can think of something suitable for the announcement," he adds, glancing at Wyn quickly. "And... we should speak with Pyrene. Soon," he adds, looking at Vaeli. "If there's nothing further, I will have a quick word with the guard captain... and ask Elehu whether she or another Healer can attend to... officially pronounce." At least, that seems to be the correct wording.

The last to arrive, first to leave. The more Vaeli broods over the matter, the less vitality she has and the more sickly color she gains. "It's settled, then. Thank you, Wyn, for finding us a...solution." The stack of pages is likewise picked up as she stands. "I'll talk with her." Pyrene that is. "I need to head down to the infirmary anyway. G'deon, if you find Elehu before I do, please tell her I'd like to speak with her at her earliest convenience." It's toned as a neutral request, but Vaeli nonetheless nods her farewell towards Wyn and makes a hasty retreat outward without waiting for the answer.

Wyn 's voice is quiet enough to be nearly inaudible as she nods Vaeli out. Her murmur is simply "As weyrsecond, solutions are my job."

G'deon watches Vaeli leave with a weary expression on his face before he finally stands as well. "And I'm happy to see you're as good at those solutions as always," he says to Wyn, obviously having caught the nearly inaudible statement. "Which reminds me, if it's true you've taken I'anex under your wing, so to say, when he's ready, I'd suggest naming him as a second weyrsecond. He's capable enough. And as recent events have shown, we won't be around forever." He latches the clasp on his leather folder to make sure nothing falls out during the short trip from the ledge to the bowl. Via dragon, of course. "It's probably not worth mentioning to him, though, until we've both thought it over and agreed he's ready, whether it takes months or Turns. But I wanted to bring it up now." Folder secure, future secure, at least for the next couple days, he then nods, turns, and heads back out into the morning. There are so many things to prepare.

"I'll float the idea when he seems ready for it... I'm glad you approve, though." And with a small smile beneath the wan and the wry, Wyn nods to G'deon's departure.

End of Log

Vaeli informs Pyrene of the execution, while coming horribly close to actually asking for help.

Infirmary
Echoing and austere, blank stone walls are vaulted high to overshadow the row of white-curtained cots along the back wall. Ancient metal gleams steel-bright in the form of sinks and examination table, lit relentlessly by bright glows and reflecting the colours of bottles and jars shelved above. Padlocked cabinets hide the more dangerous drugs and implements, whilst healer paraphernalia litters one solid oak table with sweetly-fragranced herbs and tattered scrolls. A small hearth contains a fire usually banked low, several cauldrons set ready nearby to for heating water. A dark staircase twists up from one corner to the dragonhealer's lair; one low door leads into the lower caverns, another... [look closer]
Comfortable on top of a cupboard are four firelizards.
You see Examination Area 1 and Examination Area 2 here.
You notice Morallen and Elehu asleep here.
Pyrene is here.
Obvious exits:
Ground Weyrs Inner Caverns Healers' Quarters

Pyrene
Slight and spindly, her frame is nevertheless held as stubbornly tall as possible, falling only just shy of average height. Curves have in part softened the sharp angles of old, turning scrawny and frail into stocky and trim, while breast and hip testify to her motherhood. Still, there's nothing neat about the lank tendrils of dark brown hair as they escape the skimpy plait that struggles to keep them under control. Plaguing her point-nosed, thin-lipped face, they only serve to emphasise the peakiness of her complexion. Yet if there were any doubts about her vitality, the grey eyes that snap out from beneath dark brows eliminate them as effectively as twin thunderstorms.
Cords of black, blue and sea-washed gold tangle their way through an elaborate configuration of loops, marking her as Sr Weyrwoman for High Reaches Weyr.
She is an adult of about 45. She is awake, but seems rather distracted.

A quiet scuffle of shoes across the floor signifies an arrival of someone or another, followed by a fluffing random curtains before Vaeli finally sticks her upper half around one to peer at Pyrene. "Pyrene? Are you awake?"

Pyrene was alerted to Vaeli's imminent arrival by Cadgwith who has been shamelessly keeping tabs on Nissionath. However, there's no need for her to tell Vaeli this, she can merely adapt her pre-planned opener: "I've been awake for several days now, wondering when you might visit me. I take it the news has only just reached your ears?"

Vaeli has a somewhat guilty look cross over her face before rearranging it into some semblance of composed as she moves herself closer to Pyrene's bedside. A quick glance gives her the more visible elements of the weyrwoman's state, and she can't quite keep the grimace away. Somewhat indignantly, "I was here most of the morning that day." Now in a more defensive tone, "I've been meaning to come by. I have." If she were a kid, she'd be toeing the ground with a foot and studying her shoe.

Pyrene sighs. "Well, if you've been aiming to remind me that I'm not Weyrwoman anymore, you've done a fine job. I'm fully aware that I've been cut out of the loop. I've not seen anyone in high authority since Uriala's arrest." She winces, still unsettled at the identity of her would-be-murderer. "Except Marond and he seemed more bothered about other things. So, since you've finally come to see me now, what's brought you? It had better be something more interesting than a duty visit." Aware that Vaeli's senior or not, it doesn't seem that Pyrene's willing to bow down to her to just yet.

Vaeli keeps her chin up, proverbially speaking. Even Vaeli's sharpness can't make her be rude to an invalid. At least, not immediately. "I had figured that seeing me would have made the idea more...potent. I had assumed at least G'deon would have came by." She pulls up the nearest stool and perches herself, feet hooked under one of the stool's rungs and elbows on her knees. "And it's not quite a complete duty visit, to be honest, although I have some things I thought would be of interest to you." A sickly tinge of green still roughs up her features, but aside from that and the still apparent guilt over the current situation, she looks relatively composed.

Pyrene is good enough to drop the lecturing act, with the faintest of pouts at the mention of G'deon. He definitely didn't come by then--and she's perhaps more upset by this than by Vaeli's absence. "I'll take anything interesting these days. Cadge, bless her, isn't the best gossip in the Weyr." She steeples her fingers over her chest: it's about the only attitude of old that she's able to maintain in her enforced horizontal position.

The physical proof that her upper half is somewhat of a relief to Vaeli, but it goes uncommented. "I suppose you'll be happy to know that we've decided on her punishment." Duty-ish stuff first, the aforementioned 'Her' should be an obvious reference to Pyrene's would-be killer.

Despite the composure she's affecting, Pyrene swallows visibly at that and definitely stiffens. "And?"

"Execution. G'deon and I were unable to agree on any more than that, on our own." Vaeli's disgruntled expression amid her sickly-looking features must be an amusing sight. "Although Wyn helped us to a compromise."

Pyrene breathes out, steeling herself against a shudder. "Execution how? Is that the compromise?" Apart from her stillness, all attempts at calm have been dropped, and both her tone and the eyes fixed on Vaeli are urgent.

Vaeli opts for a less rigid appearance and rests her chin in her hands. "The execution was the agreement. The method was the argument. I had wanted to let Thread have her. He wanted to simply put her to sleep." her tone clearly says what she thinks about that, but she doesn't elaborate further. The actual decided compromise is evaded, for the moment.

Pyrene rolls her eyes--plainly thinking this would have gone a lot more smoothly had she been allowed to have her say. This characteristic action marks a restoration of composure, but there's still an edge to her voice as she asks: "And the compromise?"

Vaeli sighs. "Death by poison and public burning of her body. The death will be private. G'deon, Wyn, and I. Zethlen, perhaps. A healer on stand-by for the pronouncement. You, if you wish it."

Pyrene makes a choking sound, and when she speaks her voice is trembling on the knife-edge of its tone. "Poison? We're wasting healer supplies on that woman? Slit her throat and be done with it. At least a knife can be re-sharpened and blood-stains serve as a reminder to later miscreants." She does not answer to the suggestion that she be present. Not yet.

Vaeli rolls a knotless shoulder in an attempt to relieve the tension in her back. "I said something to the issue, but G'deon argued so fiercely about it, I budged down to a beheading. When -that- wasn't satisfactory, we came to our compromise. G'deon gets his quiet death, I get my closure. Of course, I personally believe G'deon wanted the poison of some sort or another because he intends to carry out the death himself." A little of Vae's old fire pops back into her eyes, although she keeps the heat relatively out of her voice. "Easier to hand over a vial than land an axe, I suppose."

Pyrene snorts. "I would have thought it would be more appropriate to let Zethlen do it. Apart from anything else, he's the one with the most practice. Uriala won't be the first person we've executed. G'deon's too bloody soft--probably because she's a woman." Clearly vindictive, she's rousing herself, and a rumble comes from the ground weyrs. Immediately Pyrene subsides--partially. "Oh, what does it matter. It's not my problem. Let's go soft on the woman who thought she'd kill a few people include the senior bloody queen dragon of--" Another rumble, and she breaks off, face flushed.

Vaeli takes to biting on her thumbnail. Bad habit, she knows. She's almost as irked about the matter as Pyrene, but the events of the day have left her too weary to protest overmuch about anything. "I suggested that. Again, he refused. Something tells me there won't be much we'll agree on in the coming years. How did you manage to get along, happily, with the man?" Granted, there aren't many men Vaeli -does- get along with, but that's beside the point. She holds her other comments about the matter, biting on that thumbnail until the former weyrwoman leaves off again. "It'll be the day after tomorrow. I'm sure we can find a way to get you out there to see her death, if not the pyre. Will you come?"

"I'll come," Pyrene says, voice hard. She swallows again, and her expression changes along with the topic--quite possibly dragon-enforced. "G'deon and you are disagreeing? He and I got on quite happily--but that was based on mutual respect and trust. I was in the same situation with Ike who was my first Weyrleader. M'nty on the other hand... I didn't trust. Not in that I thought he was a bad person, I just wasn't sure he was ready to take on the job. And those were the hardest turns I had as Weyrwoman." Admittedly, there were a few other reasons for them to be hard.

Vaeli takes the RSVP in stride and only nods, using her other fingernails to smooth the edges on the abused one. "We've only spoken a handful of times since then, or even less. Perhaps it's the weight of the immediate problem, but he's quite... bull-headed." She pauses and studies her handiwork on the nail, which she has deftly screwed up and tries to rectify. "What was your first decision as Weyrwoman?"

Vaeli takes the RSVP in stride and only nods, using her other fingernails to smooth the edges on the abused one. "We've only spoken a handful of times since then, or even less. Perhaps it's the weight of the immediate problem, but he's quite... bull-headed." She pauses and studies her handiwork on the nail, which she has deftly screwed up and tries to rectify. "What was your first decision as Weyrwoman?"
Pyrene blinks, surprised, and laughs. "Probably to put on some clothes. Something banal anyway..." She awkwardly turns her head, angling her gaze to meet Vaeli's eyes as straight as possible. "Vaeli, let's be honest. I was not ready to step down as Weyrwoman, and whatever your hopes may have been, you weren't expecting to step up to the knot so soon. Acknowledged?"

Vaeli mimics the blink and surprise, but at the fact that the woman actually laughed in Vaeli's presence. She works to reply something to the effect of too much information, but as the conversation carries on, Vae simply shuts her slack mouth, meets Pyrene's gaze, and nods. "If ever, to tell the truth. I've only ever been trained as a subordinate, Pyrene, even before Nissionath. It's all I know."

Pyrene grimaces, instantly realising a flaw in her own management. Still, she had already been aware that Vaeli was not her choice of successor. "Well, I'm not happy at this state of events, but..." she pauses to emphasise that word, eyebrows raising since she's already staring at Vaeli as hard as she can, "... I'm not going to fight it. After what's happened, I don't know if I want to be Weyrwoman again anyway." She's certainly in no emotional state for it, but she chooses not to raise that. "Cadgwith's brought this up with me. It's an odd transfer of power--an engineered one, even if we didn't have anything to do with it. There must /not/ be any doubt that Nissionath is the senior queen. Cadge will follow Nissi, and I will follow you." Halfway through that sentence, it became obvious that she wished she'd started it with a different choice of words, but she finishes it nonetheless.

Vaeli, surprising in her own way, doesn't hop onto the 'Me Boss, You Peon' bandwagon. "I understand what you're saying. But I can't help my doubts." Her lack of a ranked knot should attest to that. With a deep sigh and a mutter about not believing she's actually saying what she is, "I was dealt this roll of the dice, so I won't argue with it. But I'm not..." She trails off, losing her nerve to admit any vulnerability to this particular woman. "I'm sure you'll have plenty to say if things don't happen to be going right. I hear you'll be up and about before too long." A sorry attempt at humor, but it's there, nonetheless, with a small amount of hope in the background.

"You are, naturally, welcome to come and consult me." Pyrene phrases it delicately. "I don't expect you to face this alone." She sighs suddenly. "Right now though, I need a rest. It's funny how even dull pain can be so tiring. Do come back later, Vaeli." Half permission, half command, they've got a long way to go before the ranks are truly reversed but at least they've made the first steps.

Vaeli, being the admitted trained subordinate, doesn't argue the cue to leave. Perhaps its the weary events of late, but she just doesn't have the fire to rebel. "I'll let the healer know that you might need something if sleep doesn't come. I'll try to visit again before the execution." Vaeli pauses, then decides to leave that as her farewell before moving past the curtains in the direction she came.

End of Log

I've been a busy little thing today.

Vaeli goes to see Elehu about getting something a little more potent for her migraines.

Infirmary
Echoing and austere, blank stone walls are vaulted high to overshadow the row of white-curtained cots along the back wall. Ancient metal gleams steel-bright in the form of sinks and examination table, lit relentlessly by bright glows and reflecting the colours of bottles and jars shelved above. Padlocked cabinets hide the more dangerous drugs and implements, whilst healer paraphernalia litters one solid oak table with sweetly-fragranced herbs and tattered scrolls. A small hearth contains a fire usually banked low, several cauldrons set ready nearby to for heating water. A dark staircase twists up from one corner to the dragonhealer's lair; one low door leads into the lower caverns, another to weyrhealers' quarters. Barn-sized doors open inwards with creak of hinges from the ground weyr.
Comfortable on top of a cupboard are three firelizards.
You see Examination Area 1 and Examination Area 2 here.
You notice Morallen and Pyrene asleep here.
Elehu is here.
Obvious exits:
Ground Weyrs Inner Caverns Healers' Quarters

Elehu
With curves in most of the right places, even if she's still a bit on the thin side, Elehu is well into the supposed best years of her life. Slim she may be, but she is certainly not weak, with a hearty and stubborn build that belies her more studious duties. Her hands are small, but her fingers are slender and nimble, and her fair skin has a slightly pinkish cast that could probably do with a bit more time under the sunlight. Of course, this is only fitting considering her rank and profession; her days of wandering outside the confines of the Weyr are long gone. Her rich brown hair falls just past her shoulders, soft streaks of reddish gold accenting her hazel-brown eyes with a subtly reserved inner fire. Both eyes and hair have been touched by age, however; whispers of wrinkles delicately peek out from the outer corners of the almond-shaped eyes, and some of those lighter strands of hair have an oddly grey tint to them.
Gauzy fabric of delicate green hangs from Elehu's neck by slender cords, falling to just below her chest where it has been tied back securely with another pair of those flimsy strings. Midriff is quite bare, revealing creamy skin delicately touched by the sun. Fitting snugly at the hips she wears a skimpy pair of shorts of the same fabric but a shade darker in hue, leaving slender legs exposed. When dry, the material is quite relaxed in almost a downy state, but when wet, it leaves little to the imagination.
She is an adult of about 40. She is awake, but seems rather distracted.

Elehu is enjoying an unusually quiet infirmary this evening, taking full advantage of it by getting caught up on her hidework. Several books are stacked neatly on her desk in the farthest corner from the main entrance. A bookcase next to it is similarly loaded down, though everything is in such /tidy/ piles. Spread out across the majority of the desk is a large ledger, a notebook and a long scroll. On all three, Elehu's small, neat handwriting can be seen in abundance. She is adding to them now. The infirmary itself is relatively empty. Pyrene sleeps in the back near Elehu's desk, the last of the riot victims sleep near the entrance, and a pregnant woman sleeps fitfully somewhere between, waiting out the last term.

Vaeli, in some pretense that one must stay quiet in even an relatively empty sickroom, enters through a crack in the door. Her slippers scrape considerably less than her boots would, and she lingers within a few feet to sort out the small number of patients from the healer(s) present. Her robe is wrapped tight around herself, and she looks very much like someone half asleep or half dead. "Elehu?" The goldrider makes her way to said healer's perch and glances around at the orderly mess. "Can I be a bother for a moment, or is this something immediately important?"

Elehu looks up once she notices she's no longer the only waking non-apprentice in the area and smiles up at Vaeli. She quickly cleans off the nib of her pen, sets it aside and recorks her ink bottle. "Vaeli," she says, sounding politely surprised and chipper, though she also manages to keep her voice soft. Force of long, long habit. "I was wondering when I'd see you. Heard you'd stopped by earlier. Been back and forth between Ista and here just about every single day lately," she explains briskly, unusually chatty for the Healer, which is saying something. She motions to either of the two chairs on the opposite side of the desk. "Please, take a seat. I was wondering how you were getting along."

Vaeli gives a wane smile. "It's been a rough and busy few days for everyone, I think." she replies in answer. No further elaboration, as the past sevenday has held a plethora of problems that the basics of are well-enough known. Conversationally, "Ista was quite lovely earlier this week. I envy your trips." Getting down to the point quickly, she sits and explains. "I've been bothered by increasingly tough migraines. Chamomile tea helps a little, if I close the glows and stay relatively unstressed, but." The last should be obviously impossible these days. "I was wondering if, perhaps, I could get something a little more...potent."

"I like to prescribe free days quite liberally," Elehu responds, regarding Ista. "It recharges the mind and body, and who can't use that now and then? The better if it's on a warm, tropical beach." Okay, to business then. Ele nods a little and stops her hand from straying towards her pen. Another habit. "But there's little time to give to these bodily aches and pains these days?" she asks softly, lips curving into a gentle smile. She leans forward and rests her forearms on the desk, fingers folding together. "I think I can probably help with something more than teas and other concoctions. How often do you get these migraines? And are they triggered by something known, or happen randomly?" The more she talks business, the crisper her voice gets, as if eager to get straight to the point by the most efficient path possible.

"If I could jaunt down to Ista on a regular basis, I definitely wouldn't be in here complaining of aches and pains." Weak and tired humor, but humor just the same. Vaeli settles herself in her habitual way by hooking her ankles under the stool's rung and resting her arms across her knees. "Once a day. And I only say once a day because they have become one long headache from start to finish." Haltingly, she continues. She's not used to explaining even her physical problems on a regular basis. "Stress is an immediate problem. Noise sets my head self-imploding. Lack of sleeps adds to the effect, I think. Anything that gets my blood to boiling, so to speak."

"Well, hopefully things will calm down very soon," Elehu offers, the sympathy quite plain in her voice. "I've already spoken with G'deon about the preparations and the like." Her head gives a minute shake and she reaches up to smooth her hair back from her face, carefully retying the ribbon holding the dark strands back. "If you need to talk about any of it, Vaeli, before or after, it's what I'm here for," she offers as a reminder before leaning forward against the desk again. She nods slowly a couple times as Vaeli explains, replying at first with, "So basically, day to day life in the weyr these days," her mouth at a wry angle. "Is it mostly pain, or do you get dizzy as well? Do you see spots?" Her hands unclasp as she starts to reach for her pen again. She does take it this time, but she makes no other move just yet.

Vaeli, inevitably, gains that same ole faint green tint at the mention of the execution, but doesn't comment, lest she lose her supper. To talking: "That's...rather nice of you, Elehu. Everyone is so unsettled about the matter, they'd rather leave hard topics quiet. I'll remember that." She pauses and contemplates her symptoms. "Mostly pain, some nausea and seeing spots in the worst moments, but no dizziness to merit. Makes it a trifle to sleep, and no sleep causes it more, which completely the circle, ironically."

Elehu smiles slightly, and her slender shoulders lift in a small shrug. "It's something new for me as well... but death is not. Nor is the human condition, as my mentor liked to call it. Which conveniently applies to just about everything." She leans to the side and lightly rests her chin in her free hand. "Not that I've seen everything... and now I'm talking in circles. I'm sorry. Yes, I can certainly see what you mean about the migraines, however." She taps the blunted end of the heavy pen against the desk a few times, barely tapping the dark surface. "For now, I'll give you something for the next two nights. Trust me, it'll knock you out within the candlemark. After that, I have something a little more mild, and then we can go back to the brews and concoctions mentioned earlier until we find something that works. Sound like a plan?"

Vaeli grimaces. "To be honest, I'm glad for healers, but I don't envy your profession. Body functions and ailments, and death, make me rethink any possible meals in the near future." Her own tousled hair is given a run-through with one hand as the grimace turns into weak eagerness. "Sounds perfect. I really have no wish to overdose, one downed weyrwoman is enough for a weyr, so could I have some written instructions? Perhaps after this situation is handled, they'll subside. I worry, though. My father was plagued with migraines for turns. Are they hereditary?"

Elehu laughs in return. "It's the price we pay for the good things that come with it," she says as she gets to her feet. "If you do have trouble keeping food down, there are things we can try for that as well. Though usually a good chat can do just as much good as any herbal grew we can invent. But when it doesn't, we have herbs a plenty." She gestures for Vaeli to follow as she starts walking towards a section of cabinets, complete with a small stove and a water basin. "For now, I'll just give you what you need. Protocol, you see. Tonight and tomorrow night we'll use fellis, and..." She shrugs. "I don't really need to state the warnings, I suppose. But since the break-ins a few Turns back, we've had to up the ante, so to say." As she speaks, she continues working, unlocking two cabinets and pulling out small, plain vials and larger, clearly marked bottles. It takes a minute or two, but in the end, she has two identical vials of an odd, brown liquid two which she adds a drop each of fellis. "When the troublemaker started selling... moonshine products," she comments towards the end, "well, it's better to keep some information to oneself until absolutely needed. So until we reach that point," as she tightly corks the vials and puts the other items away, "this will have to do." She holds the vials out towards the weyrwoman. "Tastes bad, but if you mix it with juice and drink really quickly, it'll help you sleep like nothing else."

Vaeli follows obediently. Don't want to annoy the people handing out medicine, you know. Her eyes widen a little at the fellis, but she's not about to argue. Several different looks cross her face at the various point in Elehu's elaborations, from the surprised to knowing, to amused. "You are a miracle in the making, Elehu. Nothing like shooting medication like a shot of quikal." The wane smile, happier now, returns to her face as she accepts the vials. "My head loves you. And will even more once I get back to my weyr and take one of these." Which she intends to do immediately.

Elehu's eyes twinkle slightly as she gives Vaeli a warm smile. "You are neither the first nor the last to have trouble with headaches and sleeping, Vaeli. You're never really alone, so you shouldn't need to fight these things alone. Like I said earlier, it's what I'm here for." She grabs a folded towel on the counter to give the surface a quick swipe, though it's not really needed. So many habits! "After the second night, try to stop in at some point to let me know how these worked for you, and we'll talk about the next steps to take."

Vaeli looks increasingly close to hugging the woman, but it only takes a little effort to refrain. "I appreciate that, especially since I'm accustomed to keeping things on the inward level. Easier that way, sometimes." She shrugs and tugs the robe back into place where it slipped open. Mind, there are clothes underneath, so don't get any ideas. "I'll be sure to come back. The...execution is that day, so more than likely I'll be needing something, be it just a talk or something else." Again, that look a pregnant woman gives a cupcake crosses over the goldrider, but she flashes a farewell grin and picks her way back across the room.

End of Log

Memo:

Sun, 19 Feb 2006 05:05:41 GMT

Judging by the slightly rushed writing and the indentions left on the hide, one can assume Vaeli crawled back out of the bed to write this on the tail end of said discussion.

Weyrsecond Wyn,

G’deon and I discussed the method in which Uriala’s execution is to be carried out. A conclusion was near impossible, although we were able to agree on providing you with a list of our respective acceptable solutions in the hopes a third party will help the decision to be made. I had mentioned letting Thread take care of the problem, but in hindsight, perhaps beheading might be the better alternative.

We three should call a meeting between ourselves before the sevenday is out. The quicker it is over with, the better.

P.S. Those herbs work wonders for my headaches, provided I don’t have any other... stressful interactions during or immediately after their usage. Thank you.

The author, apparently still unaccustomed to her new title, simply signs the memo;

Vaeli

Execution problems.

Sun, 19 Feb 2006 04:25:03 GMT

Vaeli and G'deon have a heated 'discussion' on how to execute Uriala.

Vae's IC thoughts on the matter? That G'deon is about as thick-skulled as a mule, or the Pernese equivalent.

> There is a pause as he allows a dark haze of evergreen-scented fog to settle. << And you are looking lovely, I must say. >>

Nissionath shifts slightly to one side to allow a bit of landing room for the bronze. She simply nudges her head in the general direction of the weyr. << Go ahead. She has a headache, but she'll speak with yours. >> A vague sense of amusement and appreciation flip outwards from her senses at the compliment, but can't, or refuses, to comment.

G'deon pats Nylanth's leg once, then smiles slightly to Nissionath. "Thank you," he states with a wave before he heads into the weyr.

Bourbon Street
Austere and intimidating, the polished granite stone of the queen's couch dominates the first and longest segment of the indoor living quarters. Beyond it, behind a heavy canvas serving as a door for the person-wide opening, lies the sumptuous residence of the rider. In the main living area there are several comfortable-looking chairs, deeply padded and upholstered in a well-aged dark, rich burgundy hued leather. Along one wall near the hearth, a skybroom wine holder serves dual purposes in displaying a varied stash of liquors and hides. The range of plush deep reds could give a Vintner's red wine cellar a run for its money, broken up only by the sooty bourbon-like golds interspersed here and there. Most of the furnishings -a small four-person dining table, a trunk, and a bed-- make use of dark hardwoods, polished to an antique shine and silkily smooth from turns of use, coupled with lush materials such as soft leather and lavish short velvet. Hidden in a bubble-like alcove is the large four-poster bed, complete with heavy hanging draperies and a black-spotted wild feline's fur on the floor.
To the west, you see a gold and a bronze dragon and one person.
Gliding above is a gold firelizard.
You see Knick-knack Box here.
Obvious exits:
R&R Retreat Crash Pad

G'deon quietly strides in from the Nissionath's Crash Pad.

Taptaptap goes the stylus in Vaeli's hand as she contemplates over the small hidebook in front of her. The woman is currently seated on the edge of a chair at the small dining table, ankles crossed, and chin in hand. A pot is hanging over the crackling hearth, smelling of some herb or another, and it takes Vaeli a good ten seconds to tear her eyes up enough to properly greet the newcomer. "G'deon." Casual. Distracted.

"Vaeli," G'deon returns, matching tone for tone. "Mind if I take a seat?" he asks, walking slowly into the weyr. He does take a necessary glance at the various surroundings, but it's half-hearted at best. "I'm sure you've read Wyn's report by now," he continues after a pause.

"Please." The stylus-encumbered hand waves invitingly towards the various perches available, although one of the other dining chairs around the table would prove the most effective for a conversational distance. She grimaces at the mention of Wyn's report. "I have. Of course, I don't think we needed to be told that Uriala has completely lost her mind." After an inward sigh, she shuffles some of the hides around her book into a slightly neater stack. "I hadn't known about the Fort Weyr incident."

G'deon does choose one of the dining chairs, slowly settling into it as if first wanting to make sure it could hold him. Proving its worth, the chair holds, and G'deon relaxes somewhat. "True. And I'm not sure anyone knew about it until her confession. Perhaps Fort will be grateful for the... clarity?" he says, frowning at the last word before shaking his head a tiny bit. He studies his palms for a moment, then lets them fall to his lap before looking to Vaeli instead. "I've been giving it a lot of thought... and while I'm not happy about it, the records we have on such things don't leave much room for question. We'll have to execute her." His voice is low. Lower than it's usual timbre, that is. And the look on his face is washed of everything except lingering doubt.

Vaeli watches G'deon's progress towards learning to trust the chair. A simple agreeable grunt is the reply to 'clarity', but the latter gets a slightly more animated reaction. Vae's chair scraps quietly as she pushes herself up from the table and moves the few feet away to the fire. The pot is now known to have some sort of steaming liquid inside as part of it is transferred into a cup retrieved from the mantle. "I've figured as much. What else can we do? The people will cry for bloodshed if she doesn't die." Opting for standing at the edge of the table, she pauses in her speaking as a pale mask coats her features. "The only question is how we should do it."

"And we can hardly leave her in lock-up for the rest of her life," G'deon replies, turning slightly to watch the rider's progress with mild interest. "And I think rehabilitation is out of the question." He leans sideways against the table, propping his head on a hand. For a moment, he lets the fingers drop down to partially cover closed eyes. Then hand then draws down across his face as he sighs and also stands, suddenly fighting a bout of frustrated restlessness. Striding a few steps off to the side, he stops, scowling with consternation at Nissionath's couch without really seeing it. "None of this makes any sharding sense," he mutters darkly. He looks up to the ceiling and sighs. "She's out of her mind. We can't act on this out of vengeance or spite. So I say we give her fellis. Let her fall asleep and be done with it."

Vaeli repositions the cup to better wrap fingers around the handle and rubs her face with her free hand. "The woman is demented," she agrees firmly, if a little energy-lite. "'Diseased', was it? I don't think the most skilled mindhealer of any sort could fix her." Her shoulders twitch as a shudder runs down her spine. "Fellis seems a little too humane/pleasant for someone like her. It'll be one of the last chances to actually stake someone outside during 'Fall." Vaeli lowers her voice to mutter something about making sure the critter isn't coming back to life as she raises the cup for a large gulp. "Do the records say whether or not it has to be public?"

G'deon continues his contemplation of the ceiling for a couple seconds longer before turning to face Vaeli again. "As much as I have to agree she'd be getting off easy..." He shakes his head and returns to the table to rest his hands on the back of the chair from just moments earlier. "What would it say about us, Vaeli, to cause terror in the last moments of her life, simply because we couldn't be satisfied with anything less? 'She hurt us, so we'll hurt her back'?" He glances at the weyrwoman and shrugs uncomfortably. "If she /had/ managed to succeed in murdering Pyrene, perhaps I'd be more inclined to agree to something more. But what purpose is this... this execution going to serve? An answer to Uriala and a statement to the weyr and Pern. Our answer doesn't need to be, 'Cut us and we'll make you hurt.'"

Vaeli moves to an angle to keep G'deon in sight and lean against the table at the same time. "She did succeed once. Almost a second time. Attempted a third, with a self-admitted list of even more. She's not a pet, G'deon, that we can just hand out one of the favorite abuses of drug users and put to sleep peacefully." Vaeli voice is tired, but firm. "'I believe Pyrene, despite our personal difficulties with one another, deserves something better than that. If we don't execute her, people will assume the punishment for murder will still mean living a life, and if we sing her a lullaby while her heart stops...well. People won't fear the actual punishment."

G'deon shakes his head quickly and crosses his arms. "It's the wrong approach. Yes, Pyrene deserves retribution of some sort, but choosing something specifically because it's painful is still vengeance, and that has no place here," he maintains, speaking a little more quickly than before. "Do you think people would fear a painless death any less than a painful one? Perhaps in some ways, but it's death all the same. And I think letting her live is already out of the question, so there's little point discussing that part of it."

Vaeli eyes G'deon over the rim of her cup. "Going for the mildest possible execution because it's mild is the wrong approach, at least in this case. If staking out for thread is not an option open to you, then let's behead her. If done right, it's quick and painless while being physical enough to suit those of use with a need for vengeance, so to speak."

"It's an /execution/, Vaeli," G'deon says, beginning to frown again, though it's likely not meant to be directed at her. "How is that /mild/? Are you going to tie her to a stake and tell our riders to let the Thread fall to the ground? Are you going to swing the blade that kills her?"

Vaeli is used to frowns, fortunately. "If a very old man or woman dies peacefully in their sleep, is that mild or vicious? Because essentially, giving her a lethal dose of fellis is the same thing, just different outward causes." Her voice is quieter now. "I hadn't any intention on tying the ropes myself, or swinging the blade, nor handing over the vial or choking the fellis down her throat. Quite frankly, if I weren't who I am now, I wouldn't be there at all." Pause. "Who are you thinking should carry it out, G'deon?"

Frustration is blatant in G'deon's face by now, though the only outward action he takes is an overall tightening in his body. After a long moment, he finally replies with a strained, "Your logic here is flawed, Vaeli," as if he'd like to say more. His head turns slightly to the side and he closes his eyes tightly for a second before resuming an intent look. Right. Let's be civil, please. "No. I'll be the one to carry it out. So I'm going to make damned well sure it's as close within the bounds of morality as capital punishment can be." Finally, he untangles his arms and rests his hands a little too lightly on the back of the chair. "If Pyrene is not happy with the payment of a life in return for her injuries, I would be rather forced to question her character. I will /not/," he continues, one hand tightening on the chair, "carry out an act of petty and lethal vengeance. Nor will I allow one to be carried out, if I can sharding well help it." He stops there, thankfully, pulled back either of his own accord or his lifemate's. Visibly, at least, he seems to relax again, now that he's said his piece.

Vaeli's quietness is finally showing itself on her formerly reserved expression for what it is: severely unnerved and somewhat aggravated. The cup is drained, refilled, and promptly sipped on again as a forefinger and thumb alternate between the bridge of her nose and left temple. "I never claimed it was perfect, G'deon." Yes, the sentence construction and tone is made to be somewhat mocking. "Is that why you're screaming for fellis overdose? Since handing over a vial will be the easiest and most bloodless resort?" A snort tells what Vaeli thinks of that. "Give Zethlen the option of taking care of it, if he's able. She is, after all, under his immediate jurisdiction and the Captain routinely dolls out punishment to criminals. I'm sure he doesn't have a problem bloodying his hands on his would-be killer."

"Have you not listened to a bloody word I've said, Vaeli," G'deon counters, outright scowling now, and definitely directed at the gold rider this time. "I'm saying it's up to us to decide. And that we had better make sure it's the right decision."

Vaeli fixes a hard stare on the Weyrleader. "I've heard every 'bloody' word. But it's not much of a decision if one half of the decision maker refuses to budge on the decision he's already privately made with himself."

"Then the same can be said for both halves," G'deon concludes, straightening where he stands. "I'll schedule a meeting with Wyn." So this is why there are three people. "I'm sure between the three of us we can come to some sort of agreement."

"I budged." A little. "I had wanted Thread to have her." Vaeli plops back down into her chair with a thud and holds her cup in both hands a few inches from her mouth. "Fine," is replied shortly to the Wynnish-meeting. "It should be before the sevenday is out. I hear the guards surrounding Uriala are getting a little unsettled."

G'deon makes a small, exasperated sound and gestures in a tired wave. "Budged. Fine. Please," see, he can be polite, "send Wyn a list of your suggestions and reasoning, and I'll do the same. And we'll meet as soon as possible." He hitches his riding jacket forward to make it snug across his shoulders. "I'll agree to mete out whichever execution the three of us decide. So if it's something more than poison... I want reasons. That's all." As he continues to speak, the heat slowly leaches out of his voice until it's left quite hollow and very, very tired. To end, he raises both hands to scrub once at his face before letting the hands fall. He takes a slow, deep breath. "And I apologize for lashing out. I know this isn't easy for either of us."

"I want reasons for whatever the method, personally. But I'll have mine to Wyn before tomorrow is gone." The long forgotten book on the table is closed and the hides are pushed away. "For various reasons, some known and others unknown to me, you're stressed. Lashing out is expected." No apology, at least in such literal terms, is offered in return, only a tense shrug as a dismissive gesture. "Go home and get some sleep, G'deon."

G'deon's already narrow eyes narrow a little more, but he keeps his tongue this time. Probably a good thing. He pulls a thin pair of riding gloves from his jacket pockets and tugs them on tightly before nodding once to Vaeli. "Have a good evening, Vaeli." Simple enough. He quickly takes leave of the weyr, and moments later, he and his lifemate are crossing the northern end of the bowl towards their own.

Vaeli glances at the departing G'deon without turning her head his direction. Without a word, she simply finishes her drink, corks the ink, plops the cup on the mantle, and promptly falls into her bed, most like before the Weyrleader can even take off from the ledge.

Men. Le sigh.

Sat, 18 Feb 2006 05:15:41 GMT

Vaeli steals away amidst the chaos in the weyr to visit B'ane for a while.

Warning: Very long log.

Fortress of Solitude
Thick veils of darkness descend on this Spartan chamber to give the impression of a cluttered cloister. Shadows conquer to leave a paradigm of tranquility which is apt to counter and eliminate any negative thoughts no matter how severe. Beacons of glows are aligned in strategic locations mostly in niches around the circumference of the weyr's walls. The bed, rug, chair and hassock are usually clogged with old objects and tools (many broken) like the rest of the room. The rest of the space is endowed with every sized shelf, cranny and basket of everything readable from how to shod a runner to how to pickle fingeroots. Neglect is prevalent: dust, dirt and dirty dishes congesting the flow of the room.
Whispered scents of earth unite with firestone subtleties which ride the cool breeze that lightly caresses anything in its path.
Perched on the bed posts, dresser or desk are three firelizards.
You see Painting for B'ane - Entitled 'Perseverance', Bottle of Benden Red, Gift for B'ane, and Rocky Egg here.
B'ane is here.
Obvious exits:
Aboleoth's Couch Ledge

B'ane
Classic features of a man with a martyr's stoicism also yield one of infinite curiosity. Chestnut brown hair unkemptly overlaps earlobes and the occasional eye. Steeped with mute expression are dark brown eyes assigned to a thoroughly tanned face. Dimples would appear upon the chance of a sporadic smile, their presence not usually known because of the subtlety of their appearance. The five o'clock shadow on a well-set jaw and otherwise Spartan presence hints at one who seems to bear the weight of a world on his shoulders. Balanced facial features are mostly generic in their size range and usually wind chapped to some degree. His shoulders are held well squared and their breadth suited to a man excelling six feet with a 200lb. constitution.
A black calf-skin riding jacket lined with wool tailors to a trim torso. Steel hook and eye clasps fasten the coat closed when flying and are flung open when not. Black leather breeches swathe long legs and refined quadriceps. Old dark boots hiding behind a fresh gloss grace feet, their brims reaching just below the knees. An apparition he might be, all clothed in black, but a bright red linen shirt totally shatters the ensemble as a whole. A thin leather string laxly laces the v-neck gap.
Orange and black tango around a slender cord of bronze denoting its wearer as an Istan bronzerider.

It seems no one is to home. Absent of dragon and human, the fortress however is still disorderly enough to perhaps hide several short people, three canines and perhaps a pony if it really crouched low. But no, there's noise from the far side of the bed and a fuzzy head of hair detaches from the unmade hills of the bedspread. An empty cup, presumably under the bed, gets tossed on a sheet in B'ane's quest for more prehistoric dishware.

Only a quiet, confused 'hmm' is emitted from the goldrider as she stands at the threshold. Vaeli would have assume that Nissionath contacted Aboleoth upon or prior to the pair's arrival, or at the very least some random acknowledgment from the sound of a landing dragon, but stranger things have happened. After a short moment of inspecting and coming to the conclusion of abandonment, she sees the tossed cup in action, followed by the sight of said fuzzy head of hair. Gently toeing some indescribable object out of her immediate footpath, Vaeli winds her way into the weyr and stands very nearby, and opts for simply crossing her arms casually and shifting her weight to one leg. Either by luck or accident, she'll get noticed in a minute, hopefully.

B'ane involuntarily strokes the back of his head to compress the flyaways down a very recent bath has produced. As least greasy hair stays put. "Vaeli." Honest surprise crosses the dragonrider's face while trying to stand fully upright. His shoulder jostles the tallest of four shelves which he attempts to steady with one hand. "I see." It is now that Aboleoth chooses to mention a guest comes. Eyes darken an additional shade. "Did N'ano send you?" Somehow this reeks of the Weyrsecond when B'ane specifically mentioned today not to meddle with hookups, women or anything between the two.

"B'ane." Vaeli quirks one eyebrow on a carefully masked expression at the man as her gaze follows him during the standing upright situation. For a moment, she stays quiet as her eyes stray to the surroundings. "I sent myself, thank you," is said, not unkindly. "I have, or had, very little to do with Istan leadership outside of the politics between weyrs. Excluding yourself. You know that." Leaving her arms crossed as they are, she turns a half circle around to study the wreckage. "Why would N'ano send me? Although I won't argue the point that -someone- needed to be sent."

Well-bred or those used to visitors usually offer a seat, but of course no space is immediately predisposed to seat anyone no matter how small a behind they might sport. A brown firelizard flying to a perch of better preference dislodges a gadget in take off that is probably immediately lost in the junk already on the floor. "Oh. Sorry," acquiescing, "I yelled at him earlier today about his hookups and I thought he was trying to get in one... last... so," a naked expression shows the mild mortification. "What brings you?" Vaeli's last mention winning a look of puzzlement.

Vaeli can't quite quench the genuinely amused grin that climbs onto her face as she twists her upper self around to look at the present company. "Hookups? As in, females-to-share-the-bed-with hookups? Or are we talking about something different? I have to admit, the vision of the former is rather funny." The woman unfolds one arm to try and rub the smile down a notch, with only a little success, so she carefully picks her way closer to one of the cluttered shelves. "Personal. It's cold back home. And I wanted to see you."

"Well I didn't do any laughing." Finally better sense gets a hold of the ex-leader as he maneuvers past the Reachian to tidy a dilapidated loveseat. The springs are broken, but new wooden braces and a cheery throw make it the best in the joint. "He thinks everyone needs love to be happy." That is the embodiment of N'ano's creed. "Take your pick." Reallotting the hides on the small sofa to the floor, his bed is then given similar administrations. And hastily made. "So... Weyrwoman." The new title is stretched on his lips as he takes a shaded position in front of one of the glow baskets.

"Well, I am laughing. With you, of course. Besides. Love isn't such a bad thing for those who have it, I hear." She blows a bit of dust off of yet another object that she couldn't begin to assume it's function, but refrains from actually touching anything. A slight shadow crosses her face as she rolls one shoulder at the new title. "Pyrene is still known at the Weyrwoman, if not in actual station or authority. It's only been a sevenday. Your title, however, is a little foggy. But that's not really the optimal topic of conversation, I'll wager." The loveseat and sofa are given very untrusting looks, and she sits down on the armrest of the former. Lightly, in case those so-called new braces fall apart.

B'ane toes a slipper that has lost its mate. "I'm glad you're here. We don't get many patrons." His hand at host seems to be improving as B'ane starts to rummage quite thoroughly through the maze of horded items - something specific on his mind. "She didn't expire. I was relieved as a good number of us were. There was talk of premeditation?" Tapping into the subject with polite interest over one shoulder while continuing the hunt. Every opening about him is eluded.

Vaeli is currently giving B'ane one of those 'What in the heck are you doing' looks, but refrains from actually making a verbal comment to that effect. "Yes. The healers even have a good hope that she'll walk again, barring any more injuries in the near future. The criminal was caught while trying to murder our captain of the guard. She's currently under guard sitting with a rather nice death penalty." She pauses on that and shudders. "The woman is seriously demented, by Faranth."

B'ane reaches an arm into an opening too small for one. "That's excellent! She could do it, her will is perfectly resilient." And in fact a wine bottle, glazed green, is procured and walked carefully over to the goldrider. "Here. This is the only thing in this whole place that appeals to people." A peeled corner of label is attempted to be pressed back on with a thumb to no success. It's been in here a while. "Did she give a motive or clue as to her purpose?"

Vaeli accepts the bottle carefully, as if the whole thing will shatter, or coat her in dust, any moment. "Something about diseased leadership. She actually left me a note that read: 'Congratulations on your promotion. Wield the power well; it can be a many-edged blade', or something close enough it makes no matter. Of course, this coming from my predecessor's would-be assassin, it's a little..." A pause while trying to find the right word, "unsettling." Which cues another shudder. Finally deciding she's able to trust her perch, Vaeli shifts her weight around so she can prop her back against the loveseat and balance the bottle, as yet unopened, upon a pulled up knee. "All assassinations aside, B'ane, what did you mean by what you said at 'Reaches the other day?" Talk about cryptic information.

B'ane winds up sitting on and bending lanky legs onto a humble little stool. "Oh that." Visually averting to a spot on his left hand side. "I was on a crusade to leave Ista. I seem to have been talked out of it." Articulated modestly with an accent similar, but not identical, to Vaeli's home location. "There's one in every Weyr." Solemnly alluding to assassins. N'ano almost bit the bullet (or blade) once himself. "At least G'deon was left intact to assure some familiarity in Weyr chaos. A better leader doesn't immediately come to mind."

Vaeli does a faint eyeroll, although she is mildly impressed with the accent. Obviously the information was a little too cryptic. Before rectifying the problem, she states, "G'deon leads well, although he's taking the whole situation rather rough. We all are back there, I think. Personally, I keep thinking that it could've been -my- steps to be iced over." To clarify on the early remark, "And I didn't mean that day, dummy," she says in an only half-serious tone. "Although you do have a knack for showing up when Nissionath is glowing and/or about to fly. Coincidence?"

B'ane supports his chin by balancing it on a few knuckles. "No," looking quite intently in the distance. "Your end wouldn't make nearly as much a stronger statement. Sometimes it pays to be in the shadows." Deep expression rattled, eyes then skip back to the face of his friend. "The first time was luck. Or misfortune depending on one's outlook. This time it was Aboleoth. He seems to have an attachment, however slight, to your dragon." Or maybe Aboleoth just likes to make his rider think that to play out his own agenda in what he things will best suit B'ane. "I'm glad he didn't win." Leaning his temple against the side of a shelf in private reflection of the flight.

"Hm. Well. That's comforting. At least no one will attempt my life just for attention." Vaeli, in fact, is not comforted, but that's beside the point. On the second matter, a sardonic smirk appears as she stares at the bronzerider with a slight glaze. "Aside from the fact that you just got rid of one Weyrleader knot as I hear it, and surely wouldn't want another, I didn't think we were -that- horrible in bed at Nissionath's maiden flight." Vaeli's nose twitches. "Never actually thought about that, really. Apparently Aboleoth's attachment means at least one set of lifemates enjoyed something." Regardless of the light tone, obviously a new touchy spot is found.

B'ane swallows, Adam's apple bobbing while his head still leans against the overflowing sill for support. "Shards Vaeli, it wasn't about that." Continuing severe seriousness despite the humor. "Maybe it wasn't just Aboleoth's manipulation of the circumstances that caused us to skip out of Igen." This sounds more like a soliloquy than a conversational piece. But broadening out, "It's about stealing the Weyrleader's knot from G'deon. I would have declined it, but wouldn't that seem like a slap in the face to you? And worse yet, your Weyr?"

Vaeli radiates a brief sort of guilty triumph at getting the man into a similar little uncomfortable spot, but it's quickly diminished. A short "Igen?" is queried on the tail end of the particular statement, followed by a contemplation. "The best dragon wins, so to speak, so even if he had won, it wouldn't have been 'stealing', on a logical level. But the insult of declining? Yes, I suppose it would have been. Point taken. Why didn't you just restrain Aboleoth from coming near? Ista is far enough away that the urge wouldn't have been strong." This seems like an opportune time for Vaeli to crack (not literally) open the bottle for a cursory sip. "Not, mind you, that I would have enjoyed your absence."

B'ane finds he thinks less when he's on his feet so that is exactly the scheme that's undertaken. "We were in Igen doing field work at the time. I'm on Aboleoth, in native dress even (hence B'ane showing up like a goat herder), and suddenly he shoots for High Reaches and I don't know it until I see the spires. I never could keep a firm rein on him when he gets those bullheaded modes. But like I said, I can't quite finger why he went, only hypthesize. Anyway, that's wine under the bridge." Giving a unique spin to the term. "Likewise." Quietly affirming any absence of his that might of transcended that night. "I got that from one of the candidates when I was first made Weyrlingmaster." A slack point aims for the bottle of Benden.

Vaeli chokes on the just swallowed sip as B'ane explains the Igen escapade. The back of the goldrider's hand is slapped to her mouth in effort to keep everything in that should stay in. Fortunately, the laugh never comes to bloom outside of the choke. The bedraggled bottle is given a second look-over, and silently corked. Or topped. Whatever closing device the thing has. "I'm scared to know how long this bottle has been setting up on those shelves of yours." Unable to sit for the time being, and needing a moment to make sure any leakage possibly spewed earlier is cleaned up, Vaeli stands to take a closer look at the many odd objects lying around. "B'ane, hookups aside, how are you ever going to find someone to even casually share your bed when you can barely get to it, much less see it?" And the quick cleaning and making up does not count.

B'ane legitimately grins an off-kilter grin when his bed is ridiculed. "To me it's just more surface to put stuff on. I need to clean a little bit." Going back to the collection of used plates, but more cups most of all. "But to think, the dishwashers have an easier time of it while most of their charges are holed up in here." A child's pull-toy of a blue dragon with a missing wing is handled. "You're fearful, but I bet the wine tastes that much better for its age. So what about that sun you were seeking? You aren't finding it in here, that's for sure." Surveying the woman's face once more.

Vaeli wrinkles her nose up in some as yet unnamed expression. "That may be, but where do you sleep? Everything is everywhere. And I won't even begin to go into the man mentality of sleeping in the buff. That would be downright dangerous." She sets the bottle down on one of the more steady looking shelves. Which still isn't very promising. The toy is glanced at, poked, given an inquisitive look that is mimicked to the handler, and turns back around to fiddle with some blocks of shaped wood strung together by a string. "Technically, you're right. The sun itself isn't in here." She chooses not to elaborate further un-prodded.

B'ane lifts a stout shoulder in a semi shrug. "I just move the stuff to the floor. I used to put it on the side I didn't sleep on, but the way I flail in sleep most of it ended on the floor anyway, but not in neat packs as you can imagine. Someone joked that I must be running from something unconsciously." But they're probably quacks, right? Birthday-suits and sleeping arrangements are evaded. "I mean, these glows don't exactly give you a good tan." The softly lit, or downright dark, interior of his weyr must make for terrible reading sessions.

Vaeli simply deposits the wood back where she found it. "Ah. So the bronzeriding loner of a man, completely abhorrent of 'hookups', has had enough company for someone to notice that you're a horrible bed partner." The tone implies that the goldrider has found a nugget of truth to tuck into the back of her mind. "I don't tan that well. Not since I left Southern over a decade past, anyway. And the little visits here and there aren't enough to bother me. But if being alone with a woman in your weyr is uncomfortable, then by all means." The last is voiced to be left hanging, the humor returned.

B'ane shakes his head for the better part of a couple seconds. "Ashangi, from a flight. She could really get into a person's head and the scary part was, she was right most of the time. Anyway," Like Vaeli wants to hear about brief flings of old. "Doesn't make me uncomfortable. I know you. But if these walls could talk, they could put together a sentence maybe between them." Watching the east-facing section absently. "I just don't want you to think you totally wasted your trip here." Shoulders roll testingly.

Vaeli doesn't comment and opts for a carefully guarded (if a little quirky underneath) expression directed towards the bronzerider. "Wasted? How is a hour or so spent in the company of decade-long friendship wasted?" Seems to be a rhetorical question, and whatever was about to be said remains behind a quickly shut mouth.

B'ane proceeds to transfer the dishes into, surprise, an actually empty crate. "You know what I mean. We can communicate any time, but you only get a chance for a mini-break every so often. Especially since you'll be on the sands for a while pretty soon. The best beaches are on the southern part of the isle. Even if you don't want to tan 'n stuff." Giving tourist advice to one of Ista's more celebrated reasons to visit.

Vaeli picks up a missed cup, very carefully, by her feet and drops it down into the designated crate. "Alright, tour guide. You have a point. If you insist on attempting to see a free swimsuit shot, show me the way, and I'll go to the beach before heading home. At least that crop of sand will have a body of water and a pretty view."

B'ane studies the maturing junkyard dumbly as he expected to stay in its clutches for quite some time. "Well I was going to stay here and clean, thought you were going to go on your own." The dozing firelizard Corsair is caressed tenderly. "I don't think it'd be a good idea. An all but defector cavoring around with High Reaches Weyrwoman? And Pyrene's in shoddy shape- you're expected to be far more responsible. You're in the public's eye now, Pern's watching."

Vaeli sighs somewhat patiently, as if she's heard that speech. "You really ought to get some sunshine yourself, B'ane. Excavate a dig, or something similar." Seeing how she didn't bring any riding objects in, there are none to bring back out as she stands to make her departure. Which is probably a good thing. This weyr eats stuff like a living thing, obviously. At the latter, she gives very hard stare, and all humor flees. "B'ane, it's not like you're a common bandit. Defector? You've always been B'ane, always will be B'ane, regardless of what else I'd like you to be, Pern watching be damned." Feathers ruffled are now attempted to be patted back down. "But if you wish to stay here and clean, well. It surely can't hurt things, assuming you actually mean to clean."

B'ane draws in a long breath, holds it for posterity and lets it out through his nostrils slowly. He is considering something that soon gets vocalized. "There's this spot me and Aboleoth found shortly after we graduated. It's by no means unknown, but it's not common knowledge either." Walking closer with more animation than he's displayed in sevendays. "It's absolutely fantastic! You wouldn't believe your eyes what you see on this island. I mean it's a little dangerous to get there, but it's worth the risk." Somehow talking about the iron room gives him the courage to withdraw any previous reservations. "I haven't been in a while, but I know you'd like it." And if she doesn't, well, tell that to the boyishly excited B'ane.

Vaeli stops short after her brief flare-up to stare at the puffed-up happier version of B'ane for very long moment. Gathering her bearings, "Dangerous? Posh. I'll take the bloody risks." Expressing a genuine smile, Vaeli snags B'ane's arm just above the wrist and gives a tug doorwards. "But only if you show me, rather than tell me, about it and how to get there. Try explaining to High Reaches how you got the new Weyrwoman lost in the middle of nowhere within the first sevenday of getting appointed." Now -that- would be Pernwide gossip.

B'ane stikes out towards the ledge to poke his head out. "There's still enough time," quite content to drag the Weyrwoman along. "I'll take all the precautions necessary. We'll have you home in one piece and in time for dinner." The cloud of his aura has gone from its usual staidness to a flash of golden fervor. Maybe he really isn't so doom and gloom all the time after all.

WW's Demise Posts, Plus a Wyn log

Thu, 16 Feb 2006 04:58:00 GMT

For those of you not attuned to the current happenings at HRW, I'm going include some relevant posts on various mailers here.

Message 2 of 3 on *Gossip (#627):
Date: Mon Feb 13 16:12:41 2006 CST
From: Anonymous :)
To: *Gossip (#627), *High Reaches (#3155), and *Weyrs (#3680)
Subject: Missteps

It was still the early hours of morning, Rukbat's light shining in obliquely, when Pyrene stepped out of her weyr to begin her day. In the late winter at High Reaches, the going could be treacherous, but the Weyr prepared for such things. Drudges scurried out in the night to grit all the walkways, rendering them safe for human passage.

Save one.

As the Senior Weyrwoman moved down the stairs, a foot hit sheer, pure ice, and slid. And a dragon's cry rent the air as golden Cadgwith's rider tumbled, unconscious, bleeding, and so broken, to the foot of the stairs.

The Weyr assembled: leaders, healers, guards, dealing with the incident. And below them in the bowl, the masses gathered, tense and taut from a winter indoors, uncertain and unyielding. As Pyrene was moved to the infirmary, rumors spread: "Did he say spine injury?" "That's the /Weyrwoman/..."

The tension proved too much for the crowd to bear. Things built, and things broke. The first attack provoked response by the guards, and the mob turned to a riot. The incident was short-lived -- not enough drive, not enough people -- but by the end, two guards and over a dozen civilians were unconscious, and the snow was stained with blood.

And as for Pyrene, the Weyrwoman remains unconscious in the infirmary. No one knows if she will wake up or not. Vaeli's gold Nissionath brightens daily. And a whisper creeps around the Weyr: "The guard captain says it was no accident..."

Message 3 of 3 on *Gossip (#627):
Date: Tue Feb 14 23:54:35 2006 CST
From: Anonymous :)
To: *High Reaches (#3155) and *Gossip (#627)
Subject: Fallen Weyrwoman Can't Get Up

News has spread by now regarding High Reaches' senior weyrwoman, Pyrene. An attempt on her life has left her unconscious and partially paralyzed. Whether or not this is permanent remains to be seen, but each day of unconsciousness creates just a little more worry.

Meanwhile, after an ungodly number of hours of several closed-door meetings with the remaining weyr leadership, the weyrleader has decided to remove Pyrene as weyrwoman. The fact this comes within a sevenday of Nissionath's imminent mating flight only adds to speculation and rumor. Is he hedging his vote, so to say? Taking a guaranteed variable over an unknown? Did he set it up in the first place? Did another in weyr leadership attempt murder?

Only time will tell how things play out. Needless to say, change is just around the corner. Will it bring about a revolution in weyr politics, or simply chaos among the wreckage? Stay tuned.
--------------------------

Date: Wed Feb 15 21:57:43 2006 CST
From: G'deon (#19620)
To: *Announcements (#2050)
Subject: HRW Search Officially Opens For Business

As speculated, Vaeli's gold Nissionath took to the skies today shortly after sunset. A host of bronze and brown dragons gave chase, but after a rather short flight, Nylanth entwined with Nissionath, securing not only another clutch for High Reaches, but another few months as Weyrleader for his rider.

More importantly, following the public announcements made far and wide just days previous regarding Pyrene, Nissionath's rising makes Vaeli the new Senior Weyrwoman at High Reaches. Yet more fodder for the gossip mills.

Many, many thanks to everyone who participated. Now that Search is officially open, those wishing to apply for Search are now free to do so.
---------

And here is a log that took place before the flight and after the fall. Vaeli meets up with Wyn for tea, headaches, and death penalties. Again, I'm not in the habit of always getting character descs.

The Vor Imperium
Grey granite vaults upwards to form the high cathedral ceiling of the main part of the weyr, cool, solid and undecorated. Refracted light sparkles from the quartz veins streaking walls carved partially by the hand of man, partially the forces of volcanism. The standard large raised couch is located off to one side, sheltered from the winds of the short access tunnel. The wall across from it houses a massive 'hearth'. A braided rug, quartet of elderly 'chairs' and a wine-crate-turned-coffee-table stand in front of that, while pegs and shelving appear alongside. Near the back, the ceiling height drops rapidly, a demarcation between human areas and draconic. Heavy curtains in a conservative... [look closer]
On the ledge, you see a blue dragon.
You see Grey Leather Satchel, Chess Set, Hearth, and Chairs here.
Wyn is here.
Obvious exits:
Inner Weyr Ledge Shadow'd Crevasse

Vorkoroth's ledge, while designed for a bronze dragon, isn't nearly large enough for both a gold and a blue. As a result, he's somewhat smooshed up against the wall of it, rumbling courteous inquiries and sympathies all the same. His rider is seated in an armchair before a blazing hearth, papers and scrolls and record books fighting with inkpots and sealing wax for space on her coffee table. There is tea. There is Planning. There is Wyn.

Nissionath takes the hint and initiative to take her glowing behind elsewhere after giving the expected greeting and whatnot. Vaeli clears her throat in a grab for acknowledgement before actually ducking into the bluerider's weyr. Upon sticking her head in and spying the Wynnish tea, she pipes, "Tea for two, I sincerely hope. Got a minute?"

"The pot is sitting on the hob, Vaeli," Wyn assures, looking up and over a pair of reading glasses recently aquired. "I've kept it steeping all day, since it seems both a day for visitors, and a day for soothing nerves. Pull up a seat and tell me what the latest word is on Pyrene?"

Vaeli exhales in a gust of relief as she follows the directions to the cherished liquid. "Soothing nerves, indeed. I've a mind to ask you if you've any instructions on making something for migraines." The woman helps herself to a spare cup and tops it off before settling on a comfortable seat nearish Wyn. The eyeglasses are noted and stared at for some seconds, although it could be perceived as looking one in the eye. "Same as earlier. Hasn't cracked an eye. You've heard about the controversy about the whole issue, I guess?"

"Chamomile tea and a drop of fellis," Wyn replies promptly, with a dry, dry smile. "Although you'll need to have a healer in your pocket, in your family, or in your bed for that one." She shifts a few of the papers to leave a space for Vaeli's tea mug, nodding confirmation. "That I have, and I've already sacked the archives to hunt down historical precedent. Given even the most optimistic verdict of Morallen's, she's going to need to step down, and at the moment, she's incapable of making that decision for herself. Historically, it will go to the next queen that rises, although there have been some instances of debate."

Vaeli inhales the aroma before actually tasting the brew. After cursory sip and a grateful appreciative nod, she sets the mug down in the cleared spot. "No local healers are gullible enough, and since most of the interesting healers around are taken, and you've, at least publicly, shown an inclination towards males, I guess chamomile will have to do." A weak smile plays at the attempted humor, but it doesn't reach her eyes. "I suppose a temporary fill would be out of the question, then, with her recovery looking at a turn."

"Oh, I don't mind females," Wyn assures calmly enough. "But they're entirely too much work. Men are simple creatures, easy prey... in any case, since I'm a dragonhealer, not a full Journeyman Healer, I'd have to go through my brother or my Antonias to fill your order... although Antonias -does- keep sending me samples of rather intereting herbs with hallucinogenic properties for my collection. And the temporary fill-in is usually where the debate's arisen," she switches between idle chatter and business without skipping a beat or changing her tone. She does, however, take a sip of her tea. "Should Pyrene feel so inclined, there's historical precedent for retired weyrwomen to challenge their retirement and put their fitness to lead on trial. This will remain open to her, should she recover and retain an interest in saving the weyr from my evil manipulations and intrigues."

Vaeli turns the handle of her mug until it near-perfectly rests parallel to the closest edge of the desk. She lifts an eyebrow and replies cautiously, "My head needs numbing relief, not drug-induced one-person parties. No use having two goldriders down and out." As if talking about it brought it back, the one hand not fidgeting with the mug goes to work at her temple. "Pyrene being herself, assuming she'll come back to herself, will most like be herself and try just that." Just figured out where the migraines are coming from. Brain overloads as such. On a small change of topic, "Since you've been studying up, what's the penalty for an attempt on a rider's life?"

"Death is fairly standard when it involves a leader, because then it is no longer simple attempted murder, but assassination," Wyn replies, absent as she picks up a musty old tome featuring words like 'Laws And Precepts' embossed into the cover. "There are a few cases of banishment, generally when a crime of passion has been proven, or in one case in the Seventh Pass where a goldrider killed another under the influence of dragon lust. The method of execution varies. Successful killings usually have the most gruesome deaths, and one where there was rape involved live castration prior to being staked for thread. Beheading is common one, and more 'enlightened' regimes have used fellis overdose or other lethal poisons."

Vaeli is a little put out at the whole list of explanations, exceptions, and penalties, and it shows on her expression. A blank look, a moment nursing her tea in silence, and a few abortive attempts to speak later, she opts to stare into her tea with enough feigned interest to assume it's telling her her fortune. "Hmm. Why give a horrid crime a horrid penalty to be performed under civil circumstances?" Pause. Assuming the depths of Wyn's knowledge, she continues. "So something of the...previously mentioned nature will be given to the one who iced the stairs?" Somehow or another, this sentiment appears to actually be a burden instead of a relief.

"To discourage others from trying something similar, and to show the populace that justice has been served. I can only answer that from a psychological theory point of view," Wyn shrugs a shoulder. "My training was as a mindhealer, not a Harper legist. But in general, most communities deal with a threat to their order quite severely. Observe a group of runnerbeasts on a range some time. But the punishment meted to the one who iced Pyrene's stairs is something we as weyrleadership will have to decide upon, when the time comes. I admit," she pauses, eyeing Vaeli solemnly from across the edge of her own teacup, "That I may well vote for execution. However, let it be a swift one, and not drag us down to the level of the criminal."

The last causes Vaeli to wince and clutch her mug close like a baby does a security blanket, although her late attempts to hide her reaction work fairly well. The tension and strain in her voice aren't camouflaged quite as good. "I don't particularly care what happens to the culprit, as long as whoever it is doesn't do it again. I may take to having Nissionath fly me down instead of walking myself. Any suspects so far?"

"I believe the Guard is still conducting preliminary investigations," Wyn replies, before leaning over to rest a querying hand on Vaeli's knee. "Are you all right, goldrider?" she wonders, tone somewhere between concerned and supportive. She settles back after that, her typical distaste for prolonged casual contact appearing right on schedule. "To be honest, I may well be a suspect myself, since the conflict between Pyrene and myself is not unknown. I'd have poisoned her, though. Made it appear to be a heart attack or something else not unexpected." she states, with a flash of acid-black humour.

Vaeli looks at the hand, sighs, finishes her tea, and gets to the heart of the matter with a short laugh that isn't derived from humor. "Actually, I was walking out of the kitchens earlier and heard something similar. Gossip mongers, naturally, stirring up the usual pot of rumors. This person or that. The poisoned rumor revolves around someone slipping something into her morning klah and she fell from convulsions, or something like that." She waves the empty mug around a bit in frustration before prudently setting it on the desk with forced softness. "The last...well. You know as well as I do that Nissionath wouldn't let me do anything premeditated. Right?" 'Right' meaning that Vaeli shouldn't be considered. Logically. Rumors sting.

"My brother's attending healer to her, but if there are worries of poisoning, I could see if Antonias is willing to take a trip up from Southern to pronounce on her," Wyn muses, nibbling at her lower lip. "Which, if there's -serious- speculation that I'm involved, wouldn't do a thing to allay it, but I'd like to think the weyr thinks better of my ethics than that. Or if not my ethics, at least my intelligence. I would say that this act was probably -not- committed by anyone in a position of rank, though," she theorizes, settling back with grey eyes misty with thought.

Vaeli nods solemnly and takes it as the only reassurance Wyn's likely to give her without Vae falling onto the ground in a hysterical fit. "They're only rumors. Murder, accident, poison, pushed. I'm surprised the idea that one of the dragons didn't trip her up hasn't came about yet." Optimism was never her strong point, and she ends it with a shrug. "It only, well. Just the other day I made a comment about Pyrene not being the Weyrwoman forever. The lower caverns seem to be harping on our public feud." A little bit of bitterness wells into her expression at the last, and Vaeli takes the moment to stand and stretch her legs in preparation for departure.

"From the sounds of things," And Wyn gentles her voice at this, reining in her somewhat unfortunate sense of humour in order to offer comfort to the obviously-upset, probably-proddy junior weyrwoman across from her, "You'll be having plenty more conversations with Pyrene. My brother is one of the best at what he does, and Elehu has been sent for, so she'll have two fine healers working over her. The worst case scenario is that she survives and doesn't walk again, which will leave her -tongue- completely unscathed. But if it's rumours you're worried about, then I'll just have to see about starting some spreading that offer better information."

Vaeli is in fact very proddy and very sensitive, which is completely out of character for a normal non-sensitive Vaeli. "Granted, I didn't and don't wish Pyrene to die, I still don't care for the woman as far as personality goes. I'll leave the humoring conversations to you. And the rumors." After a pause, she nods towards the tea pot. "I'll have to fetch me some chamomile and maybe jaunt down somewhere and sleep with a healer somewhere for fellis." The last is said not entirely in a joke, though mostly so. "Thank you for the tea. And for your attentive ears. My head thanks you." The love between body parts is not to be diminished. No naughty pun intended.

Wyn considers this, and raises a hand to still Vaeli. "Wait a moment," she requests. "As you know, I do dabble a bit in practical low-level herbalry despite loathing it as an apprentice. I have something you might find helpful." Up she rises, reading glasses set on the coffee table, and over she goes to the ornate little wooden compartmental chest that she keeps her teas in. "Chamomile is good, and here's a bit of valerian to relax you and make it easier to sleep -- it's milder than fellis, and not addictive. A little evening primrose will help to stabilize your mood without being as dramatic as klamath weed. There." A small sachet created and tied with a spare ribbon, she presents it to Vaeli along with a second that smells of lavender. "Tuck the other in your pillow," she advises. "And you're very welcome, Vaeli. Frankly, I needed someone to talk with myself."

Vaeli's face loses the weepy bitterness and takes an euphoric glaze enough to look like she'll pronounce herself homosexual and kiss Wyn right there. Of course, she restrains herself, only just, and gladly takes the offered medicinal stuffs and lavender pouch, both of which she stuffs carefully into an inner pocket on her jacket. "Sanity saved. Seeing how I did most of the fretting, I'll grant you one up so I can return the favor someday," she replies wearily, although not entirely humorless. "You know where I live if you need anything, although for caution's sake, I'd have Vorkoroth fly you straight to the ledge." She stays long enough to catch Wyn's departing comments before giving Nissionath the mental call to come and take Vaeli's wingless self home.

Do I get frequent flyer miles for this?

Thu, 16 Feb 2006 04:42:02 GMT

Had the leadership flight. Nylanth won, meaning G'deon is still High Reaches' Weyrleader. Many thanks to those involved.

Also, I forgot to get character descs into the log. If you want 'em, go get yourself. ;)

Ground Weyrs
Once a mere overhang in the bowl wall, this arched stone enclave was deepened eons past to provide shelter for injured dragons and their riders. Once past the bowl's entrance, the cavern widens and climbs dramatically. The craggy walls loom high to dwarf rider and dragon alike, darkening slowly towards the back, ending at the large doors of the infirmary and the dragon-sized tunnel leading to the enclosed, inner ground weyrs. Off to the right is the dragonhealers' enclave with its supplies and small handful of dragon couches.
Small cave-like weyrs of various sizes dot the rocky walls of the large cavern at close intervals, giving the area its name. Heavy lengths of wherhide, providing... [look closer]
To the northeast, you see eleven dragons and six people.
Settled on rough-hewn ledge is a gold firelizard.
Gold Cadgwith is here.
You see Guards' Lock-up here.
Obvious exits:
Bowl Dragonhealers' Enclave Inner Ground Weyr Infirmary

B'ane comes into shelter from bowl's wide open spaces.
G'deon comes into shelter from bowl's wide open spaces.
I'anex comes into shelter from bowl's wide open spaces.
Femme comes into shelter from bowl's wide open spaces.
Blaze exits the infirmary through the large double doors.
Blaze leaves the ground weyrs for the wide-open central bowl.
Nissionath> Central Bowl
Nissionath> Seven spindles brush the clouds overhead, displaying a jagged, spired cotillion grey-stoned majesty. The bowl from here is expansively large, extending a full half-mile in both directions, and though a bit of a stretch at times, most of the hubs of activity can be easily observed. Hard-packed ground shows the common pathways, all of them meandering about the craggy bunch of boulders that form a centerpiece within the middle of the otherwise vast emptiness.
Nissionath> The hatching grounds and leadership weyrs are located to the north, while the sounds of herdbeasts noisily allude to the pens slightly east of there. Constant traffic marks the entrance to the westward living caverns, and a glance southeast reveals the cold, glittering, glacial lake.
Nissionath> It is a spring evening. It is dark, and a few stars have begun to make their appearance known. The breeze has died off, and the crickets are starting their evening symphony.
Nissionath> To the northeast, you see a green dragon.
Nissionath> To the north, you see a bronze dragon.
Nissionath> To the southeast, you see a green and a brown dragon.
Nissionath> Clinging to footholds in the boulder-mound are twenty firelizards.
Nissionath> Brown Piccath, green Zoryanth, brown Sevareth, green Khaijath, blue Taiith, green Lierdeth, bronze Kolaneth, green Ikth, bronze Feitoveth, bronze Aboleoth, and bronze Nylanth are here.
Nissionath> You see a wagonmaster, Doom, and Ashli here.
Nissionath> Naomi, Kitasa, and Ryan are here.
Nissionath> Obvious exits:
Nissionath> Pens Northern Bowl Caverns Ground Weyrs Passageway Lakeside Guard's HQ

Nissionath> Riddith is high up on the rim, his orangy-red eyes glowing as he watches the action below. Quite content with waiting here, the bronze makes a point of not getting into the thick of it right away.

Nissionath> Naomi smiling just as nervously she gave a small quick bow to her, "It's nice to meet you, I"m Naomi... do you have any idea what's going on?" Looking around a little franticly, she scooted closer to the walls.

Nissionath> Nissionath glares at the random male dragons about with red-toned eyes, growls deep, and curtly makes her way towards food.

Nissionath> Pens
Nissionath> Freshened breezes from the lake to the south mingle with the stronger scents of herdbeast, wherry, dust and dung, that fill this elliptical enclosure, a faint odor wafting over now and then from the tannery on the far eastern side of the pens. A sturdy fence winds out towards the central bowl, captures an outlet of clear blue lake, and grows into a stout wind-shelter replete with hay and feeding troughs as it meets the bowl wall. Not too far above, a claw-marked series of feeding ledges lie, decorated by a few discarded and bleached-out bones. A few clusters of green sprout, downtrodden, in the hard ground, tracked over by the stampeding of the herds.
Nissionath> It is a spring evening. It is dark, and a few stars have begun to make their appearance known. The breeze has died off, and the crickets are starting their evening symphony.
Nissionath> To the southwest, you see eleven dragons and three people.
Nissionath> To the south, you see a green and a brown dragon.
Nissionath> Green Kelitath is here.
Nissionath> Obvious exits:
Nissionath> Tannery Stables Barn Training Grounds Central Bowl Beach

Nissionath> Feitoveth stiff-marches in in from the Central Bowl.

Nissionath> Blaze glides in from the Central Bowl.

Nissionath> Feitoveth follows, his strides something of a march, his head slung low and wings folded high. His route is straight as a strict-cut hide's edge.

Nissionath> Aboleoth arrives with a callous swagger in from the Central Bowl.

Nissionath> Nylanth stealthily saunters in from the Central Bowl.

Nissionath> Aboleoth positively slinks around the southern perimeter, shoulderblades seesawing in this session of pacing. Tossing his head, the bronze rubs his cheek against the grit of the ground thereby showing his presense and anticipation. The prey items, for the moment, mean nothing to him.

G'deon walks through the infirmary doors, his jacket flung over a shoulder. With a quick finger-comb, he looks across this hollowed out section of the Weyr, looking rather unsurprised to no longer find the hulking bulk of his lifemate nearby. They talk, see. It's handy.

Nissionath> Meat? Who needs meat? It only slows you down, y'know. Blood is not bad, but Riddith forgoes that option as well in favour of getting a head-start on the other males once Nissionath rises.

Nissionath> Nissionath refuses to wait for the potential mates to sort themselves out and simply snags the nearest four-legged edible creature for a morsel without a second look behind her.

I'anex comes in from the bowl, eyes lidded and glinting almost suspicious as he fidgets once more with the top fastenings of his leathers and lets them be. He exhales, slowly, and situates himself near the wall.

V'in follows with carefully measure careless steps into the ground weyrs, whistling in low tones as he goes. He appears quite confident that Riddith will do his thing and win this flight.

Nissionath> Feitoveth rises in two flaps and drifts into the pens -- as far as a bronze can drift. His kill is quick and clean and he drinks only a little blood. He seems more intent on keeping his head raised and eyes watching.

Nissionath> With a flash of night-dark bronze, Nylanth vaults into the air and wings his way over the pens, calculating and efficient as he makes short work of blooding a fat young buck. Redly whirling eyes are fixed on Nissionath as the hot blood covers his muzzle.

Call it the increasing glow, the grumpiness, or the gut-trembling growl, but Vaeli seems to be unsurprised about her dragon's current state and actions. Instead, she's pacing along on wall, picking up dropped hides here, rumpled towels there, only to deposit them in another random heap somewhere else down the line. Of course, inevitably, the riders filtering in get a small nab at her attention before dropping the last towel in a corner and proceeding to a small collection of glass jars holding a variety of liquors. Absently, she flips a hand in that direction. "Help yourselves. A lot of drunkeness should come out of today."

Nissionath> Riddith tenses and relaxes his muscles in turn, raising his wings high, getting himself ready to launch after Nissionath. His eyes are more red than orange now and he carefully looks at the other males down there in the pens, filling their stomach with heavy liquid. Yes, he's quite certain that he'll have a jump on them when the time comes.
Accustomed to ducking, B'ane lowers his head to clear the door into the room despite there being a rather large clearance and no need to do so. The folds of his ankle-length linen garment get swept to the side with the admission of the bronzerider. "Told you we'd meet again soon." Subdued and aloof, Aboleoth's rider slicks old Igen sweat off his jawbone.

Nissionath> Nissionath pauses mid-bite to growl again at the attention before deciding that enough is enough. A hop, skip, wobble, and a leap later, the chunky thing is flapping her wings like no tomorrow to get airborne before someone else should beat her to it.

Nissionath> Up up up! Wings beat to lift you up out of the dusty pens.
Nissionath> Above the Feeding Pens
Nissionath> Wayward breezes carry the mixed scent of herdbeast and wherry from below, occasionally fusing with the salty odor of the ocean from afar. Spires overlook and shadow the pens below, often blanketing the scythed, claw-cut ledges used for feeding. Thermals, unusually steady for this area, keep that scent aloft and ever-present, growing stronger as they descend to the feeding grounds below.
Nissionath> It is a spring evening. It is dark, and a few stars have begun to make their appearance known. The breeze has died off, and the crickets are starting their evening symphony.
Nissionath> Below, you see four dragons.
Nissionath> Obvious exits:
Nissionath> Up Pens Weyrling Air Above the Lake Above the Bowl Ledges

I'anex scarcely pauses. With a swift pivot on his heel and three strides toward the jars, I'anex closes the distance with dizzying suddenness. Indeed, he has to pause in front of the jars to prop his head against his hand and prop it steady. Right. He exhales again before pouring.

Nissionath> Blaze bursts up from the dust below.

Nissionath> Feitoveth bursts up from the dust below.

Nissionath> Nylanth bursts up from the dust below.

Nissionath> Feitoveth hisses tense between his teeth and launches, his wings flaring wide and his tail flicking behind him like a rudder.

Nissionath> Aboleoth bursts up from the dust below.

Nissionath> Aboleoth has elected a bovine to substitute Nissionath as his focal point, but after feeding yesterday even blood doesn't seem appealing. Short tail twitches in a deciding factor and with the golden dragon springing aloft, the Istan-born male clenches his flight muscles and gains air with heavy wing strokes.
V'in doesn't take any of the offered drinks. He's brought his own after all. What he /does/ do is head straight at Vaeli with a smirk on his lips, his bald head gleaming in what little light is in here. "Don't believe Riddith ever chased Nissionath before, did he?" he says, leaning quite close to the goldrider.

Nissionath> Nylanth is only a beat behind Nissionath, powerful hindlimbs thrusting him upwards with breathtaking suddenness. A heartbeat later, night-dark wings unfurl and beat the air at an almost lazy tempo, each stroke a powerful surge. He must only keep her in his sight, this shimmer of gold in the twinkling twilight. There is time.

Nissionath> Riddith is off after Nissionath as soon as he sees her rise out of the bowl, letting out a howl that is more akin to a wolf's than a dragons. The hunt is on and Riddith sails into the air almost lazily, while carefully taking note of the other males and their positions.

G'deon slowly slips into his jacket, pulling the leather snug against his shoulders. A gathering group of male riders with one female at the center can only mean one thing. Fighting with that odd sensation that is irritation, temptation and driving force, he finds himself drifting across the cavern towards the growing group of riders. He's just in time to hear V'in sleaze himself all over Vaeli. "Does it matter?" he asks the baldy, little humor in the question. Gid glances once at Vaeli, nods, then generally waits for the show to start.

Nissionath> Being a clear night, Nissionath unfortunately doesn't have the advantage of cloud cover. A quick snake of the head informs her of how unfortunately close many of the boys are, and her annoyance is answered with a loud bugle of defiance and flying in a straight line to higher ground.

Nissionath> So you go up, up, and up some more, spiralling past ledges and Star Stones and up past the very Spindles themselves.

Nissionath> Above High Reaches
Nissionath> Quite, quite high, nothing braves these heights but stone and dragon and cloud; the Star Stones jut dutifully above the Weyr proper, flayed by the mountain winds that are consistant at this altitude whilst the rest spreads below, protected by its crown of jagged stone spires'-teeth.
Nissionath> It is a spring evening. It is dark, and a few stars have begun to make their appearance known. The breeze has died off, and the crickets are starting their evening symphony.
Nissionath> To the east, you see a bronze dragon.
Nissionath> Obvious exits:
Nissionath> Weyr Over The Mountains Star Stones Weyrling Air
Nissionath> Aboleoth shoots up from the dusty pens.
Nissionath> Blaze shoots up from the dusty pens.
Nissionath> Nylanth shoots up from the dusty pens.

Nissionath> Aboleoth flies up and out from the influence of the other males to gain an early layout of the lay of the land and of course the air and what it holds above it. Front paws scratch air as they form a place tucked somewhere where they'll not heed his dynamics. The glare of moonglow on the tops of Nissionath's wings is his guiding lantern.

Nissionath> Riddith is quickly after Nissionath, circling around to get a bit of distance between himself and the others, staying at the outskirts of the pack, noticing that another bronze is doing much the same. Nevermind, Riddith is better at this game and he returns his full attention to the glowing gold with self-satisfied silence.

Vaeli has gotten better dealing with flights as the turns go by. Unfortunately, this only means that her grumpiness at the situation has diminished, not her lack of sense. With a small quirk of a smile, more apprehensive than not, she takes two fingers and pushes V'in's forehead, and face, out of her comfort zone. "She's up for grabs. I'm not. Sorry love," is stated, not without humor, before turning her back. "You seem to have a knack for showing up at Nissionath's flights, B'ane. I think you mark a special sevenday vacation down for the occassion every time she gets proddy." A quick glance at the current Weyrleader is all Vaeli needs to pop the cork on a handy jar of some odd looking liquor.

Nissionath> Miashi circles up from the Central bowl.

B'ane feels the texture of the east wall in passing, appreciative of the coolness is leaves on his palm. The spread of wine does not attract this rider. Black-brown eyes perceive the other rider's faces as his mind names them one by one. Vaeli's, as customary, is last. "If you only knew." In the same guarded timbre.

Nissionath> Nylanth answers not the bugle, and singular is his focus. Calm as the deepening night he pursues -- surging, swelling -- the rhythm of his wings like the beating of a drum. Thum-THUM. Thum-THUM. Like the night he comes, his heart and his eye on the spark, the spark of glowing hearthlight in the deepening dusk.

Nissionath> Nissionath's flight ability is a little rougher at this altitude, and it shows in the way the gold can't seem to keep a steady line. Instead of coolly maneuvering the elements to her advantage, it seems that they're getting the better end of the stick and so quickly after she started, Nissionath begins to falter.

V'in turns at G'deon's entrance and his question. But before he can answer the weyrleader he's pushed away by Vaeli and he tilts his head at her. "You don't know what you're missing, sweety," he says and turns to face G'deon, looking over the man's shoulder with a pointed look. "Pyrene's in there and Vaeli here is second in line for Weyrwoman," he says suggestively.

G'deon is generally staring at nothing in particular, eyes very much unfocused. That does not mean his ears have stopped working however. "If you'd paid attention as a weyrling, V'in, you'd know how stupid that just sounded," he says darkly, not bothering to look across at the other rider. Idly, perhaps even subconsciously, a hand reaches up to brush through his hair, but the gesture is stopped halfway through. He'll just, uh... keep it there for now. And lean back. Totally at ease. Yeah. And snarking. Even though Gid doesn't usually fall to such levels. This is not a usual day. "Vaeli, I don't suppose I could have a bit of that," he says finally, breaking out of his reverie, or dragon-rider communication. "It smells like I could use it."

Nissionath> Aboleoth, like Nylanth, is purely synchronous in his advancing wing strokes as they displace the northern air and whip it back to eddy in disorderly currents behind him. Passing a compact brown, Aboleoth gains a recycled tide of air from another bronze and takes the time to gather a fresh lungful of oxygen.

Nissionath> Riddith is in his element now that it's getting dark and he stalks Nissionath with heat in his whirling eyes. Catching updrafts here and sidewinds there, he carefully stays out of the way of the other males, while still managing to keep the gold within reasonable reach. And while other males seem to expend a lot of energy beating their wings, Riddith glides slowly but surely, only using his wings when height is needed or Nissionath gets a little too far from him.

Vaeli mutters a few unsavory remarks on all the things she'd rather be missing than V'in's affections. From time to time her expression goes hooded, and an experienced rider can assume that she's trying to keep herself together without letting her dragon fall apart. "The one good thing about today is the fact that I can stop being weepy over the brandy stains on my favorite tunic." Which explains her decent temperament. A quick swig of the liquid and a pass off to G'deon, she points to V'in. "That's the bad thing," indicating the rider in general. A glance at B'ane lingers a minute before speaking. "And that," referring to what's actually riding on the flight, "is the 'I'm not entirely sure about' fact."

Nissionath> Thum-THUM. Thum-THUM. An almost lazy beat, the urgency an undercurrent billowing beneath. A calm, controlled exterior is broken only by the reddish whirl of Nylanth's jewelled eyes, the thrust of his gleaming neck. He hesitates only momentarily when Nissionath falters, then instinct prevails. With a flick of a darkly glittering wingtip he banks on a rush of spring-warm air, edging closer to the prize.

Nissionath> Nissionath attempts to glide for a moment, and only succeeds in dropping several yards in altitude before flapping her wings to steady herself. This, of course, ticks her off to no end, which is ear-piercingly obvious. Unfortunately, her stamina is already failing, a certain bronze takes advantage, and the angry gold inadvertently (to her mind, annoyingly) finds herself wrapped up in a tangled ball with Nylanth.

Nissionath> Aboleoth suddenly turns with brutal intent on a younger bronze who seems to have a penchant for nipping at the former's tail. The confrontation is marked by a slash of teeth, a struggle of forelimbs and what evolves into a grappling dog fight over the alpine region. Love be damned, violence embraced.

V'in gives G'deon a dead stare as he moves around the ground weyr to a seat carved in the rock for whatever reason, then slings himself there, still looking straight at the weyrleader, now totally ignoring Vaeli. "Not so stupid, I think. I hear rumours that Pyrene might never walk again," he says in a low voice, tinted with utter confidence, "at the very least, she'll have to take some time to.. Heal. Someone will have to step in for her in the mean time. And..." He doesn't finish the sentense, but turns his piercing gaze toward the goldrider, sending her a wide grin that holds little humour.

B'ane pushes both hands high outstretched onto the wall in essence ripping his eye contact with the junior weyrwoman away. Teeth bite down on his lower lip as eyes squeeze shut from the aura of pain his bond is experiencing. The wall is about the only thing holding the drooping figure up right now. B'ane refuses to open his eyes lest they locate the rider of the dragon Aboleoth spars with to inflict similar damage.

Nissionath> Riddith growls low in his throat as Nylanth turns out to win, his eyes flaring red as he falls back, not exactly admitting defeat (because he would never do that), but rather lets the other bronze have his prize. Turning, the bronze heads back to the Weyr quiet as the wind.

"And you don't listen to what's going on under your own nose," G'deon finishes for V'in, teeth bared in what might have been a smile in better circumstances. With a willful clamp on his ire, he accepts the bottle from Vaeli with a quick nod and takes a rather large swig. A strong grimace likely matches the strength of the liquid, but a second swig follows the first before he offers to pass the bottle back, with a gritty, "Thank you." B'ane is finally noticed for the visitor he is, but between the flight, the irritation and the general emotion levels of the past sevenday, Gid's buffers are a little too full to add anything else to the docket. Besides, now there's something quite new to deal with.

Nissionath> Nylanth backwings as he finds himself abruptly entangled with the prize he sought, unfurling his wings to steady their descent. Slowly.

V'in's eyes glaze over, seemingly for the first time during this quick and dirty flight as he makes contact with Riddith, who tells him it's over. "Well, that's it for me. Have fun, kids," he tells G'deon and Vaeli as he gets out of his seat smoothly and quickly, walking out to the bowl with a wicked gleam in his eyes, nodding to B'ane as he passes him.

Vaeli isn't going to lie or hide it. V'in's grin causes her to wrinkle her face up in ill-concealed disgust Of course, Nissionath, as usual, has absolutely lovely timing. The drive of the flight obviously can't be pushed away any longer for the goldrider, and she stares at B'ane's back a long moment with an expression filled with something similar guilt, or perhaps regret, as she stands to make her own hasty retreat, casting a 'follow or not' gaze over her shoulder at the still current Weyrleader.

B'ane bears the sensations of a throbbing chest and shoulder blade with the tightening effects of unrequited lust without the numbness of alcohol. Usually a pincushion for some sort of anguish, this is nothing that time will not doctor. Different rider's acknowledgement get identical treatment. "Glad I came." The stab of irony is made apparent with a weak smirk/partial grimace. Gathering his height to leave, B'ane creeps to and out the exit with hungry, but slow steps.

B'ane leaves the ground weyrs for the wide-open central bowl.

Nissionath> Aboleoth disengages from his adversary, comforted in the consequence that although he didn't win - neither did Huitoth. Ichor falls to the ground in slow drops the night hides as Aboleoth renews his lost presense in the bowl.

The brief flight gives G'deon a gut-wrenching turn... which is probably good, since it means he won't need to shut V'in up with a well-placed fist just yet. The bottle of liquor is quickly set on the ground, which is about the only thing he manages to pay attention to before moving to follow closely after Vaeli.

Humpty Dumpty Sat on a Wall

Mon, 13 Feb 2006 23:54:59 GMT

Angst. Drama. Possible Pyrene Paralysis. Gotta love HRW. WW Pyrene falls down the stairs, leaders/guards/people show up, WW carted off, riot starts, more injuries. Not to mention that Pyrene didn't fall by pure accident.

Pyrene got her log up and running quick-like, so you can find the whole thing here.

Temper temper

Fri, 10 Feb 2006 19:28:07 GMT

OOC Oh look! A log!

Pyrene and Vaeli fall out over Searching Candidates from different places. The first of many events to come.

Living Caverns
The rough-hewn majesty of this cavern far outpaces any delight in the multitudes of curves that form its enclosure. The glabrous grey granite is shot through with translucent obsidian, lending subtly-veined sparkle to the walls and the foot-trodden smoothness of the floor that shows centuries-old placements of the scarred trestle tables; carven hollows give homes for the glow baskets and the coat-pegs that line the walls. No mosaics, no painting, no tiles: just a few well-done tapestries mark the pathway that lead to the kitchen to the north and the inner caverns to the west, and frame the nighthearth's stew and snacks, while a heavier strip of oiled canvas shields the unwary from the wind... [look closer]
Scattered about in various perches and niches are fifty-three firelizards.
You see Llaammaa here.
Obvious exits:
Bowl Kitchens Inner Caverns Crafting Area Hearth

Pyrene stalks in from the Central Bowl.

Pyrene is getting a bit of a routine lately with midmorning snacks. It's the cold weather. She divests herself of only one layer of wraps before heading straight for the broth. "Morning, Vaeli," she greets, while picking over the bread rolls. "Nissionath well?"

Vaeli looks up from her position at the end of a table near to the hearth. "Pyrene," is said casually in reply before glancing back down at the small book of hides in front of her. "Starting to glow. I suspect she'll rise within the next couple of sevendays. Cadgwith handling the winter through?"

Pyrene settles herself down in convenient talking distance of Vaeli but not so close that she's likely to spill broth on her hides. "Cadge is pretty happy. She's glad that the sun's out--kind of--and the lake's got plenty of ice floes for her to play with. Fortunately, she's not likely to rise until late spring, we think, so they shouldn't be sharing the Sands." While Cadge is generally very tolerant, few queens like to compromise clutching space.

Vaeli lifts a mug full of an unidentified steaming liquid to her mouth and flips the page with her free hand. "Mmm. That's fortunate. The broodiness of more than one queen at a time can get rather tense." The book is open to a section of various sketches of seemingly aquatic creatures. "With the Interval coming up and smaller clutches, we shouldn't have to bother too many of the holds for youths anymore. Which will make the Lords happy, I expect."

Pyrene nods, swallowing. "Exactly. I did some checking up yesterday and we've got a good selection of young weyrfolk of the right age to Stand for Nissionath's clutch, so we won't have to bother the Lords and Ladies at all. We'll wait to Search outside until Cadge clutches."

Vaeli was in the process of setting the mug down, but her hand hesitates as she stares blankly at Pyrene for a second or three. "Exactly how many is a 'good selection'?" is asked carefully. "The clutch will be slightly smaller, not miniscule. Several of those in the weyr are otherwise occupied and most likely not interested. We need to look outside now as well as later."

Pyrene waves aside numbers airily. "Oh, there's plenty. And I don't think we need risk cheesing off the Holds twice in close succession. There's a lot of weyrfolk keen to Stand, and outside candidates tend to be sourced more amenably for the senior queen's clutch." Where Pyrene gets her facts from is debatable, although to her dubious credit, she does genuinely believe them.

Vaeli's eyes take a hard squint to them while her face seems otherwise expressionless. "If there's 'plenty'," extra emphasis on the last word, even though her voice is kept relatively even. Relative being the key word. "then there would be enough to Stand again later in the spring, wouldn't you think? Leadership properties aside, one gold's eggs aren't more or less important than another. It's absurd to save the so-called 'more important' potential Candidates for Cadgwith and not Nissionath." Apparently Vaeli is not believing what Pyrene believes. "Or any of the others," is added practically as a quiet afterthought.

"Oh, don't be ridiculous!" Pyrene almost, but not quite, snaps. In her unconvincing 'I am keeping calm' tone, she continues, "They are not more important--personally, I always think that we do better with riders who have weyr experience." No offence to present company intended. "It means that Cadge's eggs may have a wider choice, but I should think 20-30 would be ample for Nissionath."

Vaeli works her mouth silently for another second or so before finding her voice, which is quite a few decibels above the last known sound level. "The Interval is going to call for people with -outside- experience. Weyrbreds are limited in craft knowledge. Holds contain all sorts of people with other talents. Find half of Nissionath's here if you must, but her clutch deserves to have the choice of having a rider that can actually -do- something outside of being a cargo carrier in a few turns!" No offense to present company intended.

Pyrene is caught out here as Vaeli makes a point that she is quite keen on herself. However, Vaeli's tone in making it has not inclined her to compromise. "By your dragon's egg, Vaeli! Ultimately it's not your choice. Explain to the fine youth of the Weyr, if you must, why they are so unsuitable for Nissionath's clutch, but they will be the ones who are standing for it." One knows that Pyrene is not going to be heeding other people's words if her own are describing the youth of the Weyr as 'fine'.

"It shouldn't be -any- one person's choice! For Faranth's sake, Pyrene. I won't snick-pick about it, since that's likely to get me nowhere with you, but Search half here and half -outside-. Then save the rest of the crafters and 'unsuitable' weyr youths for that nightmare of yours. There will be plenty and more than enough." Vaeli's pushing the point of not catching small inflections and courtesies. Patience all gone."

Pyrene gives up on any semblance of composure now. "You watch your tongue, else you'll be booted back to the weyrling wing for some lessons in respect to your seniors," she retorts hotly. "Cadge has produced clutches that are at least consistent with the average and is the second largest queen in the Weyr. If we need an excess of numbers, it will be for /her/ clutch, not Nissi's!" Riders. In the end, it always comes down to 'My dragon is bigger than yours!'

Kieryn walks in from the Central Bowl.

Vaeli looks like she's about to spit nails and fire daggers out of her eyes. Through gritted teeth, she manages to grind out, "Of course, -Weyrwoman-. Since the only thing large about Nissionath is her posterior, right? One day Cadgwith won't be the senior most queen, and then -all- the golds will have their pick of Candidates from whichever or wherever corner of the globe." Vaeli pushes out of her chair, causing it to scrape piercingly across the floor. The junior storms out of the caverns before waiting on Pyrene to retort. She'll catch some fussing later for it, for sure.

Kieryn trudges in, muttering something under her breath as she makes her way to the hearth to pour a mug of klah, not really caring to greet anyone as she goes. Half of it is drained and then topped off before she turns to have a look around the caverns, just in time to see Vaeli storm off. Her eyes move back to Pyrene, looking at the weyrwoman for a moment with teeth biting her lower lip. Then she turns back to the sideboard, busying herself with piling food on a plate.

"Personally, I would have said that the only thing large about Nissionath is her rider's head," Pyrene replies to the door. She's sorrier than she could express that Vaeli didn't wait around to hear that. She doesn't linger on the subject, conscious of more than a few stares from the others in the cavern. "Dragon hormones," she falls back on the ever easy excuse. "She'll be fine in a couple of sevendays."

Logs!

Wed, 15 Jun 2005 00:04:28 GMT

Since Ashli's quicker than I am, I stole the edited log from her.

Quiet Corners
Thick woolen tapestries dull the noise from the rest of the caverns, turning this well-lit little room into a welcome escape. The stairs up place it against the bowl wall somewhere above the living caverns, carpeted against the winters chill or left as cool stone floor in summer. Some high and narrow windows can be opened to the world outside, or secured with their heavy metal-sided shutters and blue-threaded curtains.
Glowlight gleams, brightening the well-cushioned stone couches and lighting the weyr residents half-finished projects: knitting undone, sewing only started, leathers being worked soft, and even a hide of sketches or half-finished Thread-chart spread out across one of the... [look closer]
Curled up amongst the baskets of wool are nine firelizards.
Vaeli is here.
Obvious exits:
Inner Stairs

Ashli is plopped idly in a chair, a skinny bronze flit perched on the edge of it. Ash seems to be...dozing, though of course she's really only resting her eyes for a minute, really. A knapsack of records spills its contents onto the floor beside her, and a hide with handwriting so rounded and oddly wavy that it could only be Ashli's is slowly sliding from its position where it was once safely pinned between her elbow and her knee. A writing stick is tucked behind her ear, almost invisible amidst the waves of dark hair that fly in haphazard ways - Ash certainly is in need of a hair cut. Or, at least, a trim...her attire, at least, is quite appropriate (most likely due to Isamath's picking out her wardrobe), though the girl seems to have forgotten the important item of...boots. Or socks, for that matter. Though, of course, if anyone asked, it's obviously intentional. It's Pernese no-boot day, didn't you know?

A Pernese no-boot day seems to have evaded Vaeli, although it's not boots on her feet, but Istan-style sandals. Shoes are shoes, and they make a soft plopping noise as Vaeli makes her way up and into the hidey-hole of the weyr. Only pausing a brief second at the entrance, she scans from left to right in an obvious search for something or another. Ashli is left alone, for a moment, up until Vaeli spies what she wants. And Ashli's sitting on it. At which point Vaeli hesitates before proceeding to nudge a foot. In a somewhat quiet tone, she attempts the unthinkable. To wake Ashli up. "Pss. Ashli. I love you dearly, but I'm not about to frisk you in order to get those charts."

Grumble. Mnrf. Grouch. Ashli rolls slightly, making several somewhat agitated noises though she doesn't seem to wake up fully until perhaps a little help from a certain shiny dragon comes, and she suddenly starts awake. "I did /not/ forget to...oh, good day, Vaeli." Ash pauses for a moment, peers at Vaeli, rescues the slipping hide on her knee, and blinks. "Um...did I forget something?" A wrinkle of her nose, and another blink, and Ash seems to nearly be fully awake, and her gaze flicks from side to side. "Didn't realize you'd be visiting...oh. My goodness, I'm still in the Quiet Corners? Um. Well then, never you mind. So...um...how've you been?" Somewhat flustered, Ashli seems to be, and she grimaces apologetically.

Vaeli visibly winces as Ashli rolls on the charts, causing a certain crumpling sound. "Yes. Pyrene wanted you to help the cooking crew tonight. Short on help, she said. I hope you know how to make tuber salad." Vaeli nods her head firmly to confirm the outright lie. A small smirk pops onto her face as Ashli's awareness comes to life (which is a surprise in itself) and tugs lightly at the corner of the charts she's aiming to get. "Been busy. You ought to fly to Southern. Beautiful compared to this chilly spring weather. Working hard?"

Another mnrf sort of sound emits from Ashli at that, and she winces. "Well...I can make tuber buddies? And peel them? Just ask X'ian, I think I once made one for him during Candidacy. Made one for Aislinn, too." Ash offers with a frown, before she sighs. "Michel told me a while ago, though, that I was never allowed in his kitchens again after I stole a plate of bubblies...think that restriction still counts?" The young goldrider asks hopefully, grinning mischeviously before popping out of the chair with an apology. "Oh dear. Oops. Looking for those charts? Sorry. They're all yours." Ash offers generously, though a slight flush pinks her cheeks. "Working hard? Eh, I've been keeping myself busy. Ooh, Southern sounds lovely. Warm weather would be quite nice...perhaps I'll take a vacation after Isa's clutched and Hatched and all settled again. That'd be lovely..."

Vaeli controls her features as best she can, although a mournful expression does edge its way out as Vae attempts to smooth the crinkles out of the precious paper. "Just passing along orders, Ash. I hear people are hungry downstairs. No food, and all. Might want to hustle." Vaeli does manage a wink and a smile at her wingmate's despair. She'll tell her later that it was a fib. "I met with a few of the wingleaders earlier to discuss new formations. Rather dreary, if you ask me. Although they've got this idea of a formation being in the shape of a...well. Nevermind," she says, waving the topic off with a flick of her hand. "Oh yes, that's right. Shirasuth caught her a few days back. She shouldn't be clutching for a several more sevendays yet," again, with the hand waving. "We could take a jaunt before then. Those sands get awfully claustrophobic after a while."

Ashli grumbles, then blinks. "Wait, it's food time already? Are you sure? I could've sworn it was just past lunch time...hm..." Ash contemplates this new development for a moment, before grinning wryly. "Ah, yes, new formations. Sounds like absolutely a barrel of wherries and then some." She says sympathetically, managing to keep a straight face. "I've simply been researching, as usual, random bits of information that Pyrene says she needs, yesterday, or so she's constantly telling me. Though if she needed them yesterday, I wish she'd have told me the day before yesterday..." Ashli frowns, and winks, before nodding. "Yes, Shirasuth caught her. A good flight, all in all, though K'nex was...fairly...awkward. Does it happen often, Vaeli, after a gold flight, that the two people involved end up not having sex?" Well, born and bred a 'brat, and straightforwardness seems to be a trait she's cultivating. "Ooh, a trip to Southern before she clutches sounds absolutely marvelous, truly."

Vaeli walks over to a window and pretends to check the time. "Yep. The sun's almost down. Dinnertime." Nevermind the fact that the sun's barely over it's zenith, which means it can only be early to mid-afternoon. She quickly lets the curtains go to cover any proof of lying and walks back to a couch near Ashli, charts in hand. "Pyrene always yells order a day or two late," the goldrider states indifferently. She looks down at her lap, running a hand over the charts located there in a futile effort to smooth any other imperfections out as she speaks. "Awkward? That happens, sometimes. I probably shouldn't go into detail about Nissionath's last flight, so I won't. But then again, you haven't had many lovers, have you? And K'nex has been holed up with Tatia for turns, so I imagine a little awkwardness is to be expected. Can't speak from personal experience, mind, but I can only imagine." Not born in a weyr, but having lived there over a decade now, that weyrbred straightforwardness finds its way easily into Vaeli's personality.

Ashli frowns. "My goodness. I can't believe I...closed my eyes that long." Nope. She wasn't sleeping on the job. Obviously, she was resting her eyes. How dare anyone suggest otherwise, surely. Ash laughs wryly, and nods. "Me? No, not truly. Though one day, you know, I'll be the weyr sweetheart, really. Um...perhaps. Though Isa has told me haughtily that she is most certainly not a green, and therefore I am not allowed to be a greenrider. Really." Ash says that last with a mock-huff, and a wry wink, before she nods. "Yes. He seemed so nervous, so I restrained myself and...sprinted back to my weyr. Very unsatisfying, let me tell you." The girl sighs, and flops herself back into her chair, rummaging around in her knapsack for a moment to return the hide with her handwriting on it into the muddle.

Vaeli keeps her head down and begins to rolls the charts into a thin cylinder to hide a grin. "You could always go to the lower caverns and find someone, you know. Quite effective when left unsatisfied, and very few would be willing to turn a rider like you. Just...make sure you find one that's not mucking out the stables." At this point, does raise her gaze to meet Ashli's face with a very serious expression. A little strained to keep that expression, but serious nonetheless.

Ashli snickers at that, and waggles a hand. "Aye, I suppose the scent of stables could effectively dampen the mood." Ash agrees with a straight face, though a smile twitches at the corner of her lips. "Isamath suggested a visit to Bitra to find myself a nice muscle-y Bitran, but then she decided she didn't want to fly that far. So I built myself a nice fire instead, and that took a bit of work, considering I hadn't any fuel for it, so the manual labor was fairly satisfying." Though no substitute, apparently. Sigh. Poor little sexually-deprived Ashli.

Vaeli crosses her legs, right over left, and sets the charts to one side with a pat of her hand. "I've had a run or two in the stables. Hay isn't the best bed, I promise you, no matter how much you try to smash it flat. It took me a good day to remove all pieces of straw from my hair and clothes," she finishes with dry laugh. It wasn't funny. She does smirk, however, at Ashli's idea of manual labor. "I'll bet it took hours to go to sleep. Which reminds me. I made a jaunt down to Southern a little ways back for Marond. Brought back his 'protege'." Vaeli just quirks an eyebrow at the other and waits for a reaction.

Ashli sighs. "It did, actually. I didn't quite know what to do with myself. Didn't really have the gumption to go capture some poor unsuspecting soul to warm my bed, though Isa very nearly ensnared Darth when she saw him wing by. Took some work to convince her that V'der just isn't really my type...I wasn't quite that desperate by then." Ash pauses as she listens to that information, keeping her face a study in blankness. "Oh, did you? And is he nice?"

Vaeli laughs. "V'der isn't necessarily anyone's type. Certainly not my own." She busies herself by picking up her charts and trying to tighten the roll they're in. "Mmm. He's alright. So far into Marond's skin it isn't funny. I took him out to Seacliffs the other day in an attempt to try and sway his starry-eyes elsewhere. Not sure if it worked. Constice, is his name. Nineteen turns, brown hair, glasses." Vaeli gives a significant pause before faking a grin. "I saw him naked."

A nod answers that, before she frowns. "Is he? Hm...well, perhaps it'll work out...Marond can't be viewed in a favorable light for very long, once one gets to know him, I'd say. Nineteen Turns, is he? Just my age. Naked, hmm?" Ash chatters on for a moment, before pausing and quirking an eyebrow, "Is he worth pursuing? I haven't met him as of yet..." Dark eyes twinkle wryly as the girl avoids the main issue in this - that Marond has a new henchman.

Vaeli meets Ashli's gaze again. "He should be pretty easy to mold. I've only met him on a handful of ocassions, but he seems friendly enough. Had this horrible speech impediment after X'ian broke his nose, but that jaunt to Seacliffs was clearing him right up." Vaeli speaks as though this is all common knowledge. "A little to young for myself, but I think you may like what you see, Ashli. If you can get through the gaggle of girls that follows him everywhere."

Ashli blinks. "X'ian broke Constice's nose? Well, that's odd. I hadn't heard that tidbit of gossip." Ash seems slightly disappointed that she's so far behind in the gossip trail, though she blinks once again. "Gaggle of girls? Is he really that attractive? Well, a bit of competition might be nice, I suppose. Toss me back into the game, and all. I suppose I could invite him for a chat at some point. What's his actual title? Assistant Headman? So that means he...is just barely beneath junior weyrwoman. Which works out fairly nicely. Not that I'd pull rank. But it'd mean he might just go on and accept an invitation for a chat. Though I suppose that might take some of the fun out of the chase." Ash ruminates aloud, apparently to herself, before she shrugs. "Well, we'll see if I can't capture him around at some point."

Vaeli raises an eyebrow. "From what I hear, Constice introduced himself, and then X'ian nailed him. It could have something to do with his relations to Marond, and as far as I know, he hasn't a title of any sort. Yet. Just jot him a note saying that Junior Weyrwoman Ashli would like a chat. I'm sure the little gopher would answer. He's sleeping in Marond's office as it is, and I'm almost positive your weyr would be a change of scenery." Vaeli winks at that, and begins to gather up her things. "The boy could use a little bit of companionship, if you know what I mean."

"And Faranth knows I could." Ash quips in return, though she nods. "Aye, I could show off my colored pillow collection, and introduce him to that wonderful red monster-wine I've got stashed away, the one with the lovely kick to it. And, of course, subtly pump him for information about whatever Marond's into now." The girl shrugs, then belatedly mentions "Well, that sounds like X'ian, I suppose. Haven't seen X'ian around much recently, myself." She considers this for a moment, and nods. "Sleeping in Marond's office can't be much fun, and I've certainly a large enough weyr to hold a guest for a while. Completely innocently, of course, you know."

Vaeli winks yet again and stands up. "If I see him first, I'll be sure to put in a good word for you. But if you do entice him to your weyr, which I know you can, tell me first so I can soundproof my ears. You're too close of a neighbor to sleep confortably when you have company." Vaeli grins as she heads off down the stairs, letting her voice echo off the walls. "Clear skies, Ashli!"

Sun, 12 Jun 2005 03:25:11 GMT

Vaeli takes Constice to Seacliffs for the afternoon.

Head Person's Office
Simple yet elegant, this rather spacious office holds little to endear it to any particular personage. A luxuriant desk, large and ancient, takes up a good portion of the room. A small hearth and two worn plush chairs settle to one side. Bits and bobbles can be found cluttering corners and drawers. Hides lay neatly stacked here and there, along with a large sand table and a myriad of tiny glows. There is one thing that draws the eye, and perhaps marks this as Marond's hide away-- a small shelf of Pern's finest straight alcohols, and two newly purchased and extravagantly shiny flasks for personal use.
It is a spring sunset.
You notice Marond asleep here.
Constice is here.
Obvious exits:
Hallway Quarters

Constice is writing in small, terse handwriting a series of equally tersely worded notes to himself about, presumably, the run of the caverns. He is sitting on his cot and despite the otherwise immaculate presentation of his clothing, his glasses are slightly askew on the bridge of his nose.

Vaeli's footfalls announce her oncoming arrival first, then her appearance in the doorway concludes it. She's only in half her leathers, the bottom half, which is becoming quite a common dress for the rider, and the top half is simply adorned in a plain yellow blouse. "Interrupting written lessons, I presume?" is said almost conversationally. She raises an eyebrow as an afterthought and doesn't move inside the room. Yet.

Constice's head jerks up in a way that makes his glasses askew yet further and lightly prod at one of the more sensitive sections of his nose. He shoves them up with a free finger and sets down the hide, standing to attention a few seconds too late. "Notes," he says thickly and makes a slight bow. "'ello Beyrboman Vaeli."

Vaeli suppresses a grin at Constice's movements and taps her nose with a grimace. "Looks like it was a doozey. Let me guess. Tall, dark hair, unstable, and with a permanent scowl plastered on his face?" She doesn't wait for the invitation or the answer. Instead, she strolls to the small shelf of intoxicating beverages and scans them as she continues. "Where's your boss?"

"Nyes. And id bas a doozy," Constice agrees wholeheartedly. If with the same slow and sloggy diction. If Vaeli is already at Marond's liquor shelf. Constice tries not to eye her suspiciously. "I do nod know bhere Marond is, bud I am tsure 'e'll be back tsoon."

Vaeli doesn't look surprised. "Yeah. X'ian can be that way sometimes. My money is betted on the fact of being Marond's newest protege," she says indifferently. A bottle is shifted so Vaeli can eye the label before she pushes it back in its place. "Salt water helps, by the way. Fancy a ride?" The goldrider looks halfway over her shoulder to eye the suspicious little man.

"Dat is bhat I dought." Constice adjusts his position subtly to get a better look at what's she's doing. "I 'ave been using tsome tsalt --" He pauses when Vaeli's attention returns more directly on him. "A ride, beyrboman?"

Vaeli waves her hand is dismissal. "Posh. The sea would be so much better. Or so the story goes, anyway." She plucks another bottle out as she continues talking with a shrug. "Yes. A ride. Or a raincheck, if you prefer to stay and study your...notes."

"Bhere bould you bant to dake me, beyrboman?" Constice is not, in fact, that interested in his notes. Or remaining in the office for any longer. And Marond can hardly fault him for practicing tie establishment with goldriders, and keeping them from rummaging through his office, right?

The weyrwoman turns to look at Constice with a steady gaze and unwavering smile, albeit that the smile doesn't reach her eyes. "I hear Seacliffs is rather nice this time of turn. Interested?"

Query: Is the weyrwoman liable to boot one off a cliff and claim tragic accident? Answer: X'ian is making one paranoid. "I bould like to tsee dem, beyrboman," is Constice's final response.

Vaeli's smile widens into a grin in an act of almost suspiciously friendliness. "Terrific. We'll be back before he misses you, don't worry." She holds up the selected bottle. "Call it a business expense. I'll pay him back for it at a later date," she states, and doesn't allow him a retort before beckoning the man to follow her.

****In midair over Seacliffs....

As Nissionath dives in for a landing almost immediately from between, Vaeli manages to holler over her shoulder. "Not as bad as it was the first time, is it?"

Constice, still concealing a private horror (and an even more private exhiliration) that Vaeli /took/ something from Marond's weyr, is not concealing his desperate cling to Nissionath nearly so well. "N... no, nod ad all bad."

Beach
A long stretch of beach lies before you, gently sloping down to the water's edge, where equally gentle waves roll forward to kiss the shore. The far end of the beach cuts off abruptly at the tumbled ruins of a former Hold, where clinging vines cover the fallen stones, creating a seeming garden of peace and beauty. A couple of tidepools are set to the side, teeming with the varied sealife trapped within. Rocks, ranging from tiny pebbles to hefty boulders, are scattered throughout the beach, the more reasonably sized ones usually concealing a spiderclaw or two. Small sand dunes, pieces of driftwood and, of course, shells and pebbles of all sizes litter the beach, offering a sort of treasure... [look closer]
It is a spring evening.
To the northeast, you see one ship.
Gliding above are three firelizards.
Gold Nissionath is here.
You see Millenium Falcon Kite here.
You notice Eigo asleep here.
Obvious exits:
Dock Tumbled Rockface Secluded Beach Seacliffs Hold Courtyard

Vaeli neglects the usage of the ladder in favor of slipping down Nissionath's foreleg, but unbundles it for the comfort of her passenger. The bottle is removed from her bag attached to the riding straps, and Vaeli uses the gold dragon's paw and a seat. "You'll get used to it, in time. So tell me, Constice. Why come to Reaches?"

Constice tries to dismount rapidly himself, to forestall any impatience, but his muscles are tight and twitchy, still, and this sadly, sadly decreases his efficience. But he does get down eventually and his knees do not buckle. "Dank dyou, beyrboman. I'm tsure I bill." That mostly unmeant statement of self-reassurance made, he makes another pause. To think. "I came to Reaches because Marond is a good 'eadman and can deach me much about 'ow it is done. I am best daught if I can tsee dhe results of bhat 'e does."

Vaeli turns her head to one side slightly in an attempt to hear Constice's thick speech better. After a moment of her own pause to decipher it in her head, she nods once. "Ah. So you're the one to replace Southern's headwoman." She nods to herself before motioning towards the water. "All the salt you could ever need. A soak or two and that nose will be as good as new." If Vaeli's constant subject changing is causing confusion in her company, she certainly doesn't seem to take notice. Somewhat back on topic, she adds, "A little young to be in the position of Headman, aren't you?"

"Reblace? No. Only bhen ..." The water does distract him, less that it is there and Vaeli is motioning to it, more that he is not sure if she is asking him to swim, and if she is. "A tsoak . . ." But there goes the subject elsewhere, and Constice must strive to follow it, if not without an initial blink. "Dyes? I am not going do be 'eadman yet?"

Vaeli does manage a hearty laugh at his confusion. "Sorry, Constice. Bad habit. You can't be but...what? Eighteen turns, maybe? I highly doubt Marond is planning on training you for another decade, which would still make you rather young." Vaeli shrugs her shoulders at the man. "Your credentials must be rather good to attract his attention, hm?" Vaeli's obvious query for a better explaination hangs onto the end of her over-friendly tone.

"Ninedeen durns," Constice corrects automatically, if so very politely. Before the rest of what Vaeli said has to register and be considered. Over and over again. This was, he has decided, a bad idea. "Bell," he begins. "I'be been broved bery dalanted at tcertain kinds of administration, aldough I must inzist dat I bill not be 'eadman anybhere any dime tsoon." He is trying to make up better kinds of administration than he was actually proved talented at.

Vaeli raises an eyebrow at his correction, but doesn't remark on most of his response. "So that would make Marond your...friend." The bottle is finally remembered, and the weyrwoman pops the top with a glance at Constice for any objections.
"Mendor. But does an apprentice become a master bithout dyears of draining?" By which
Constice means that one becomes an apprentice after much instruction, not that apprentices require a periodical expulsion of extraneous liquid. The bottle is glanced at in response to Vaeli's glance, but no protest is made.

"Mmm. True." Vaeli's response takes a moment in coming. One must allow for the nasal handicap of the conversation. Almost absently, Vaeli tilts the bottle towards Constice without a word said on that topic. "Even then, though, many apprentices take cues from many mentors, although they only have one offically. Widens their scope of learning, if you will. Or at least, that was my experience with the Herders."

"Are be going to drink directly 'rom the boddle?" Constice asks incredulously before he, again, quite parses through what Vaeli actually said. "I am alsho borking bith the 'eadboman, of course. In Tsouthern. Bud it is not easy to find many 'eadmen to bork bith. It is nod a craft yet."

Vaeli eyes Constice for a moment. "I'm not ill, Constice, and even if I were, the reputation of the cause of receiving a cold from a weyrwoman wouldn't stop at just drinking from the same bottle." Again, she wiggles the bottle at him. "Aye, and I highly doubt the Harpers are going to rustle up a new Administration Crafthall. Which is precisely what I'm getting at," she states cryptically.

"I bas more borried dat ... never mind." Constice makes a note not to inadvertantly insult weyrwomen any further. Er. He takes the bottle and sort of holds by the neck. Because drinking from the bottle might hurt that poor nose of his. But he does hold it up in a way that is gradually rising in the direction of his mouth. "I am tsorry, beyrboman, but bhat are you gedding at?" He phrases it respectfully.

Vaeli merely looks out to sea for several moments before continuing. "I mean that to study only one line of administration from persistantly one or two people may not be the best and most effective way of learning how to do your future job." Vaeli clears her throat and manages to keep most of the trace amounts of disgust out of her voice.

"Bhat bould you suggest in'tead, beyrboman?" Constice gives Vaeli a deferential incline of his head as if he was completely oblivious to any trace amounts or disgust, or any negative implications about Marond's sole tutelage of one Constice. The bottle is still held, instead of tipped and drunk from. He's getting there.

"Firstly, stop calling me 'weyrwoman'. My name is Vaeli." She gives an inward shudder at the formality and tilts her head in thought. "Well. I don't want to impose on your 'teachings'," the last word gets a certain infliction, "but perhaps befriending some of the others of rank around the weyr would help. Even wingleaders have to manage a certain level of administration." Vaeli shrugs and leaves that topic behind. "Get a good, clean whiff of the air, maybe take a dive. That impediment of yours has got to go, begging your pardon."

"Tsorry ... Vaeli." But it's so hard not to be formal! You can all but see Constice cringe with the effort. "I don't dink id'll be doo 'ard to meet some odders of rank. I dink dat is a good idea." Another incline of his head and he finally brings the bottle back just enough to take a drink, and as his upper lip insists on compressing against his nose, it does hurt. But only for a moment. It's like a metaphor. Then he lowers the bottle and looks out toward the sea. "Believe me, Vaeli, I'm brobably more dired of it dhan you are."

Vaeli nods, more or less to buy time to decipher the impediment. "Pyrene, as cranky as she can be, would be a good example. Look out for the assistant headpeople. They're good, as well. There is more than one way to shear a llama, so to speak." Vaeli's eyes crinkle as she narrows them in confusion. "Tell me something, Constice. What did you do to X'ian in the first place?"

"I 'ave spoken do Pyrene. I bill brobably do tsoo again, soon." Constice still looks out over the sea, trying to inhale through his nose and largely failing. "I tsaid 'ello to 'ian and asked 'im 'is name. Dat is all."

Vaeli suppresses another reaction, being that it was most likely her doing that X'ian knew of Constice at all. No need to spread the information. "He must've been moody over losing the leadership flight," she mutters to herself. "Well, Constice, go have your soak. Sniff. What have you. I'm afraid we may be missed soon. You think Marond will have a llama over your missing person?"

Vaeli, having lived a weyr for over a decade, is not clued into modesty, and therefore doesn't divert her gaze. Not in attraction, mind you, but a watchful one to make sure the little gopher doesn't drown. "Do be careful, would you? I wouldn't want to explain to Marond how his apprentice died tragically on the coasts of Seacliffs after drinking a borrowed bottle of liquor!"

Much as it might be advantageous for one to have a weyrwoman madly attracted to him, Constice is not quite this naive. "If I get drunk off of one tswallow, I deserve do drown," he calls back, before efficiently, if still with that minimal self consciousness, shedding the rest of his clothing and first dabbling in the shallows, before half flopping, half more, er, gracefully submerging himself under the surface. He forgot to take off his glasses. Blast.

Vaeli moves a hand over her mouth to stiffle a cackle. "Don't knock it. Stranger things have happened." Vaeli, for her part, is still lounging on Nissionath's paw. The gold dragon, however, chooses to make indentions in the sand with her snout, seemingly to some unknown purpose. "Now I get to tell the weyr that I saw you naked."

"Bon't dey be shocked," Constice calls as soon as he resurfaces, keeping a fair proximity to the beach and keeping his head up as he strokes. He is a Southerner, after all. Plenty of opportunity to swim. "Brobably cause a scandal."

Business aside, Vaeli does manage a laugh. "I can see their faces now. Someone would be flayed alive." She doesn't, however, make an attempt on her part to swim. Instead, she glances towards the sun to check the time. "A very tempting rumor to start. I think your handicap is getting a little better, by the way."

"A little." Why, were those two ts together? Amazing. Constice takes a shallow dive to submerge himself again and stays down longer this time. Comes up closer to shore. Whee, gets shallow rapidly. "Nnf. It does do wonders for d-the swelling." He stands up and pinches his nose experimentally. Ow.

"You're improving. I'll get X'ian to bring you back in another sevenday for another dip," Vaeli adds cooly.

"You're joking, right?" Constice removes his glasses and shakes them off. Wonder they're still on his face.

Vaeli hums to herself. "Not really. It'll give him the chance to get to know you and apologize. No?"

"B- pardon me, Vaeli, but it also gives 'im a chance to drown me, drop me between, I could go on . . ." Constice gives the glasses a final flip and replaces them gingerly.

Vaeli can't help cackling. "Oh, alright. I won't let him have the pleasure, if it makes you feel better. Although I'd head the other way if I saw him, regardless. Which I usually do." She checks the sky again. "It's been over an hour or so. Pyrene will be squawking soon."

"Yes. Let me get ... dressed." Constice wades out of the water to retrieve his clothing, wishing he had the foresight to bring something to dry himself with. Oh well. "I plan to stay away from ... 'ian in the near future. But I'll find rides as needed, I'm sure. ... friendly weyr for the most part." And in a matter of a moment or two, he's dressed and ready, and once again adjusting his glasses.

Vaeli simply raises an eyebrow at Constice's actions. "Nissionath, I'm sure, doesn't mind a wet passenger. We'll fly straight until you get dried off." She glances upwards. "With the wind speed, it seems, that won't be long." She motions for her passenger to mount up first. "If I'm free, you can come find me." As an afterthought, she adds, "If you can, of course."

Constice hooks his fingers in the lower rungs, than scrambles up with a bit more confidence. "I'm sure I'll have time. Can only d-take notes so long. We'll find a time, if ... of course, I can find you. Will manage." He straps himself in.

Vaeli checks the straps, grins to herself, and gives Nissionath the go ahead for take-off. The gold dragon takes great pleasure in doing all sorts of heart-stopping actions as she darts into the sky towards home.

Haha!

Mon, 06 Jun 2005 05:15:44 GMT

Go me. These are both ganked, as my power kept winking out on me and what partial logs I had. I still need part of the first one, but hey. I'm an official ganker. I work with what I can.

From Constice:

*I /will/ insert the first few poses before we actually got to Southern. When I steal them from Marond.*

Southern Plateau
A wide grassy meadow carpets the top of the plateau here, the grasses rippling in the ocean breeze. The meadow is bordered on three sides by trees, but to the north the plateau drops off abruptly to the beaches and ocean, a good dragonlength or more below. From here, though, all you can see to the north is distant ocean.

It's hot, humid, and the precise opposite of the conditions currently suffered not ten minutes prior. Peeling away layers, the Headman's smile is pleased if grotesque. Slithering down the queen's ladder he moves towards Constice with an air of authority. "Constice! Everything there?" Restless eyes dart about for Constice's things as the sly shadow of an older man moves in and about the backdrop of bulky gold.

"Everything, sir." Constice, planted an appropriate distance away from the dragon, places his hand on his chest and gives the headman a slow bow, more showy than strictly deferential. Then he straightens and with easy efficience plucks up his bags -- two of them. "I am ready to go." His eyes sweep the queen as if looking for the rider.

Vaeli casts a very satisfied look skyward as she makes quick action of removing her outer covering of leathers, exposing a billowy white tunic underneath. Deftly, she deposits the no-longer-needed garmet and obviously inticipating a speedy return, halfway inside a rather large pouch hanging from Nissionath's riding straps before sliding to the ground herself. She doesn't pay the men much mind other than a cursory glance at the unfamiliar face; instead, she leans against Nissionath's foreleg with crossed arms and a somewhat pleasant, if wary, look on her face.

Marond nods, watching Constice's bow with obvious approval as he moves back towards Vaeli and Niss. There's a pause as Constice and Vaeli notice one another, Marond brushing a welcome between the two in absent, don't-really-care-to-spend-the-time fashion. "Constice, this is jr. Weyrwoman Vaeli, Vaeli, Constice." One hand hooks onto the ladder as he attempts to bundle his extra clothing in front of him.

"Weyrwoman." Constice repeats the bow, lower this time, although the young man has to adjust his bags appropriately to complete it properly. Once completed, he smiles at Vaeli, than turns his gaze back toward Marond. He is not dressed warmly for Reaches, although his clothing is a bit more heavy than necessary for Southern, and he slips his hand down to slide open a bag -- just enough to tug out a jacket. He transfers his bag to the hand already holding another one, and so juggling, he puts on the jacket. And quietly curses himself for looking awkward, however momentarily. Should have done this before.

With a thin smile than doesn't even come close to touching her eyes, Vaeli replies a greeting. "'Pleasure, Constice." The glimmer in her eyes suggests a bit of amusement as she casts Marond a sideglace during Constice's bow. She tips her head shallowy towards the younger man in return and finally moves from her current position to stand on her own. "I have toggles on Nissionath's riding straps to assist with carrying your baggage, Constice." Her tone is has a cool air about it as she motions to the appropriate spots on the leather and continues. "I trust your belongings aren't hazardous to 'Reaches?" The final question is accompanied with a a lifted eyebrow.

Marond seizes that moment of mild oafishness with a quiet but noticeable clearing of the throat and a ruffling of dark brows. Now neatly seated in his perch, the Headman begins slipping on his coat and loosely wrapping his scarf as he waits-- a puddle of impatient patience-- for the rest of the convoy.

"I can assure you they are perfectly safe, weyrwoman," Constice says with a smaller smile, trying to imperceptively shoulder his jacket into neatness. He is incapable of ignoring Marond's throat clear, but he manages not to let any reaction show on his face. The quiet swearing in his head remains in his head. He will simply have to do better. He can do better. He moves toward the ladder, adjusting his bags once again, and ascends with the most grace he can muster in the current situation -- just enough, at first, to place his baggage on the appropriate sites on the straps. Then he thankfully keeps climbing.

Vaeli nods her satisfaction at the report of the luggage, double checks to makes sure they are securely fastened. Please make sure all seats and tray tables are in their upright positions. "Ever been between, Constice?" she drawls conversationally before lurching herself into her own forward seat. The jacket is replaced speedily onto her form and gloves are returned to her hands. She tips her head over her shoulder, first at Marond, then Constice, apparently waiting for the two passengers to give a thumbs-up for lift-off.

Marond is ready, though he only offers that tidbit through a mild wiggling of the buttocks in order to secure himself a little more as he straps himself in. It certainly isn't Marond's first time on a dragon, and as he eases on those new gloves and wraps the scarf about himself, he makes sure his charge is safely stowed away as well; Wouldn't do to lose his prodigy between.

"No, weyrwoman," Constice says, although his tone is reasonably confident when he says it. His attention, as he settles behind Marond, is turned to the straps. Constice's mastery of the straps is . . . not precisely mastery. He's spent some time observing other people with mastery of the straps in preparation for this moment, but his motions are initially tentative and unsure. He does not want to get lost between either. But after some tugging and trying to discreetly check Marond's against his own, he is satisfied. "I'm ready."

Nissionath gives a snort following Constice's reply, and Vaeli lets out a guffaw in reaction to some unheard conversation between the pair. She checks one more time on her company and gives Nissionath the all clear to go home. At which Nissionath takes an abrupt leap sharply into the air and barely gains a little more than a hundred feet above the trees before winking out.

-------

High Reaches Bowl

Marond slips down into the few inches of snow dusting the ground. Scarf is pulled a little tighter as a gust of wind slides down the surrounding rocks and batters the small company in pellets of icy white. Marond's concern for Constice's well being is palpable, and he is quick to help Vaeli with the unmounting of the bags so he can safely stow his charge near the hearth. "My duty to your dragon, Vaeli, we appreciate the transport." So formal it's almost insulting.

Cold in Southern translates to "one cannot easily run around naked on the beach and feel comfortable." This is why Constice, already clinging to the straps in the cold of between, is still clinging after they blink back in, eyes half closed in terror of the weather. He is meant to recover himself, however, so he unpries his finger and undoes the straps, and when his bags are noted to be already unmounted, descends the ladder with stiff gloveless hands. Constice has a few additional clothing runs to make, he is certain. He never thought of gloves. "Th-thank you," he says to Vaeli and, bothered by the chattering, leaves it at that.

Despite the obvious cold that's chafing Vaeli's cheeks enough to blot them red, she manages to look tolerant of the annoying weather. "Mmm. Indeed, you do," she replies cryptically to Marond with a twitch of a brow. In a well practiced action, she slides down Nissionath's leg and thuds to the ground, and it rewarded with a small snowspray for her effort. The goldrider offers a halk-cocked grin to Constice in response before looking from one to the other. "Will he be staying in your quarters, Marond, or should I send for someone to make room for you in the dorms, Constice?"

Marond watches Vaeli quietly, despite the howling of snow-splattered wind and his hair which has taken to lashing out in every direction at once. What calculation steeps in dark eyes is banished in a blink as he turns towards Constice and ushers him towards the caverns. "He'll be staying in my quarters, I've already had his cot sent in."

Constice picks up his bags, largely for an excuse not to wrap his arms around himself. That would be indecorous. He nods, very close-mouthed, at Marond, and then, as an afterthought, at Vaeli, before turning toward the caverns in response to the headman's ushering. His movement is naturally as much self-preservation as obedience.

Vaeli allows a slow, knowing, and somewhat sardonic smile play over her mouth. "Oh. That sort is it?" She tips her head slightly, as if confirming something in her own mind. "Very well. I trust Marond will take care of you, Constice, as he obviously already has. Good day, boys. Play nice." Vaeli takes the cue and heads towards the caverns at a slightly quicker pace and branches off towards the smell of hot food.

Marond imparts a wholly sarcastic smile to Vaeli, tipped in cynicism and drowned in displeasure. "Enjoy the rest of your day, Weyrwoman." And Vaeli is promptly pushed out of mind. "Right through that canvas, Constice."

Take care of? That sort? What in Faranth's name does she mean by that? However, as Constice neither possesses the articulation at the moment to protest, nor is he willing to do so (being the completely unruffleable, unflappable fellow he is), he merely keeps walking. Warmth is a necessity, of course. This until he is able to finally duck through the canvas. Aaaah.

From X'ian:

Stores and Wine Cellar

Redolent with the smells of oak and spirits, fresh linens and drying stores, these caverns offer a certain cool serenity. Swept clean and kept neat, the stores area is well-lit and carefully arranged to offer efficient access to the weyr-tithe. A few small stools and narrow wooden tables offer a quiet moments peace.
Deeper into the weyr, the cool dampness of the cellars stores large casks of wine and spirits. A large stone table and some worn rock-benches fill one branch of the caves, while the Storemaster's office is angled such that any unauthorized visitors might be apprehended.

Only the bottom half of Vaeli's yellow riding leathers can be seen from her vantage point down one slender aisle. Upon further inspection, her jacket is hanging about her waist with a billowy, long-sleeve billowy tunic on her top half. The weyrwoman is actually kneeling on one of the stools in the cellars in an attempt to reach a shelf of linens higher than her natural vertical limit, and succeeds in pulling down more than her fair share of the fabric therein.

X'ian is looking a little rougher around the edges than he has in a while - the riding jacket he has pulled on over his shirt one that probably hasn't seen action for at least a turn thanks to it being...well. More than a little worn, the leather and hide creased and rough, with blackened areas and singe marks crossing randomly over the back and shoulders. He's also got a five o'clock shadow going on around his goatee, and a hollow look about him that he apparently intends to fix with crappy wine, for that's the portion of the cellars he immediately heads towards - one hand rattling the ladder half-heartedly in passing. "Nice to see you again, Vaeli's ass."

Vaeli has only just recovered from the freefalling linens before she gives a short wail in surprise and grabs the previously mentioned shelf for support. A quick glance and a glare follow that immediate action before settling on X'ian's ruffled frame. "Glad to know my ass is worth greeting. Gives off a little fuzzy sensation in my heart," she says in a tone that's not with its pleasantries. The goldrider struggles to stuff the extra linens back in place before stepping down a step or two to inspect the leftovers in her arms. "What's gotten you looking all doom and gloom?"

"I do what I can." is X'ian's gruff response to that, his back turning to the ass in question as he draws up short before the wine - two steps taken left. Away from the good stuff. His glare flicking idly from bottle to skin to bottle, he slides his hands into his pockets, taking his time in answering the second question. With another question. "Do I look all doom and gloom?"

Vaeli turns her person around to sit on top of the short ladder. She's managed to her face fairly out of view up until this point. Only now it's bathed in the lamplight, and her scrutiny is focused almost solely on the fleece in her lap. "Yes, actually, you do," she states indifferently. "Haven't shaved. Skulking around. Looking like a wherry who just got his tail feathers plucked. So yes. You do." Vaeli brushes the hair out of her face. "Not to mention, you look low on money."

"If you're talking about the jacket...I like this jacket." Withdrawing one hand to slide a bottle out of its hole, X'ian turns it enough to squint at the rough label before pushing it back into place, and tugging out the one next to it to repeat the process. "It's comfortable."

Vaeli hops off of the ladder to make her way to the nearby table. "It's old. And faded. Has a nostalgic factor, maybe, but still old. Looking for something specific, or just something to drown the day out?" Vaeli sounds actually conversational, maybe a little too much so.

X'ian isn't ignorant of the suspicious nature of her tone. So rather than give an answer that may inadvertently satisfy her curiosity, he says nothing - shrugging a lazy shoulder before the next bottle is slid all the way out into his palm - his fingers smearing clear spots in the dust coated glass as he holds it up to get a better look.

Vaeli tilts her head over her shoulder as the ruffle of the nostalgic jacket gives away a shrug. She sits a moment or two in silence, taking the chance to look at the fleece a little closer for any irregular signs of unusable fabric. Finally, "Could Marond's new little puppet be on your mind?"

"I didn't know he had one for sure. But...that's...great." Dry, to say the least, X'ian seems satisfied with what he's found, but doesn't turn back just yet, prying at the cork briefly before fumbling his free hand over the side of his belt for his knife. "How is he?"

"Mmm. A real 'yes' man. Whipped and wrapped. Glasses. Brown hair. Hit it off with the ladies, so I heard," Vaeli's voice replies airily as she wraps the fleece around one arm for testing. A devilish grin creeps onto her face. "Apparently scared of flying.""

"Yes men don't hit it off with ladies. Marond's probably been working with him for a while. Of course, if he's scared of flying, he may have women feeling sorry for him or something." X'ian mutters, grimacing as he gets the tip of his knife worked into the plug and finally manages to pry the damn thing off.

Vaeli shrugs absently. "Perhaps. Heard a drudge or two talking about the stream that followed him through the caverns. Too young for my blood, really. Had a few bags with him that Marond was entirely too eager to get back to the weyr." Apparently happy with her selection, Vaeli swivels in her seat. "Could I borrow that for a moment?" The 'that' currently being eyeballed is in the shape of X'ian's knife.

The remains of the cork flicked aside, X'ian shifts the knife around in his grip as he turns to eye her, offering the knife hilt-first, the blackened hide of the grip about as worn as his jacket. "Well, I could kill him or something."

Vaeli flicks a short smile of gratitude towards him and retrieves the knife before turning back to her slightly-yellowed fleece. "You could. Of course, it'd only serve to make you feel better and force Marond to find a replacement, of which I'm sure he has. Constice is his name, and he's bedding down in Marond's quarters for the stay." Her part of the conversation is accompanied by the quiet cutting made on the fleece in front of her. Not much of it is a straight line, but doable. "So. What's got your knickers in a wad?"

"I could kill Marond." X'ian tries, watching her work with the knife for a moment longer before he turns back to the shelf and lifts the bottle again, this time to swallow down a gulp of the stuff. "Snakes aren't all that dangerous once they've had their heads chopped off. Blegh. This tastes like shit." The last question is conveniently ignored.

Vaeli simply ignores X'ian's pleas for bloodshed, finishes her cutting job, and stabs the knife into the table with a little more force than necessary. "Alright. You're dodging," she says in accusation with a hint of irritation.

X'ian scratches idly at the back of his head at the accusation, his already ruffled hair even made all the more disordly in the process. "It's not important. I've handled it before. And I don't want to talk about it now."

Vaeli narrows her eyes suspiciously. Getting X'ian to talk would be similar to hollering at a stone wall to move. Instead, she rests one arm over the back of her chair, closes her mouth, and proceeds to burrow a hole through X'ian's backside with her stare.

X'ian takes another swallow of wine - the noise made in the back of his throat once he's got it down far from pleasant, but fairly indicative of the taste. "We could just drop him on an island somewhere and let Thread eat him."

Vaeli grimaces in response to the throat sound. "Sure. Sounds like fun. We'll make a picnic of it and be back before sunset," she says sarcastically, although not without humor. "You're awfully rough company this evening." Blunt enough?

"I could dance if that'd make you feel better." X'ian grates, turning to face her with a dramatic flare of his wrist and a hopelessly dry half-smirk. "Anyway, my schedule is empty. When's best for you?"

Vaeli raises an eyebrow. "Like you could dance," she states smugly. She proceeds to fold up the fabric into a roll. When that's done, she attempts to yank the knife out of the table, and fails miserably in the first three yanks. "Let me check my planner. I'm sure I'll be able to fit you in somewhere between knitting and wherry-hunting next sevenday."

X'ian chuckles darkly at that, a brow arched as a flicker of his more familiar self briefly wins over the cynicism. "You don't think I can dance? Well...I can't say I'm surprised. I'm hardly..mmm..." Glancing down at himself, X'ian gestures 'you know' lazily. "Yeah, well. Just let me know."

"Mm. Don't feel bad, X'ian. I’ve got two left feet that I'm quite proud of myself." Vaeli tucks the fleece under one arm and pushes out from her chair. "If that mental headache of yours doesn't go away, I've got a liquor stashed inside my weyr that will guarantee all mental pain removed. And keep an eye out for Constice, would you please?"

"Yeah. I'll keep an eye out for him." X'ian mutters, lifting the wine bottle in farewell. "You might be surprised about the dancing thing, though. Some day. If there's ever...a gather or something around here."

"Ha. Hm. I may take you up on that, just to see for myself," Vaeli says, clearly amused. She heads off, leaving her voice echoing down the stairs. "Who says you need music to dance?"

AHA!

Mon, 11 Apr 2005 21:54:57 GMT

OOC: I've finally done it. After searching for FOREVER, and giving up, I found an actress that resembles what I think Vaeli would look like. Of course, I had to watch Spanglish to do so, but still. Tea Leoni. Not so much in the movie, but I went and found some different pics of her and this one came close.

Only with slightly longer hair and a shade or two lighter. Yay.

Rock!

Thu, 07 Apr 2005 02:32:50 GMT

OOC: Alright. For those of you who are curious, I will not be around next weekend (16th and 17th). The 19th is the big 2-0 for me, and it falls on Tuesday. Sooo, that justifies to having a big birthday weekend, right? Due to peer influence, and the SO begging to go for six months, I'm planning on spending the weekend at the Six Flags around Houston. Yay! I'm posting it now, because I know good and well I will not remember to do it later. Hopefully I'll snag some RP here soon, preferable Southern RP, since I haven't RPed down there in...ages. But we'll see. Until then, Ta!

And another.

Wed, 30 Mar 2005 05:28:22 GMT

Vaeli recruits a little help.

Beach
Ancient dunes have been flattened by the endless parade of people and dragons that tramp northwest across the bowl, leaving a mere skiff of sand here along lake's beaten edge. Footprints litter the curve of beach, some left turns ago and caught frozen in the heavy clay earth near the water's edge. As the sun sets, shadows invade, creeping like fingers across the gently sloping ground and darkening the distant ledges on the far side of the lake.
To the north, dust rises from the redolent pens while the flattened disc of the main bowl is just a step to the northwest.
It is a spring evening.
To the northwest, you see eighteen dragons.
Above, you see a blue dragon.
Darting here and there are ten firelizards.
Green Alymath, blue Esryth, green Maiioth, green Ulicaelth, and green Celvynath are here.
Tye is here.

Ah! Spring is in the air! And indeed, Valedath is living up to all the conotations that spring brings, as he curls up to a random green, leaving Tye all alone to sit on the slightly damp beach. The bluerider crosses her legs, her tongue barely sticking out of the side of her mouth as she concentrates on a pathetic looking sand castle. Sand it patted here and there, as she attempts to make a stronger wall, but it soon falls apart when a wave gets close enough and ruins the entire thing. "Shards and shells." Tye hisses, kicking the rest of it down and crossing her arms in annoyance.

Vaeli appears by leisurely strolling across the beach, one hand closed into a fist and shaking purposely. When in earshot, that fist rattles. Or at least whatever is in the fist rattles. Every so often, the goldrider is seen moving said hand to her mouth, removing it, and then chewing. Food, of some sort, obviously. She comes up to a stop right behind Tye, letting her shadow fall over the doomed castle. "Never were much of a carpenter, were you?" she observes, amused.

Tye tips her head back far enough to get a look at the goldrider. An eyebrow perks up and a slight grin forms at the side of her mouth. "Of course not, I went from Trader, to Messenger, to 'rider. No time to learn how to actually make things." The bluerider looks forward once more, waving at the spot next to her with a sand-filled hand. "Take a seat and take a load off. 'Reaches isn't always this nice out. Gotta take advantage of it." She mumbles, before slapping her hands together to clean them off. "What brings you over to the beach, this spring eve? Surely not the company." Tye states, matter-of-factly.

"Obviously not the company. Why would I want to be in the company of a someone who breaks my bones?" Vaeli offers a half-grin at her semi-truth. "Tye, I came from the herders, and even I know how to make a decent sand castle. Watch and learn." At which, the goldrider eases herself down onto the ground and deposits a handful of red candy in her lap. She remains silent for a moment to have a decent little castle going on, complete with a tiny moat encircling it. As a wave washes up, she crows, "Aha! See? That's how--" she's cut short by a larger incoming wave, leaving her own castle with a very similar fate of the previous one. Vaeli, for her part, adopts a scowl and crosses her legs and arms. "I'm too old for this."

Tye snorts softly, flicking her hand out, "You're never to old to play in the sand. Lendai makes that rather clear when I don't help her with her creations." Eyes are rolled as the bluerider settles more comfortably in the gritty sand. "Hey now, I thought it was clear that was a -complete- accident." Regardless of the extreme amount of amusement Tye may have gotten out of it. "It's not like I actually go around thinking of ways to torture you." Well, not all the time at least. The red candies are eyed, her lips smacking together. "Wanna share some of those with me? I've had a bit of a sweet tooth lately." Luckily for Vaeli, Tye's more interested in the candies then the new sad looking castle, or she might start mocking the goldrider's attempts.

Vaeli grunts. "Kids. Never saw why people want them." Vaeli glimpses at the bluerider a few times before letting her gaze linger for a moment, then drops her eyesight down to her candies and back again. "These?" She picks up one to examine it. "I suppose I can share this one. Dropped it on the way here." Said candy is offered to Tye. "I'm joking," Vaeli clears up quickly before she leans back on her arms. "Tye. I have a question."

Tye brushes the candy off, all the same, before she pops it into her mouth and grins with content. "Mmmm... this is good!" Even if it was dropped, it would have been worth it. tucking a strand of errant hair behind her ear, she tilts her head to the side and arches an eyebrow at the goldrider. "A question? That's different. Normally you just demand to see me and then give out the punishment." Tye chuckles weakly, then quickly clears her throat and nods slowly. "Alright, what's the question. Perhaps I have an answer for you."

Vaeli nods in satisfaction. "I got them from an Igen trader a day or so ago," she informs her friend. She's still got her gaze set on the castle --by this point, just a lump of sodden sand-- and only spares her addressee a glance. "Well. Be good for once and I wouldn't bellow or punish you. " She raises her own eyebrow in reflection of Tye and continues. "I've got some work to do down south. Not that south, before you get any ideas, but Southern south," she begins, drawing out her words in a casual tone.

"Bah! I'm always good, just have an unnatural ability to always be around on my few bad days. I think either you or I am cursed." Tye comments stiffly, though a slight smirk resides on her mouth. She leans back, holding her weight on her hands as she looks at the water before her. Her head nods as Vaeli talks, and after a few moments, she turns and regards her clutchmate. "Um... okay." She drawls, waiting for more information to be supplied for all of a second. To bad curiosity always takes over. "What do you have to do at Southern?"

Vaeli simply smirks at the bluerider's first remarks, refraining from commenting. "Have you any idea of what's going on around here lately?"

Tye shakes her head quickly, "No, not really. I've been a bit to busy lately with my extra nanny duties," A pointed glare is sent to Vaeli. "to be able to really listen to anything. They had me working with all the toddlers." A shudder wracks her frame. "How about you fill me in? Since I'm now happily done with my former obligations." Beam.

Vaeli can't help it. Her head is thrown back in a cackle, attempts to gain her breath, and regards Tye. "If I remember correctly, Tye, you said it would be a welcome duty." Shaking her head, Vaeli looks around the perimeter before standing. "Come with me. I'd rather not speak publicly about the matter."

"Yeah, yeah. Eat it up, you evil snake." Tye grumbles under her breath, as she gets to her feet. Hands quickly brush off the clinging sand of her pants, before she turns to the goldrider. "Alright, then where would you like to go instead?"

Vaeli gestures for the bluerider to follow her as she starts a casual pace towards the stables.

Barn
Nestled against the weyr bowl, protected on the side and rear by the towering stone cliffs, the barn sits overlooking both stables and pens. Inside, the low ceiling gives way to the hayloft and herders' quarters above. An adequate number of stalls house a variety of animals, a few herdbeasts lowing from the far end, llamas and ovines placed in nearer stalls. A tack room and grain room stand at the rear, the wide aisle lighting up gradually as it leads toward the large double doors opening out onto the upper beach and pens. Windows run along the entire side of the barn facing the central bowl as if making up for the stony wall running opposite.
To the east, you see one person.
Warmly cozened above the stall doors perch is a brown firelizard.
Obvious exits:
Stables Feeding Pens
Hubris (#3760) is a firelizard but probably isn't listening..
Tye arrives from the stables.

Vaeli is apparently content with her choice of hide-away, and perches on top of a couple hay bales to prove it. Conveniently enough, she leans against one that happens to be behind her, and crosses her legs in front of her. "There are political twists in play. You want the short story, or full length?"

Ah! The barns. Brings back memories of her messenger days. Tye walks over to a stall, leaning into it and soon a runner head appear. The 'rider coos to the animal, scratching its forelock and shooting a confused glance at Vaeli. "Political twists, eh? That sounds intriguing. Give me the short story, but with some details. I'm sure I can try to put two and two together."

Vaeli bows her head and folds her arms. "It started when Ashli was upset about something. I casually mentioned it to Pyrene. Then other people. And then I finally caught on to its importance. You know headman Marond? Pyrene gave him the go ahead to help train a replacement for Southern's headwoman. Story says that Marond is working on sticking a gopher in her place. Twisting the entirety of the lower caverns under his influence. Pyrene thinks this is a great idea. Ashli's plotting something, and I've had an individual or two ask for my assistance. Following me?"

Tye chews on her lower lip, once again nodding her head slightly, "Um. I think so. Why is Marond in there training a replacement anyway? High Reaches isn't the closest Weyr to Southern, if they needed help, it'd make more sense to ask a Weyr closer to them. Or even the Hold." Shoulders are shrugged a bit, before arms are crossed in front of her chest. "So does he, Marond that is, want to take over? Is that what you mean by being 'under his influence'?"

Vaeli settles into her perch. This may take a while. "The way I hear it, Southern has been a pretty self-sufficient weyr, with the grubs and all. Pyrene believes that they will be a good ally when the Interval comes and the holders stop their tithes. Which, in truth, the supplies would be welcome, /but/," she does a variety of hand waving during her speech, "Seeing how they're so self-sufficient, why would a new headwoman be needed so badly? There are a few people looking into the various aspects of these things, but I'm not really at liberty to say who." Vaeli flicks her hand, dismissing the minor detail. "At any rate. We believe Marond is vying for complete control of the lower caverns of the weyr, with possible influence within the upper ranks. The stories vary, depending on who you speak with."

Tye is quiet a moment, having already moved over to her own haystack to sit on. Fingers are threaded together as she watches Vaeli intently, catching every word. She lets out a breath, and then nods her head. "Alright, I think I understand. He's trying to take control, then. Is anyone else other then you and Ashli aware of what his real plans? Or am I not allowed this information?"

Vaeli considers the bluerider a moment. "Well. A few. Wyn. X'ian. Among others I'm sure. Pyrene, somewhat. Why?"

Tye lifts her shoulders, yet again, in a casual shrug, "Well, if so many of our Weyrleadership knows, why in Faranth's name aren't they doing anything about it? Why is Marond still /our/ headman and not banished to some island? We've been through Lord Holders and even minor Holders trying to gain more ground, and they're stopped. Why haven't they gone ahead and stopped him before it all starts? Then again... it's already started, so why don't they try to stop it before it progresses?"

Vaeli taps her fingers against her arms. "Because our leadership consists of Pyrene and M'nty, with us juniors are subordinates. Pyrene won't listen to us. She believes she's got the best intentions of the weyr in mind. Of course, not that we have solid proof of anything, anyway. Which is why we are all angling decretely. Also, Pyrene believes Marond is an asset and a wonderful, although lacking in personality, person." It's her turn to shrug. "This is why it was suggested that I mangle my way into assisting Marond down in Southern. Political stance, and all that mess. No one believes that he can be stopped. Between you and I, I'm not entirely sure which side of the fence I need to be on."

Tye jerks her head up, quite surprised, "Aw, Vae, you know better then that. I mean... we can't very well help take over another Weyr. Even if it's just the lower caverns. It's just not... done." She mutters, rubbing her arms, as if suddenly cold. "But I guess that all makes sense. You need hard core proof before you can actually go after him. The Weyrleadership would have it as well." A sigh is dragged out of her, and Tye narrows her eyes suddenly. "Why, exactly, are you telling me all this?"

Vaeli observes Tye for several moments. "Maybe not publicly take over. But subtly and discretely with everyone seemingly willing to do so. Spend a sevenday in my place. Then you'll find out what's possible. Or, if you'd rather, go down to the archives and look at some history records. They show as much, also." The goldrider rubs a hand over her face before moving on. "Like I said. I've managed to get in Marond's good graces, I think, and being moved as a diplomatic pawn to Southern. I can't very well go snooping around. I'm too obvious, regardless of my nonchalance. Not to mention, I need some company. I intend to hit the beaches in my spare time. Interested?"

Tye shakes her head, "I think I'd lose my mind if I was in your place, I'll stick with the issues of my wing, instead of the entire Weyr." Or maybe not. Tye rubs her temples, pursing her lips and closing her eyes as she digests all the information she's just been given. "Oh... shells..." The bluerider stands up and paces a little, obviously having a slight inner struggle. Get involved, don't get involved. Oh, what the hell is she kidding herself... "Yeah, yeah. You've got yourself some company. I'll talk to Lylia about it, I'm sure she won't mind if I take off for a bit. I'm ahead on my hidework as it is and can get someone to watch Lendai." Turning about to face the goldrider, Tye nods her head. "Just make sure you keep me up-to-date on all the information your getting. I'll help you snoop and do whatever. I owe you one, as it is." A chin jerk goes to Vaeli's hand, and the bluerider grins a bit.

Vaeli holds up that particular hand to observe it. It looks relatively fine, to the naked eye, anyway. "Try not to mention details to anyone. Lie, if you have to. I haven't known a rider yet to get in trouble for obeying a weyrwoman. Tell Lylia that I have personally requested your aide for this particular mission. It may make your resume look better." At that, Vaeli offers a grin and a wink for a change of pace. "Besides. You don't want to miss out on /Southern/. Forests. Wildlife. Felines. Beaches. All the liquor you can drink..."

Tye snorts, "You forget, I'm at Southern all the time. Wing business, of course. That's where some of the best Tsunami traditions take place, afterall." Raising from her hay-chair, she stretches and dusts the stray pieces of hay from her clothes. "I'll keep my mouth shut on the entire deal. If there is one thing I'm good at, it's keeping secrets and not falling into gossip." Or at least not as much as she used to before. "Let me know about when we're leaving, and I'll let my wingleader know. Don't be surprised if she comes asking, just in case." Tye aims for the door, striding her way out. "I've got to go get Dai from the nannies, but I'll be sure to keep in touch. Mum's the word. Night Vaeli."

Tue, 29 Mar 2005 18:43:00 GMT

Vaeli is annoyed at being used as a pawn and gives X'ian the third degree.

Council Chambers
Smoothed stone, polished by the passage of thousands of Turns, gleams in the light of the myriad glowbaskets strung along the walls of the chamber. 'Tapestries' on all sides add vivid splashes of color, while painted florils in blue and black accent the snow-white banner that snakes its way between floor and domed 'ceiling'. Centered in the rocky hall is the great council 'table' itself, surrounded by high-backed wooden chairs. If one were to look carefully, they might find a wayward 'scroll' lying untended.
Various half-hidden stairwells lead up to the weyrs above, and a warm tunnel runs west towards the nearby Hatching Sands.
Balanced on tapestry-rods are nine firelizards.
You see Staff Board here.
X'ian is here.

Vaeli's situated in one of the far seats along the table with her body swiveled inward, back to the entrance. She's got an ink pot, a handful of pens, and a rather long piece of parchment in front of her. Judging from the speed she's scribbling at, there must be some thought going into whatever she's writing, and the way she has her hand wrapped in her hair shows some frustration.

X'ian hasn't been awake for very long from the look of him - his hair ruffled and the collar to his leathers turned up around his neck - but at least he's present, and rather promptly despite the bit about dropping in when it's convenient for him. Not like has anything better to do now that he's eaten, anyway. His footfalls dragging a bit (apparently it's too early for him to quash the limp in its entirety), he drops down into a seat at the opposite end of the table - probably just to be difficult - and yawns.

Vaeli does a double take at the bronzerider's appearance, first a glance, then a dead stare. Dressed as she is what would be termed 'extremely comfortable' attire, she probably can't say much, but does anyway. "Good morning, morning glory." She pulls the hand out of her hair and casually twists her paperwork in her direction, making sure to keep the rolled end obscuring the view of the words. "What's for breakfast down in the kitchens?" Obviously she's not in a hurry to get to the point.

X'ian stops picking in his teeth just long enough to glance over his knuckles at her at the greeting, grunts a response, and extracts a sliver of wherry that he actually squints at before flicking away. "I dunno. I had leftover wherry and mashed tubers from last night."

Vaeli curls up a her top lip upon spying the leftover roadkill before diverting her gaze back to the table completely. "You know, leftover wherry got one of those drudges sicker than a llama last week." The pen scratches on the note. "I didn't wake you, did I? I told Nissionath to fetch you whenever you had the time."

"I'm not big on breakfast, so...I'll take my chances, I think. And no, you didn't wake me. Morchainth decided it was time to get up, and I've still got an hour or two before I actually need to do anything. What's up?" He really is making an effort to draw himself up a little, here - he just can't quite hide the drowsy look in his eyes.

Vaeli has tuned out the first part of X'ian's response. Her pen, the feathery kind, is swatted against her cheek a few times as she flattens her brows down at the object of her attention. Absently, she drags her face back up to her company, although her eyes linger for a moment more. "Hmm? Oh. I'm starting to have a second thought or two on how to approach this whole mess that you got started. That man is almost intolerable." She leaves her subjects vague, mostly out of lack of thought.

"It's early, Vaeli. You're going to have to give me some details. In the meanwhile, I will say that I haven't had a hand in starting anything. That you can prove, anyway." Smiling pleasantly down the length of the table at her, X'ian twines his fingers neatly together on the heavy table before him.

Vaeli blows on the parchment to dry the ink moves her paperweight, allowing it to spin into a back into a roll. Out of frustration, she starts tapping the pen lightly on the table, causing small ink spots to splatter in random places. She does, however, manage to keep her voice controlled. "Marond," is said flatly. "And that." She nods her chin towards the scroll. "Tell me something, X'ian." Her tone implicates that she has some specific question in mind.

X'ian doesn't say anything at all to that - one brow arched slightly in anticipation of the question to come. From the look on his face, it would seem that he doesn't particularly expect that he's going to like what she asks.

Vaeli props and elbow on the table and rests her chin in her hand. "You said that this Marond mess started a few turns ago. Exactly what did you do?" Vaeli keeps her voice calm, face straight, and a stare fixed on the bronzerider. "If it were me, I'd say it were your...persuasive measures. Someway in bloody shells you got me involved."

"A few turns ago? More like one or two. Let's...try not to exaggerate, here." Not quite stalling, X'ian is using the extra time to shake himself slightly - energy pouring gradually forth into his posture and gaze...probably from an outside source. X'ian never was a morning person. "I understand the first question - and I will answer it honestly as soon as you explain to me what you meant by that second clod of information. You aren't angry, are you?"

Vaeli is still tapping her pen. "If it were any other way, I could have weaseled out of going to Southern. I could have gotten Ashli or Shaela to go in my place. Life would have carried on simply. Now, I've got several different stories on several different planes and no one," the last couple of words are stressed to make a point, "is willing to give me the full story. Marond is out there trying to give me orders. Pyrene is using me as a diplomatic piece. And you? I'm not exactly sure. I'd like to believe it's because you'd appreciate my help." Vaeli takes a calming breath. "Now why would I have a reason to be angry?"

"I'm not entirely sure. It makes sense that you would be agitated given your current position, but I can assure you that I have been honest with you thus far, and I will continue to be so long as you keep the things I tell you about myself to yourself. And that goes for your dragon as well. Not that I suppose this is really any big deal...still. If and when people begin to question how Marond got to be where he is in the first place - although I'm reasonably sure he could have gotten their easily enough without my assistance..." Untwining his fingers to drum them lazily across the table, X'ian takes a deep breath before moving on, unconsciously mirroring Vaeli. "I recognized that he had a fair amount of potential back when the caverns were still searching for a leader. Out of the few that had risen to meet the challenge, he seemed the most intelligent and most capable of the lot, and I didn't think it could hurt to have a man like that thinking of me in favorable terms. So I made contact through a series of letters, and suggested a means by which to extricate Pyrene from her weyr. She was in hiding at the time, if you'll recall."

Vaeli simply raises an eyebrow and keeps silent through most of his speech. "I remember, vaguely. I managed to actually roam around the weyr without someone breathing down my neck." Her voice is tight, although not quite as strained as before. "So you finagled him into his current position. Of which, I assume, gave him the small taste that he needed to set his sights as far as he has. Does it end there, or is there something else you're omitting?" The goldrider, if she were a bird, would definitely look like she has all feathers puffed out.

"I wouldn't say I finagled him anywhere. I simply made myself known to him as a potential ally, which...probably contributed to his confidence. I believe - one way or another - it was also known that he was responsible for prying Pyrene out of her weyr, although the means was subject to rumor. The care basket full of fleas." X'ian chuckles to himself at the memory. He can't help it. It's evil and funny, and his idea. "Once he actually got the job, I didn't bother him much. I didn't need anything. Then he expressed an interest in Southern, and I began to take him down there despite suspecting that his motive in visiting was probably less than heroic."

Vaeli still hasn't blinked more than a handful of times. A dead stare is her specialty. "And now? A certain status could be gained for you if he manages to pull it off."

"Oh, yes. Definitely. Only we had a falling out several months back. I got tired of him sneering down at me and banged him up a bit in the catacombs. Of course, Morchainth thinks he's got the right idea, so he's still reasonably confident that I can't do much to stop it." X'ian lifts his brows as he watches her, smiling slightly. She can probably figure the rest out on her own.

"But you're trying." The smile is what finally breaks Vaeli's eye contact, causing her gaze to flicker. "One last question. Who are you betting on to win, proverbially speaking?"

"In the short run, Marond, but I doubt it'll last. He might be smarter than some of the dickheads that have tried this sort've thing in the past, but I've been through many, many hides, and with them along with the currently individually run state of the Weyrs and Holds...well. History speaks for itself. It isn't going to work." X'ian's own glare doesn't waver in the least, although it does narrow into a near squint to better take in her expression.

Vaeli doesn't flinch again, although she isn't looking the bronzerider directly in the eye. More like his nose. "So why worry?" She sighs and rubs her face in both hands, stopping with the third degree interrogation. "I had a word with him the other night. Seem to be in his good graces, although I couldn't really tell since I was more concerned with sitting as far back in the chair as possible. We're leaving for Southern in about five days."

"Well, if he makes you uncomfortable, you could always drag someone like Krummolt along with you. A neutral party that's an effective loomer." Still watching her, X'ian doesn't speak again for another moment or two. "Something still wrong?"

Vaeli grunts. "I'm fully capable of taking care of myself. Nissionath is fat enough to sit on them. Although I may enlist in more pleasant company to join me." She sits back in her seat as the fight goes out of her. She appraises X'ian a moment before continuing. "Nothing on an important scale, no. I'm just having trouble writing a letter."

"I didn't ask specifically for something important." X'ian drawls, not convinced in the least. "I was honest with you."

Vaeli gives him a that's-not-fair look and instantly turns jumpy. "It's...just...well. A letter to an old acquaintance. One I haven't seen since not long after I Impressed," she stutters, flicking her hand in the air. "Well, maybe once since then. But that's besides the point."

X'ian's mouth presses into a thin half-smile of cynical acceptance, but he doesn't press her any further, simply scraping his chair back and pushing off the table to stand.

Vaeli glances up at X'ian as he begins to stand. She works the various parts of her face before saying anything. Eyebrows quirks, nose twitches, and various tugs at her lips. She starts to say something once or twice, stops, and finally, "I'm sorry I doubted you. But next time, tell me the whole truth from the beginning, would you?" That's about all she can manage under her pride.

"You didn't need to know at the time. I still don't think it's necessary information for you or anyone else to have, but if I have to incriminate myself to you to be convincing..." X'ian squares his jaw to cut off that semi-dangerous trickle of irritation, nods a curt farewell, and turns to pick his way out to the door.

Vaeli shakes her head, her own ire pulling back onto her face. She pushes her tongue into her cheek as she considers retorting, but manages to keep it under wraps. She returns the nod ever so slightly before pulling open her letter and dipping her pen in the inkwell, signifying that she has nothing more to say.

On with the show

Tue, 29 Mar 2005 05:50:27 GMT

OOC: This thing is a work in progress, so bear with the cruddy background and so on and so forth. Now. Here's the first recent log. I'll be dumping more off as I find them on the various computers I save them on, or highjacking from other characters' LJ's, of which I intend to give them credit for. I try to keep them in chronological order, if I can remember exactly what order they go in.

This one is yanked from Wyn's IC LJ:

High Reaches Weyr: Beach
Ancient dunes have been flattened by the endless parade of people and dragons that tramp northwest across the bowl, leaving a mere skiff of sand here along lake's beaten edge. Footprints litter the curve of beach, some left turns ago and caught frozen in the heavy clay earth near the water's edge. As the sun sets, shadows invade, creeping like fingers across the gently sloping ground and darkening the distant ledges on the far side of the lake.
To the north, dust rises from the redolent pens while the flattened disc of the main bowl is just a step to the northwest.
It is a spring afternoon.
To the north, you see a green dragon and one person.
To the northwest, you see sixteen dragons.
Darting here and there are eleven firelizards.
Green Alymath, blue Esryth, green Maiioth, and green Celvynath are here.
Obvious exits:
Stables Feeding Pens Central Bowl Lake

Vorkoroth is off demonstrating the finer points of catching thermals to one of the weyrlings from Cadgwith's latest clutch, but Wyn herself has yet to abandon the beach. She's got a blanket spread out on the ground to protect from the cool sand and clay of the beach, and she's got another across her lap, comfortable, cozy, and enjoying the spring afternoon and the book she's reading with equal aplomb.

Vaeli also happens to be minus a dragon. She's currently holding a pace of somewhere to go, but slow to a stop at the point where her shadow falls over Wyn's blanket. "Afternoon, Wyn. Beautiful day, isn't it?" She flashes a smile. "Anything of interest in there?" Vaeli gestures towards towards the object of the bluerider's attention.

"Positively the sort of day that Harpers write sonnets about," Wyn agrees with a slight little smile of her own, and a tone that's carefully light and airy. She pats at a free spot on the blanket by way of invitation, and then peers down at her book again as the goldrider makes note of it. The smile widens briefly, and then disappears as she forgets to keep it up. "Oh, nothing too engrossing. I'm reading over a set of historical treatises on Southern Weyr, since it seems to be so terribly fascinating all of a sudden."

A lifted eyebrow accompanies the faint smile Vaeli has as she moves to peer over Wyn's shoulder at the writing. "Historical treaties, is it? What can be so fascinating that you would pick that up?" She winkles her nose a bit after scanning a section or two. "Seems rather dull, if I may say so."

"Oh, I don't know," Wyn offers, in the sort of tone that suggests that, to the contrary, she does. "The fact that no less a cross-section of characters than Marond, X'ian, Desba, Ashli and Pyrene all seem to be interested in the situation down there rather piques my interest. When one has rumours and reports from all across the map, a proper academe does her own research to determine what to think. So," A wave to the book. "One may as well start with history."

Vaeli facial expression turns into comprehension. "Ah, that mess. I've heard a few of them mention that in passing." Obviously in no hurry to her previous destination, Vaeli takes the offered spot on the blanket. The goldrider pulls up her knees and laces her fingers around them. "In fact, X'ian suggested I speak to you about it. Has it mentioned anything relevant yet?" The book is again given a nod.

"Did he now?" Wyn queries, giving Vaeli a curious look at the mention of X'ian before shuffling her bum so that the junior weyrwoman can get a look at the book as well. "Well, I'm glad to be in the loop if you'd like to include me in it, of course. As for relevancy... I do have to say that Southern has had and survived with what appear to be incompetant headwomen before. Their placement on the Southern Continent with its' forests and the protection of the grubs means that they can survive with management muddling along a great deal better than any other weyr can, thanks to their greater resources. So I suppose that's relevant in that we may want to question just whether Sautha is as much a problem as Marond apparently paints her to be."

Vaeli simply sniffs in response to the question and curious look given. Instead, she opts for looking at the book. "Another mind is always useful in these things. Usually, at any rate." It's her turn to look inquizitive. "That makes sense. Thread isn't quite as hard of a threat, with the grubs and all. So his reasoning of helping them in 'survival' doesn't hold through, in reality. Perhaps he has a personal favor to gain?"

"Possibly," Wyn replies, tone carefully diffident as she voices dangerous theories. "We know that Marond is not, 'nor has he ever been, lacking in ambition. Personally, I don't see what the thrill would be to empower himself in Southern," the weyrsecond, notably free of political ambition, admits. "But I freely admit that most wouldn't see the thrill in wanting to have one's name attached to meaningful advances in dragonhealing."

Vaeli simply hums in response. "I haven't had the opportunity to dwindle much into his affairs, so I'm hardly one to assume what he may want." She takes to wringing her hands together as her tone takes a rather thoughtful edge. "There has to be something there to draw his attention, aside from simply 'helping'. Otherwise, why would he waste his time? Like you said, he is ambitious. Ambitious people almost always have something inside for themselves," Vaeli muses. "Dragonhealing is one thing, Wyn. That has an obvious positive outcome with obvious positive reasons to get involved. Marond, however, is another story."

"I know," Wyn agrees with a slight and very dry smile, setting down her book and burrowing her hands beneath the blanket on her lap. "I merely raised the example as a way of admitting that I, too, have ambitions. Merely different ones than Marond. And I'd say you might want to do a little dwindling, as you put it," she suggests, after a pause and with a sidelong, searching look. "If, as rumour suggests, Pyrene will be shipping Marond around with an honour guard of junior goldriders, you'd be well within your rights to find out just what you're honourably guarding."

"I never mentioned that they were bad ambitions. Quite heroic, some may say." This is Vaeli's attempt to soothe any ruffled feathers, and is conveyed as such. Moving on, she bobs her head in agreement. "Aye. I've been thinking of doing just that. As soon as I can find a good reason to 'dwindle' about. Speaking of which," The goldrider glances towards Wyn, her forehead crinkling. "Pyrene did put out a call to have a word with me. In retrospect, I assume that's precisely what she wanted to talk about. Although I must admit to not having a clue on why she'd want us to usher him about, rather than some other wing that can spare its members. Thoughts?"

Wyn, fortunately, looks entirely unruffled. Ruffling, after all, would disturb her attitude of calm poise. "Possibly she wants High Reaches to look nicely impressive," is her theory offered, fingers now gently pleating the edge of her blanket in an idle movement. "Possibly she wants to allow her juniors a greater role in things. Possibly she wants you all out from underfoot while she poisons my morning tea." There's a beat and Wyn informs Vaeli with a bland expression that "The last one was a joke. But in all seriousness, I find Pyrene's motivations on anything to be somewhat of a mystery. Otherwise I suspect we'd get on a great deal better. You could always ask, I suppose."

Vaeli drums her fingertips together as she appears to be studying the pattern on the blanket. A pause, a short chuckle, and a nod is given on the tea-poison topic before she frowns again. "Too many possibilities. Not enough knowns." She sighs as her facial expression fades into apprehension. "I could. Although the last time I questioned her on the matter, she avoided the topic almost completely, stating something along the lines of 'doing Southern a favor'. Got quite jumpy when informed how Ashli was reacting to the situation. I've tried to stay my distance ever since."

Wyn snorts softly at that. "I would exhort you to stand firm and beard the wild feline in its' den... but I myself try to avoid Pyrene as much as I can get away with." She gives Vaeli a brief look of mutual understanding, and then returns to folding the blanket. "So, I suppose your other option is to try and gather information by means of speaking judiciously and listening much."

Vaeli sighs. "I'll have to talk to her sooner or later. Might as well get on with it before her feelings are hurt." The last is said with edging sarcasm as she glances skyward to get a rough estimate of time. "My listening skills aren't exactly up to par, Wyn. Although now would be a good time to exercise them. I'll link up with Pyrene and dawdle a little with Marond, as per your advice. See what turns up. Will you dig a little more into Southern to see if anything new adds more light?"

"Practise makes perfect," Wyn quotes the tired old chestnut to Vaeli with a dry quality that says she knows exactly how tired it is. "And I surely will. I distrust Marond's ambition, even if I trust that he runs our own caverns efficiently. And I also dislike leaving mysteries uninvestigated. Feel free to drop by my weyr for tea and conversation any time," she encourages. "It's a common enough pastime for people that it shouldn't attract any notice."

Vaeli offers a wry laugh. "And here I thought investigations were for harpers." She picks herself up and absently brushes at her clothing for any piece of clinging dirt. "We may need to compare information between us and others involved to piece everything together. I'm sure you've heard X'ian's thoughts." Her tone implies a stopping point in her conversation. "I'll be sure to do that. Something besides liquor and juice would be a nice change. Clear skies, Wyn." In order to keep the idea of a nonchalant meeting, Vaeli continues along her way with a wave to the bluerider, although her face relays that her mind is in an entirely different place.

Cherry Reservoir
The weyr is in the havoc of reconctruction and remodeling. Nails are everywhere, along with a couple hammers. An old, worn looking bed is drug into the middle of the room, with pieces of a newer model lying in their intended spots against one wall. There are throw pillows everywhere, a couple of chairs is misshappen spots, and a couch stuck near the entrance. A few boards lie to the opposite wall of the bed, awaiting some sort of construction. Several paint containers sit near a wall that already received some blue and black geometric decoration. A crummy looking desk obsures the fireplace, which is on the opposite wall of the entrance, its one pitiful chair laying in pieces not far away. A new dining table and its four chairs, however, are in different corners of the weyr. Papers and hidework and other stationary objects are set in not-so-neat piles here and there.
Gliding above is a gold firelizard.
You see Sweet Peach Brandy, Keepsake Box, and Flamer here.
Obvious exits:
R&R Retreat Crash Pad

Pyrene stalks in from the Nissionath's Crash Pad.

Vaeli is stationed near the middle of the wreckage. And the really odd-looking thing is the fact that she has a broom in hand. And using it, too. She's currently sweeping up a nice pile of dust and metal and humming quietly to herself, oblivious to anything beyond her scope of hearing.

Pyrene enters, knocking lightly on the wall as she comes down the passage. "Vae? Have you got a moment? Are you decent? Are..." She stops short, spying the younger woman and belatedly realizing it's the queenrider and not a drudge. There's a long moment of confusion and then: "Is everything OK?"

Vaeli stops her humming and snaps her head up at the voice. It takes her a short moment before anything clicks inside her mind, and when it does, she straightens up and props the broom into one hand and places the other on her hip. "I'm free, clothed, and fine." Vae looks absently around her weyr with a somewhat embarrassed look. "Just getting rid of a little dust, is all. Do you...need something? Normally you bellow for me."

"Oh, today I had a few minutes free, so I walked over here to spare my voice," Pyrene deadpans calmly. "What by your dragon's egg happened here? If I didn't know better, I'd say Nissi had tried her mating flight inside her weyr. Congratulations on that by the way, and good luck on the Sands." The last has all the wryness of experience.

Vaeli forms her mouth to breathe a wordless 'oh'. After another pause, she moves to scoop a mess of clothing off of a nearby chair and gestures for the Weyrwoman to sit. "Remodeling. I thought about getting one of the crafters to help, but they probably couldn't get the layout right. So I preferred to do it myself," she says in explanation. "Mm. Thank you. I'll need it, most likely, considering the company." The goldrider clears her throat and props her weight onto the broom. "Sorry about the mess. I normally opt for going out, rather than inviting in. What's the news?"

Pyrene sits down, fastidiously tucking her limbs close to her. "Remodeling...." she repeats, looking dubiously about her. Then, with a shake of her head, she gets to the point. "I came to ask if you'd be interested in working with Marond on this Southern thing. Ashli didn't seem to enthusiastic about it, and I think perhaps it'll be asking too much of her to form a comfortable working relationship with Marond--at least on a close basis. I think there's too much of a personality gap there."

Vaeli blinks twice. "As in, you're offering a free vacation to Southern, or a dutiful watch of all proceeding conducted during work hours, of which afterwards I could enjoy the beach?" Her eyebrow lifts as she considers. "Or any pleasure is completely out of the question," she says, more of a statement rather than question. "I haven't met with Marond on more than a handful of occasions, but I suppose I agree that Ashli's jubilance and Marond's...darkness won't exactly mesh. Since when did personality become a factor?"

Pyrene grins wryly. "I think Ashli's a little too idealistic to conceive that somebody as unlikeable as Marond can be an asset to the Weyr. And you can use Southern's beaches as much as you like, so long as you also keep up with the task at hand--to be honest, I think Marond envisions the bulk of the next stage to be here, I'm afraid." She crosses her legs rather gingerly, not confident that the chair won't collapse beneath her as seems to have happened to most of the other furniture. "Are you up for it?"

Vaeli rests her chin on the broom handle as she stares blankly at Pyrene. "Well. It doesn't sound like a horrible ordeal," she states simply, feigning disinterest. It wouldn't do for Pyrene to know that she had been angling for the job. Ruined reputations, and all. "I'll go." Completely unaware of the older woman's failing faith of her furniture, she rambles on. "Asset. Next stage. In all due respect, Pyrene, you make it sound as if he's up to more than just helping with their headwoman. At least, that was my assumption."

"Why? What have you heard?" Pyrene shoots back. The questions are rhetorical and she doesn't wait for an answer. "Marond's training a replacement for Sautha. Which to my mind is a good idea since I think the woman's beyond help. From what I know of the Weyrleaders' opinions, they won't miss her. As for Marond... I have to admit that he's wherry-bait as far as personality goes, fond of him as I am. I thought it might be a good counter-balance to have one of the official Skirts of the Weyr," Her tone turns droll, "to work with him."

Seeing how Pyrene wasn't expecting an answer, Vaeli doesn't offer one. Instead, she simply nods. "A replacement. Aside from playing good Samaritan, what political intrigue are we," 'we' pertaining to High reaches, "angling for? Surely they have a system to replace their own members of authority when proven incompetent." Vaeli shrugs. "We have plenty of personalities like his around the weyr; I can handle working with him. Like I said, I'll go. Besides, I hear their coastlines are lovely this time of turn."

Pyrene shrugs a shoulder. "They had a bad run of luck a few turns back when they Impressed off a number of girls who were being eyed up for headwoman-potential. Because they're the closest thing to self-sufficient down there that a Weyr can get, they've been able to 'make do' with Sautha. Of course, now things are in such a state that nobody wants the job because it'll be too much work. I'm pretty sure Marond's doing this mostly to show off, but, as I said, Southern are virtually self-sufficient. They won't be a bad ally to have in an Interval, I'm sure."

"Sounds sensible, I suppose. Everybody has something personal to gain from it. Hopefully none of it proves to be harmful in the long run." Vaeli quirks an eyebrow at the last comment and doesn't offer an explanation. Instead, she moves away from the possibility of being asked and declares, "I'll be sure to send you regular word on how things are fairing. Maybe a little jar of sand for wishful thinking." She offers a humorless grin. Not having much else to say, Vaeli turns her gaze from Pyrene and busies herself with sweeping up a small pile of rubble near her feet.

Pyrene snorts. "I'd rather have a jar of the sunshine. I'll leave you to catch up with Marond then, although I'll drop him a note to let him know I've signed you onto him--I didn't warn him I was going to do this, by the way, so you may want to win him over. Make sure he realizes it's not because we don't consider him capable--but don't let him know it's because we consider him too unpleasant to be diplomatic." She drops a wink and then beats a hasty retreat. It's too... /incomplete/ in here, and the sight of Vaeli willfully committing drudgery doesn't sit well.

This one yanked from X'ian's IC LJ:

Forgotten Records Room
Roughly cube-shaped, poorly lit, and still partially coated with a depressingly prevalent mess of dust and cobwebs, it's only immediately clear to the trained eye that this old records room has seen some recent renovation. There isn't a spare inch to be found between looming shelves of decaying hide and brittle paper along the left, back, and right walls, with some looming as high as fifteen feet before simply fading into inscrutable shadow. Scattered throughout the floor space of the large cavern between four tables, several mismatched chairs, and stacks of unsorted hide, various footsteps in the dust often combine to create trails of frequently traveled clear floor, with most of the... [look closer]
Obvious exits:
Catacombs

Vaeli strolls in from the Catacombs.

Writing with his left hand as he gently scratches his right along the ruffled back of his ginger feline, X'ian is alone in the records room. Seated at a table near the back, he leans forward enough to squint at something scrawled unintelligibly over the surface of the older hide he's copying from, mutters to himself, and scratches his temple with the butt of his pen before sitting back and scratching out something he's already written.

A faint light precedes its carrier, growing steadily as footsteps loom closer. After a moment or two, a small lantern pokes through the doorway, carried by a hand attached to Vaeli. X'ian isn't immediately noticed until she hears the scritching of a pen. Letting her eyesight flow to the source, she comes up short in surprise at the source. "X'ian. And...pet." The former gets a hint of relief, and 'pet' gets a special dripping disfavoring tone.

X'ian's hand jumps off Shithead as if the cat had burst into flame at the sound of Vaeli's voice - any spare cat hairs brushed hastily off down the length of his trousers. The feline himself, no longer getting the attention he desires, ignores Vaeli completely and drops off the edge of the table to prowl into a darker corner of the large room. "His name...is Shithead."

Vaeli raises an eyebrow at the bronzerider's reaction, but says nothing on the matter. "Shithead," she says flatly. "Name him yourself?" She continues towards X'ian's table and opts for a seat across from his position. "I had heard you had a furry thing. Now I believe it." Amused, a faint quirk of a smile tugs at one corner of her mouth.

"What was your first clue?" A brow lifted to match hers, X'ian forces a thin smile before looking back down to straighten out the hides before him and pushing them neatly aside. "I'm not entirely sure why the concept is as shocking as it is. All I have to do is feed him and give him water." And mad cuddlz. In secret, of course.

Vaeli can't help it. She cracks out a subtle grin. "I could have sworn I heard him actually... purring." The feline, of course. Now braceless, she laces her fingers together on the table. "Honestly? I could see you wearing fur rather than petting it." She shrugs, then, the idea losing favor. "Pets. Never saw the novelty."

"Yeah, he purrs. Cats purr. So?" Only /slightly/ defensive, X'ian's expression evens out into one of faint suspicion as he scratches at his temple again - just looking for something to do with his hands now that Shithead has wandered off. "Fur smells when it gets wet, and I sweat a lot. What's up?"

"So. I never envisioned you as a pet-person. Of course, it most likely doesn't look like I ever worked as a herder before, either. So. Fair's fair." She shrugs one shoulder before swiveling her chair on its back legs and facing the countless hides. "Pyrene mentioned something about having Southern as an ally during the Interval. I wanted to find some information on whether or not such an alliance was extremely beneficial and critical in the last one. Found nothing in the other archives. So I came here." She spreads one arm wide, indicating the bounty of books. "What's up with you?"

"Logic suggests that it would be, particularly if holds start to become stingy immediately - admittedly, I have no knowledge of how well we relate to any of them at the moment, though it didn't take them long at all to start stiffing us last interval - simply because Southern is so self sustaining. They probably have supplies to share. But I'll look. For you." A smirk shifts into place at that, but it's fairly short lived as X'ian finally allows both of his hands to fall into his lap. "Oh, you know. Dust and darkness. I might have gone to a party, but Olwen didn't invite me because she thought my limp might get in the way of me enjoying myself."

"Mm. The holds most likely wouldn't stop tithing for several turns. Then, as precedent predicts, they forget and start refusing. I don't doubt that their supplies would be useful. But who's to say that they won't forget, either? Then this whole good Samaritan theory Pyrene believes in is going to fall into the dust, even though she only sees the inherited good in Marond's plan. But I talk too much." Vaeli casts a sidelong glance at the rider before lacing her fingers again. "Such a darling," she states, half-sarcastic, half-grateful, to X'ian's offer to look. "You should have informed her that the last few times you enjoyed yourself, that limp was scarcely the problem."

"No, they certainly wouldn't /stop/ for several turns, but small discrepancies often written off early on as marginal mistakes in the records have appeared as early as a turn after Thread has stopped falling. The herdbeasts we import will be of lesser stock. The grain less pure. An llama or two might go missing in transport. You get the idea, I'm sure." Drumming his fingers lightly over his knees, X'ian rolls his eyes up onto the ceiling for a moment to think before he scrapes his chair back to stand. "Just the last Interval, or the last two, or just any? Not much has changed between them. It's a little depressing."

Vaeli shrugs. "History repeats itself, as they say. The last Interval should be sufficient." She uses one foot to rock her chair back and forth on two legs while she moves her intertwined fingers behind her head. "It's only six turns away, and we're already fighting the same battles. Lords claiming that their harvests were poor. Horrible fishing due to the storms off the coast. And so on. What I'd like to know is how we managed to sustain ourselves. Southern can't be the only option." She crosses her free leg over the other. "Speaking of which, Pyrene decided to send me to Southern with our infamous Marond. For 'diplomatic and personality' reasons, she said."

"Already, hm? Perhaps it's better I'm not in charge after all...I might be tempted to leave an intentional hole in the Weyr formations as a neat little reminder that they aren't quite off the hook yet." Pacing back for the much cleaner half of the back wall, X'ian simply raises the volume of his voice to keep talking as he begins to shuffle through one of the middle shelves. "Oh, good...Excellent, in fact. It's a pity I'm not in a position where I can order you to report back to me accordingly. I don't suppose a polite request would do the job? And what is it, exactly, that you want to see? Trade records, to gauge our dependency upon them?"

Vaeli scoffs. "Teach them to be a little more attentive. And wouldn't you just love being able to flap orders under my nose," she says in a drawl, though it's not without its good humor. "As someone I would call something of a friend, I suppose a little gossip of the political proceedings between my gushing reviews of their beaches couldn't harm much." Pause. "Trade records. Alliances. Any particular volumes on weyrleader meetings. The frequency in such gatherings could denote some favoritism, or negotiations in the process."

"For the entirety of the interval, or just a slice of it? Or perhaps a representative sample - several slices taken from certain periods within the timespan." Already pulling out chunks of hide just enough to make their corners more readily visible should he decide to pull them, X'ian doesn't bother with turning back to Vaeli to show her the smirk on his face. She probably knows it's there anyway. "Surely not. Anyway, I can get you the trade records now, but the political stuff will be trickier since it's not quite that cut and dried."

Vaeli flicks her hand. "Several pieces from throughout would work fine, I'd imagine." A resounding clonk echoes as she sets her chair back down on all fours, followed by a short scrape. Her voice changes its position as she goes to work the opposite side of the room. "Political things are often catalogued with other things, usually with the event they pertain to. A meeting with a fussy holder, for example, could very well be stuck into a hide collection on tithes." As an afterthought, she adds, "What were you writing about earlier? You know, when you were entertaining the feline."

"Exactly, which means I'm going to have to go through a large number of hides before I find enough examples of what you want to satisfy your curiosity." At Vaeli's confirmation, X'ian really starts pulling hides out, glancing over them to press them into the crook of his arm, or back into place on the shelf. "Five cuts in close succession from each period, with something like...six periods, I think, should give you a fair idea of what was happening through those six points of the interval. I'll get you thirty on herdbeasts and thirty on imported food crops, and if a trend appears and you wish to check into other tithe requirements, simply let me know and I'll pull those for you as well." Falling silent for a few seconds as he drags out record after record, X'ian arches a brow at the hides before him upon answering her last question. "Simply a personal hobby, condensing Harper history lessons taught to the Weyr children into a set of my own hides so that I can keep an eye on what's being focused on, and when. There are interesting patterns. If you're into that sort've thing, I guess."

Vaeli simply stops short again and blinks at X'ian's response. "Quite thorough, X'ian, I applaud you. Although somehow I think you're trying to keep me busy for a month," she states, the surprise clearly leaking into her voice. "Harper...history lessons. Okay. I'll bite. Enlighten me."

"I don't know...I suspect it's hardly fair to randomly divide an Interval into six periods and expect that to be sufficient in providing a snapshot of the entire era, but...piecing things out into manageable chunks is something I've learned to do over time in here." His limp showing a bit more than it was with the added weight of the hides in his arms slowing him down, X'ian makes his way back to thump the lot on the table where he had been sitting. "It's simply a theory I've had. You might be able to get an idea of what the Weyr is having problems with at a given time if you can recognize patterns in the shifting focus of Harper educators here. Ah...For example, if the crime rate within the Weyr is up, a Harper might focus more on ethics. If there's infectious disease, he might place emphasis on cleanliness."

"Hm. Interesting. Normally, I asked the headwoman assistants to retrieve the records for me. That was, of course, before Marond arrived. That's a tactic I'll have to learn from you at a later date." Hearing his scuffling, Vaeli returns with her own, albeit much smaller, armful of hides. At his explanation, she cocks her head to the side. "How...peculiar. But amusing. This is just a past time of yours, or are you coming to a conclusion somewhere?"

"No, no conclusion. If I wanted to find out the time periods in which infectious diseases cropped up, I could just check the Healer records. And I usually do. I simply find the correlation interesting." Resting a hand atop the stack, X'ian takes a moment to pull in a deep breath, recollecting himself. "I never did find those sword records."

Vaeli eyes X'ian for several seconds with a calculating expression before shooing his hand away from his findings. "I'm not surprised. I told you, some of my records were missing. A few that I copied myself. I'll just have to visit the smiths and see if they have anything worth looking at." Not waiting on the hand removal, Vaeli tugs at the first hide to get a good look at it. "Anything particular that you'd like me to take care of down at Southern? Or shall I make you the same offer as I did Pyrene and send you a bottle of sand for wishful thinking?" is stated with a smirk.

"Just...keep an eye on Marond. You might see if you can get your hands on some of Southern's more recent records to see if they really have been suffering...Anyone you ask now - particularly in the lower caverns, where it matters - is likely to recite whatever it is that Marond has rubbed into their brain considering the number of times he's been down there. Personally, I'd like to make an effort to reduce some of that by seeking out more confident or prideful individuals and presenting our 'kindness' as a condescending attempt to do something they could do on their own..." Waving the hand that was shoo'd dismissively, X'ian sighs. "It could be much worse in my head than it actually is. Any realistic report on the state of the /people/ down there would be more than welcome."

Vaeli grunts as she looks over the first hide and mutters, "As long as keeping an eye on him means I can do so from an umbrella and a beach towel." Finding nothing of interest, she tosses the hidework back down onto the stack. "Pyrene believes that as a 'skirt of the weyr', her words, although I'm not entirely sure of their meaning, civil diplomacy will most likely come from my end. Marond just doesn't know it yet." She slaps a hand down on one arm, finds a cobweb, and brushes it off immediately with nothing more than a glare before turning to eye the bronzerider. "Consider it a favor. As someone who stands to be in the result of whatever outcome this has, my interest in the matter is growing. Your insights on the matter, however dramatized they may be, could be very useful." Changing subjects, she moves on. "How's Alyx, by the way? I haven't heard you mention her much lately."

"Unlikely. I suspect Marond might turn to dust if he spends too much time in the sunlight." X'ian drones, leaning into the table at his side to take some of the weight off his feet. "I trust you'll do fine as long as he doesn't sniff any of my own suspicions out in you. And...Alyx is...you know. I should probably try to talk to her more, but I don't want to force her and scare her off."

Vaeli spares a short laugh. "True. I doubt anyone would believe you and I are conniving, X'ian. When has the public face ever seen the two of us hold a peaceful conversation?" The queenrider begins to shuffle the hides into a neater stack. "Well. I'm not one to offer advice on the matter, but she did come here looking for you, as I hear it. How do you think she'll take to the recent events of yours?" Vae doesn't offer a further explanation, and assumes he can figure out the nature of her question alone.

"Be more specific." Blinking slowly, his expression blank, it would appear that he doesn't intend on handing over anything that she isn't already aware of.

Vaeli lifts both eyebrows, causing her forehead to crease. She stops her stack ordering duty long enough to look at the man directly. "The flight, X'ian."

"Ah, yes. Of course - the flight." A terribly reassuring reply, to be certain. Lifting a hand to scratch somewhat nervously at the back at his neck, X'ian shrugs after a moment of uneasy thought. "I...don't know. I was hoping she'd figure it out on her own, but I think I have to talk to her...about it."

Vaeli nods distantly. "I'm sure she's figured it out, by now. Don't fret about it." She begins to collect the armload of hides. "If your affections with the feline, regardless of how much you deny it, is any indication, I think you'll make a...well, decent father, with a little practice," she jibes. "For now, though, I need to start sorting through these. Thanks for your help."

X'ian rolls his eyes as the feline is brought up yet again, but makes no protest - simply nodding to himself and to her before reaching out to lower himself back into his chair. "She's a little more complicated than Shithead, I think, but I'll work on it. And no problem."

Vaeli chuckles. "Females usually are. I'll be in my weyr if you find anything else. Clear skies, X'ian." With a parting smirk, she works the bundle of hides into her arms and sets her lantern on top before shuffling towards the exit.

Head Person's Office
Simple yet elegant, this rather spacious office holds little to endear it to any particular personage. A luxuriant desk, large and ancient, takes up a good portion of the room. A small hearth and two worn plush chairs settle to one side. Bits and bobbles can be found cluttering corners and drawers. Hides lay neatly stacked here and there, along with a large sand table and a myriad of tiny glows. There is one thing that draws the eye, and perhaps marks this as Marond's hide away-- a small shelf of Pern's finest straight alcohols, and two newly purchased and extravagantly shiny flasks for personal use.
It is a spring late night.
Marond is here.
Obvious exits:
Hallway Quarters

Despite the warmer months, Marond's hearth dances with life. The faint pops and creaks of shifting wood fill the grand expanse and cause an uncomfortable amount of heat to mingle with the scent of drying ink, ancient hides, and expensive whiskey. No glows are lit, the only light coming from the deceptively inviting glow of the fire. Marond, for his part, is relaxing in his high-backed chair. Long and spindly limbs have gone limp, expression pensive as he stares into the nest of glowing embers. The tan of Southern still lingers about his hollowed out features, made more prominent by the wan light. The only thing on his desk currently is a glass with an inch of booze settled in the bottom, and a flask seated neatly beside it.

Vaeli tilts her head around the corner, eyes her target for a swift second, then appears in the doorway with her chin tilted upwards in an attempt to make herself look dignified. Dressed casually in loose fitting pants and billowy top, it's unlikely that she succeeds in anything other than looking like she's ready for bed. She spares a glance around the office, then zooms her gaze in to the desk. After a moment, she feigns a cough to gain the headman's attention. "Not interrupting anything, I hope?" she says, keeping her tone carefully neutral.

Marond looks up at the subtle ploy for his attention. If there's any surprise at seeing Vaeli in his office, it's completely internalized. Marond, in fact, looks as if he were expecting a visit from a lovely young gold rider-- whether or not he thought it would be Vaeli is a moot point. Dipping his head in a congenial sign of invitation, Marond lets his eyes slip along her path and rest on a free chair that faces his highly polished desk. Though there's no voice during the exchange, it's obvious that the seat is being offered. As he waits for the elegant woman to take her seat, his fingers lightly steeple along his glass as he gives the last inch a quiet swirl. "Jr. Weyrwoman Vaeli, how can I be of service?"

Vaeli subtly raises an eyebrow. Barely noticeable, but there just the same. The goldrider manages to keep a rather blank face as she strides slowly across the room to the offered chair. She observes the seat for a quick second before taking her place in it and leaning casually into its backing. With a leisurely nod, she addresses the man again. "The question, perhaps, may be more along the lines of how I may serve you. Proverbially speaking, of course. I'm interested in your current service down south." Vaeli crosses her legs, left over right, as she absently taps the arm of her chair, still keeping her expression and tone within a void of expression.

Marond cracks a smile at Vaeli's choice of words. Never let it be said that Marond wasn't attuned to the suggestive. His own dark brows waggle briefly upwards, but it appears he's purely business this evening, despite the fact that Vaeli wears a flowy top. "Ah, I thought it might be you. Come to be my counter-point? The pretty face and sweet voice of my comings and goings to the south?" The question is rhetorical however, as it seems they both know why she's here. "I suppose the WeyrWoman asked you to come down here?" He may not know the whole back story behind Pyrene wanting Vaeli to tag along, but as Headman (and a shady one at that) he has more then a few ears and eyes working for him in the Weyr. "Well, you certainly fit the bill, my dear. I only ask that you let me do most of the talking when we're down there. You may be pretty, and you may ride gold, but Sautha is my concern. I may ask you to assist in the matter of Southern's leadership, however. Are you very well acquainted with their Weyrleaders?"

This time, Vaeli's forehead wrinkles as she raises both brows and a unbelieving smirk tugs at her lips. "While I appreciate your approval of my looks, Marond, I doubt they will have much effect on the diplomats down in Southern." She hesitates for a passing moment, apparently caught in telling the truth or a lie. "I did have a word with Pyrene. She observed that you and I would be the most productive pair to accomplish what needs to be done in Southern. My charisma with your...intelligence." She stops tapping her finger somewhere around this point as her eyes become calculating. "I have my reasons for going, Marond, not all of them to deal with the lower caverns. I assume that's your area of business, at any rate. Let's not forget who has the most political stance." After a breath, she changes subjects and eases up on her tone. "I've met the weyrleaders there on a small number of occasions, but none of which, I'm sorry to say, have sparked a viable friendship. It would be easy enough, though, to get and stay in their good graces." As an afterthought, curiosity gets the better of her and she adds, "You thought it would be me, you said?"

Marond watches Vaeli quietly- fingers reaching up and comb absently through mats of congealed hair. "Ah, don't be so sure, my dear. Window dressing can be essential in all levels of politics, regardless of how blind we'd like to think politics to be." Tilting his head slightly in regard, the husky-voiced Headman pauses in his grooming to sip at his whiskey. "Forget? Goldrider, I am fully aware of your position in this Weyr as it pertains to my own. I only wonder whether you've already made up your mind on my mission before you agreed to come down and assist me. There's no secret to my dislike of Southern's Headwoman." But it's obvious that there's more then that going on. Marond knows it. Vaeli knows it. And so the mutual current of understanding between the two remains, despite the fact that it's littered with fallacies and half-truths. "Yes, I thought it would be you." Oh, you wanted more?

"That must have been something I missed back in goldrider weyrlinghood finesse," Vaeli drawls. She uses her hand to scratch an eyebrow as an excuse to shift her gaze away from the man for a moment of two. "I've heard a few stories from varying individuals, each being on the farthest ends of their respective spectrums," she states casually, returning her line of sight to him. "I had hoped you would give me your interpretation of the matter, seeing how you're the center of it. I, however, haven't had the chance to meet with Sautha and see what kind of proverbial ship she's running." To the latter statement, Vaeli leaves it well enough alone, obviously not getting anything more out of the Marond.

Marond smiles in his naturally disturbing way. Discomfort leeches from the bloodless lips as they thin to near nothingness in- what is that? a smile? "Ah, perhaps refraining would be in the best interest of both of us, goldrider. I'll wait for you to take your own opinion of Southern before influencing you with my own." A small yawn only further exposes crooked teeth as the aging Headman twists slightly in his chair to tip the last of the booze into his mouth and out of sight. With an empty glass set between joint-bulged fingers, Marond regards Vaeli through the glass. "I've planned my next trip to Southern for six days from now. We will meet between then and now, of course, but I've some things I've still to put in order before hand." What things are left pleasantly absent, as Marond stops peering at the finger-smudged, fire-laced, glass-distorted version of Vaeli, and instead replaces the glass on the table and reviews the woman normally. "Unless there's anything else..?" Tacit request of isolation so that he can drink some more booze and crawl into bed.

Vaeli stifles most of her reaction, but the slight jerk of her head signifies that she is some-what taken aback by the headman's grin. "My opinion of the matter is rather simple. From the information I've gathered, it seems that training Sautha's replacement may perhaps be somewhat beneficial when the Interval arrives, although I admit to questioning your motives." The goldrider composes herself enough to lean forward in her chair. "But I suppose our respective motives aren't particularly the point. I voluntarily agreed to accompany you, Marond. That must say something, hm?" Vaeli easily leaves out the subtle implications, allowing the man to draw his own conclusions, however distorted they may be. "I have my own duties to tend to within the next sevenday as well. I'll begin securing my leave of absence. You know where my weyr is if you must seek me out before I find you, I presume?" Somehow, she does manage to flash one of her own forced, but convincing, smiles as she pushes herself out of the chair.

Marond watches Vaeli through the whole of her response, but his only acknowledgement is budding attention and a mild nod. "I suppose it does at that. Have a good evening, Vaeli." And with that dismissal, Marond's eyes slip back to the fire.

Vaeli nods and takes her leave in the same way she came in by slowly strolling towards the exit. Halfway there, she turns to look over her shoulder without turning her body. "Until next time, Marond. Don't leave without me," she drones in a carefully staged sensuality. Seeing how her face isn't completely visible, the satisfied smirk on her face remains mostly unseen as she turns back forward and heads out, her shadow slowly shrinking away to nothing.

So. Here we are.

Tue, 29 Mar 2005 05:42:08 GMT

Let's see. It only seems fitting to start out with a bit about Vae. She's a junior weyrwoman to gold Nissionath at High Reaches Weyr on Harper's Tale. She started out to be very untrusting, but has gradually grown to put a little faith into all sorts of people. She's subtle, outside of flights, with her emotions. Up until recently, she viewed her opinion as priority, but getting close to thirty is starting to change all that. She prefers people to leave her things well enough alone, and she does the same, including any duties that she believes is outside her job description. The once-herder almost always has her own motives inside her actions, although publically she does include the well-being of her weyr. Humility is something she never learned, unfortunately. Her dignity means the world to her, and she typically doesn't spill her beans to just anybody. Vaeli manages to keep up with the local network of drudges and gains the most interesting tidbits of rumors from them while outwardly feigning indifference, opting for any leisure time she can get. She loves seafood and runners, has a loving, if somewhat controversial, relationship with her lifemate. Personal appearance doesn't take first place with her, and more likely than not, she'll show up in 'comfortably inappropriate' clothing to any event. It takes time to get to know the inner workings of this goldrider, but she's usually blunt enough with specific questions if confronted.