Pyrene & Cadgwith of HRW@HT

I'll probably post more later....

2007-09-27T01:18:14Z

Message 2 of 3 on *High Reaches (#3155):
Date: Wed Sep 26 19:18:05 2007 CDT
From: Pyrene (#11964)
To: *High Reaches (#3155)
Subject: Even less good things must come to an end

The harsh High Reaches winters can often be fatal for the elderly and infirm, but even those who consider themselves in good health should be careful with a cold. Good advice, but it went unheeded by Pyrene, retired weyrwoman to Cadgwith, who continued about her daily business despite the chesty cough that she picked up on her commute across the bowl. Finally, a healer heard her coughing and frogmarched her to the infirmary. Pneumonia was diagnosed and treated, but she declined swiftly. A few days later, the dragons keened the passing of Cadgwith, and the Weyr lost a resident of forty turns tenure. Reportedly, mere hours before she died, Pyrene was still berating the healers for making such a fuss over a cold.

Pyrene is survived by two children. Cadgwith is survived by, er, many.

OOCly, this is a hard goodbye to make. Pyrene was my first M* character, and she and HRW have been a fantastic experience throughout. I created her 3rd July 1998, so it's been nine years of my life (eight of them on staff) and forty years of hers. Suffice to say, I've a lot of memories both on camera and behind the scenes, although sadly most of those I shared them with won't be reading this. Thanks to those of you who I have shared the experience with, and to those of you who don't know me, I apologise for my inactivity over the past few years--as farewells go, this one is overdue. Finally, I'd like to pay tribute to HRW@HT, my online home for these nine years. One of the first of the M*ing weyrs to have IC authority separate from OOC authority, this place has housed some of the greatest players out there and has an intricate on-camera history. Long may it continue.

Pyrene (signing off from the MOO, but not severing ties. Feel free to keep in touch--enough people know how to find me)

cadge @ 2006-12-11T19:52:00

2006-12-12T00:52:22Z

Rest of the Hatching log

"Aww." Poor Nissa has to leave. "That would suck." Now, Cailyn's eyes are on the dragons, not wanting to have an exit like the other candidate.

"Poor girl..." Jaryyd says softly and looks genuinely sorry for the girl. "Too bad, she would have done us all proud I think." He sighs once more and then sets his eyes on a quest for the dragonettes so he could avoid being attacked himself.

Cameron watches Nissa get led off the sands "That's not fair." he murmurs quietly and then shakes his head "What if there's adragon wanting her though? What if a dragon doesn't find who they want?"

"Who? Nissa? To the infirmary, I'm sure," Iliad offers, taking a gander. "She'll be alright." Now back to their regularly scheduled program. "Any more hatch when we weren't looking? Where's that green?"

Minions of the Moon Egg rattles the cage.

Crying for the Moon Egg shuffles irritably. Keep it quiet out there!

Em-Oh-Oh-En Egg rocks violently this time, causing the rotund object to weave around in a wobbly circle. Which way will it go, George?

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

Rest of the Hatching log

<lj-cut text="The fates of the remaining candidates...">

"Aww." Poor Nissa has to leave. "That would suck." Now, Cailyn's eyes are on the dragons, not wanting to have an exit like the other candidate.

"Poor girl..." Jaryyd says softly and looks genuinely sorry for the girl. "Too bad, she would have done us all proud I think." He sighs once more and then sets his eyes on a quest for the dragonettes so he could avoid being attacked himself.

Cameron watches Nissa get led off the sands "That's not fair." he murmurs quietly and then shakes his head "What if there's adragon wanting her though? What if a dragon doesn't find who they want?"

"Who? Nissa? To the infirmary, I'm sure," Iliad offers, taking a gander. "She'll be alright." Now back to their regularly scheduled program. "Any more hatch when we weren't looking? Where's that green?"

Minions of the Moon Egg rattles the cage.

Crying for the Moon Egg shuffles irritably. Keep it quiet out there!

Em-Oh-Oh-En Egg rocks violently this time, causing the rotund object to weave around in a wobbly circle. Which way will it go, George?

<d/c'd for a few seconds>

Squeeful Dolphin Green Dragonet has a moment's remorse as a candidate goes down by her tail, but it is short-lived. She is still moving, seeking, following that pull of mingled joy and hunger -- this candidate, that candidate, thi-- no. Wait. /That/ candidate. She turns back toward one of the girls in white, eyes whorling red and green and purple as they lock with Lairae's. A bright, baby-dragon bugle later, and the former nanny is butted gently in the stomach.

Squeeful Dolphin Green Dragonet turns her jewel faceted eyes toward Lairae, and steps forward.

Cameron starts to look a little anxious. Well a little more so, another dragon Impressed and the gold is certainly not his. "You think they'll see me as a disgrace back at the Hall if I don't Impress?"

Lairae first looks utterly blank, and then /laughs/, slightly hysterical, but bright and just enough to bring two dots of tears to her eyes. Then she takes a deep breath enough to speak. "Surayath," she says, a little quavery, and makes her legs work enough to move to the side, after the others.

"Lairae!" Jar shouts as he notes the green impressing the girl. "Look, Lai's impressed!" He waves at the girl and smiles. "Good job!" He keeps a cornered look on the gold afterwards, not wanting a mauling from that one, no way no how!

Jillriel shakes her head as Nissa is carted off. "Faranth, that poor girl." The dragonets are then eyed warily as they creep about the Sands. But, the green quickly catches her eye. "Oh, look! Lairae!"

Enthroned Cassiopeia Gold Dragonet pads lightly along the sand, choosing her path as she goes with constrained, sedate grace. Her head swings as she examines this girl or that, narrowly avoids this boy or that with a considered pause.

I'anex claps lightly, his fingers flicking against his opposite palm. "And the sister joins the sister! Come over, come over, Lairae," he calls, mostly unnecessarily.

Minions of the Moon Egg cracks with the poignant echo of gunfire on a chilly night, fragments of shell rocketing from the sudden fissure across its girth. The shadows scatter with another pop-pop-pop-crack! and the network of fractures chasing across the surface explode with a fury of wings and squalling dragonet. Legs sprawled and wings mantling with the sudden, harrowing release, stands Soul Sister Gemini Green Dragonet.

Soul Sister Gemini Green Dragonet
This scrawny, coltish green is no beauty, her hide a patchwork of variegated hues. Mottled asparagus sweeps up the angular lines of her too-big nose while moss smears the ridges that shade bright, extrovert's eyes. Down the graceless slope of her neck, splatters of brighter apple gleam like freckles, a wry bit of derring-do that skirls over the awkward lengths of her wings, while her short stubby tail makes an amusing postscript behind a lanky torso and rangy limbs. Her talons gleam, silvery and almost laughable, but for the dangerous curve and shining points.

"And there goes the green. Guess she's not for you, Khaly." Iliad offers a sympathetic look to the young woman, as if her heart were completely set on it, before shouting a "Woohoo!" towards the newest impressee. And that's that. Next in line, please.

Cheyanna starts forward as the evil evil dragon goes for (oh noes!) /Lairae/. She looks ready to lunge forward, but aborts when she realizes: "What? Lai-- Oh! Lairae!"

Meerak widens his eyes back at Cheyanna, all innocent. "What?" he says, offense lifting his voice irritably. "I said /good/, that she was fine." He doesn't quite cross his arms over his chest, but he does turn away, looking to see what the other dragons are doing: gold, green-- impressing green! "Huh. She didn't maul anyone, I guess."

Cadgwith croons gently at Surayath and her new rider, all protective even as she lets go and turns towards the gold and this newest green.

"Lairae! Congradulations!" Cailyn makes use of one of Jillriel's hands to clap together in a cheer for the candidate. "Gorgeous green. Oh, and look! Another!"

Sweet as Honey Egg seems to be rocking a little faster and perhaps with less jittery nerves and more /intent/. As much as one can rock with intent.

Khalylai stares after the mauling dragonet. "Lairae got her," she absentmindedly states, gaze sweeping over the gold again; a brow furrows and she shivers again, despite the heat. Nissa got away with a nosebleed. Light treatment, for the evilness! Ahem.
"Lairae and-- Surayeth? That's pretty." Beat. "For a killer." The next green is dismissed, her gaze focused to the other candidates for a moment or three, finally resting on the gold's elegant silhouette with something of wary reserve.

Airam looks over at Cameron, "I'm sure that won't happen to Nissa Cameron. She'll be fine. And don't worry about not Impressing." Wow, helpful things seem to be something he's doing okay at today. He waves and smiles at the newly Impressed, but not too big, she's still a bit leery of that green. "Another hatched!" He says, nodding out at the new green.

"Ohmyshells," Cheyanna mutters to Meerak. "Look at the talons on that one. And from... oh Faranth. Let's, um, go back here." She inches backwards a few inches, a foot...

Pyrene hahs. "A nanny! Bravo, Lairae!" And her aside to J'lal: "That's either a sister of Sao's or one of Siannen's brood--I forget which."

Micail just looks a bit worried as Nissa is taken off the sands..and Lairae promptly impresses. He wipes his hands a little on his robe again, and then lets out a breath. Really..breathing is important. /Breathe/. His head swivils as others call out the hatching of another green as well, and he looks, peering at the newly arrived.

Jillriel hmm's as the second green hatches and her hand is used to clap with. "Look, Cailyn. Another green.. and that gold's still skulking around the Sands, too. Watch your back.." Always gotta look out for one another. Especially when there are razor sharp claws all around. Eee.

Meerak shakes his head as Cheyanna begins her retreat, quickly following after once he realizes what she's doing. "I didn't see," he says, looking back over toward the newest green and narrowing his eyes at the scattered shards of shell. "Didn't see! Which one was she from? Wow, those do look sharp. Maybe someone will get mauled yet!"

Stitch grins. "She's beautiful!" the wobbly little Harper croons. "Congratulations Lairae! It's getting a bit empty up here.."

"That one," I'anex says, pointing toward the newest green and addressing no one present (his dragon, perhaps. He must remember not to talk out loud), "reminds me of V'enn's Casseth. Oh yes."

Soul Sister Gemini Green Dragonet stands for a moment, chest heaving and nostrils distended, her eyes wildly red, legs akimbo, like a runner about to buck. With a shake of her head and a sloughing shudder of her goo-slimed flesh, she straightens, dismissing the nightmarish confinement. And then, just as quickly, she begins pounding the fractured remains of her egg into dust. Take that! And that! And that and that!

"Someone's going to die," Meerak says with sudden grimness, watching the green.

"From the /evil/ one," Cheyanna replies. "The /really/ evil one!" As the green begins assaulting her eggs, she actually (shame) lets out a little shriek and jumps backwards.

I'anex adds to himself. "Worse than Casseth. Shards."

Cameron is breathing. He certainly is. Heaving breaths perhaps. He is certainly no longer cold. THat's for sure. He'll freeze when he goes off, but not now. His eyes widen as he takes some steps back from the green "Shard and sweet Faranth mother of all dragons. Can I faint now?" That last said only half-jokingly

Jaryyd laughs but turns up his nose at this newest green. "Watch out guys, here comes another one! And she's angry!" Jar can't help but take a few steps back at the newest green's show of violence.

Khalylai hides behind Iliad. He's bigger than she is.

Cadgwith stares in utter confusion at this green. She must take after Ghraith.

"Faranth! What the--!!" Someone's going to die, surely. Is Iliad shaking? He's shaking. ...'cause it's hot. He's not scared. Not at all. Khalylai may be hiding behind him, but Iliad's definitely trying to tug her forward. "She's yours!"

Airam arches an eyebrow at the angry green, "I think we may want to back away a little bit. She doesn't look happy." He doesn't move though, he'll do it when the others do.

Micail just stares as the green starts stomping on the egg. Alright..so it also gets a snicker from the boy. He can't help it. Although he does look a bit wary. That other green went around smacking people, after all. At least she's not /charging/ people. Yet.

The newest green is eyed by Cailyn, what with the tantrum she's throwing. Jillriel's warning is taken to heart, and the candidate starts looking around for the wandering dragons once again. "This is getting scary."

Enthroned Cassiopeia Gold Dragonet glimpses a figure breaking ranks as she continues along her cautious march, and for a quiet instant, goes still but for the barest twitch of tail's tip and the flare of her nostrils in a snorted breath. The moment's quiet breaks as the golden queen strides forward with head erect and wings spread, unerring and firm of purpose, to Cheyanna.

Enthroned Cassiopeia Gold Dragonet turns her jewel faceted eyes toward Cheyanna, and steps forward.

Pyrene gives a startled little "Oh!" and blinks for a few moments after the gold Impresses. "Cheyanna. Huh." Obviously, not what she expected although she contrives to keep a bright face on it. "Congratulations!"

Khalylai is totally hiding. "No way! She's yours!" is her persistent declaration to Iliad, digging in her heels as a recalcitrant runner. "She needs a mindhealer." Indeed. She's too busy to notice the latest Impression, or she would have squeaked over Cheyanna.

Jillriel can hardly keep track of all the hatchlings wandering about the Sands. She, too, better watch her /own/ back just in case one sneaks up on her. Kind creepy. Cue the Jaws theme music. "Cailyn.. uh. My heart's beating wildly." Pause. "Cheyanna! Congrats!"

"Hahahah! Yes! Yes!" I'anex enacts two hops and some furious clapping. "This is going to be /great/!" For who? Really, I'anex is way too enthusiastic about this.

Soul Sister Gemini Green Dragonet finishes pounding her egg into dust and straightens yet again, letting out a deep breath of release. Oh, yeah. That felt good. Another shudder wracks her frame as she steps away from the remains. She finally looks up and blinks, eyes going quickly from red to blue as she studies the sea of white and realizes that those are presences out there. Oh, wow. Did she just do that? Sheepish!

"Wow." A gold impression is bound to turn a few eyes, and Iliad's are no exception. "Two guards down," he murmurs before attempting to whistle through his fingers towards the young woman, but fails miserably at doing so. So instead, a "Chey! Hey!" is yelped over at her.

Meerak didn't shriek, which makes him so much better than Chey--anna? Turning to mock, he spots an incoming gleam of gold and backpedals hastily. "Oh, --" The rest devolves into cursing, and then his eyes widen. "You, just-- you!" She abandoned him! And there's still the danger of /that/ green yet to face.

Airam makes ready to move as the gold starts her march, but /thankfully/ the dragonet goes wide of him. Hmm, Chey Impressed her, not bad. He gives Cheyanna a wide smile and turns back to watch the green, it didn't seem too smart to keep it out of sight for long.

"Yours is? I think mine is about to jump out of my chest," Cailyn replies to Jillriel, and just as quickly her eyes are brought to the gold and Cheyanna. "Wow. Congradulations!"

Stitch claps again, shifting from foot to foot delicately. "Congratulations, Cheyanna!"

Chey sways in place as her eyes lock with swirling jewels. Her hands lift, as if to fend off, and then she stumbles forward instead, both hands pressing against warm burnished hide. "Mynwiyath," she says, barely audible, and then, again, stronger, to the crowd, "Mynwiyath!" She cannot more for a second; it takes a nudge from someone to push her into motion, stumbling over towards the waiting attendants.

Sweet as Honey Egg trembles under the threat of its prisoner's escape, binding what lays within in its shell of honey and hope. A head spears through its light-dappled apex, glistening with goo; a forepaw shatters through sweet strawberry to find heated sand beneath. The rest of the egg splits and falls away, revealing what it hid from the world's eyes: the Monster of the Briny Depths Cetus Blue Dragonet.

Monster of the Briny Depths Cetus Blue Dragonet
A thing belched forth from the depths of the sea, he is a leviathan blue, unrefined and untidy in ill-fitting hide. Shrouded in mystery, wide, deep-set eyes are framed in a disproportionately large head; unhinged, leering, a cavernous maw reveals razor-sharp teeth. Misaligned, storm-battered neckridges lead into broad and blocky shoulders, dredged with sea-sludge; freed of this, wings' precipitous rise is erratic and ill-defined. Barnacles encrust the ponderous curve of his dark-ridged belly and powerful haunches, lighter patterning fragmenting along the awkward curve of a silver-shiny tail.

Cameron has moved back but then he can't help but grin a little at the look on the green "Maybe she's not a killer?" he murmurs and his eyes goe to the blue and he blinks and his mouth just sorta drops open.

Micail stares somewhat as Chey impresses to the gold. Well. That certainly wasn't expected. At least not for him. "Wow, Chey..um. Wow." Yes. Just wow! Fingers ruffle through his hair a little bit, and then there's a look in the direction of the volatile green. Aw, well lets hope whoever impresses her didn't want to keep a piece of eggshell to remember it by.

Cadgwith croons brightly as Mynwiyath Impresses and then creels when she sees the newest blue. Now there's a child she can be proud of! Her head looms over it, delighted.

"Yes, yes." I'anex composes himself, straight-shouldered, head high. He whistles lightly between his teeth. "To the side, to the side," he says far more quietly, with just a twist of a half smile.

J'lal notes the latest addition to the sands and chokes before he realizes who he's standing next to. "Wow. That one is..." ...definitely Cadgwith's, though Ghraith doesn't seem to mind. The bronze rumbles a warm welcome to the blue.

Pyrene wrinkles her nose at the blue. "Oh, for Faranth's.... that one takes after Ghraith," she tells J'lal firmly.

Khalylai stares at the latest blue. "That's very..." A name comes to mind, but she doesn't dare voice it, instead smirking to herself with something of amusement.

Jaryyd whistles appriciating congrats to Cheyanna but is enraptured once more when the blue is belched out of the shell. "MY word!" he says, clearly impressed. "He's...ineteresting." She idles back and forth, even /with/ the sandals, it was getting waaayyy to hot in here.

Meerak is distracted from continued surveillance of the green threat by the crack of that sweet-sticky-so-nice evil. He tips his head to the side following the mental disconnect between experience and what hatches. "Wasn't that-- wasn't that the really /nice/ egg?" he asks, shuffling up toward Khalylai, now all-knowing.

"...yeeeeah. Are you seriously gonna hide behind me the whole time?" Iliad asks, craning his neck back to peer at Khaly before shaking his head, snorting with amusement. "They can maul you from behind too, you know. And I can't protect you from there."

Jillriel blinks at the newly hatched blue dragonet and grins a little. "Wow, he's a cute one. Ya' think?" Ahem. Cailyn is nudged and smiled at. Chin up, girl.

Returned from depositing Nissa with the healers, Cr'ash surveys the latest hatchling with upraised eyebrows. "I think that one could give Iqiazath a run for her marks," he muses to one of the younger assistants, arms folded across his chest.

Khalylai smirks at Meerak. "Indeed," is her Teal'c-ish reply, still huddled behind Iliad. "Yes, I'm seriously going to hide back here the whole time," she announces to the guard. "It's safe back here." Safer.

"Huh?" Cailyn got distracted by people hollering the stands, perhaps trying to locate familiar faces. But now, the blue pointed out is eyed, nodding to Jillriel. "Oh, yeah. They're all cute. Well, most of them." Just stay away from her and don't maul her.

Airam eyes the new blue dragon with wide eyes, it was rather... a word escapes him also, even in his thoughts. "Okay, a blue now. Lets see who it goes to." It was actually kind of fun guessing, and also kind of relaxing, which is good.

Soul Sister Gemini Green Dragonet picks her way cautiously across the sands, taking care not to trip herself up on her own awkward legs. As she moves, she sniffs the air, lifting her nostrils high. She knows the one is there. She can smell him. Him? Oh, yes. She picks up speed, her gaze settling on yet another guard, a young man who apparently needs a soul sister. She comes to a sand-flinging halt in front of Iliad and gives him a great big lick.

Soul Sister Gemini Green Dragonet turns her jewel faceted eyes toward Iliad, and steps forward.

Khalylai's hiding worked. "Ha! -You- got her!" She is triumphant!

I'anex sputters and scratches his nose furiously. "You're /joking/ me? Joking."

Meerak watches from behind Khalylai, ready to dash when the green comes over -- and then it licks Iliad. "Ew. -- Er, congratulations! I guess. I mean. Good luck," he adds. "No, really. Good luck!"

Monster of the Briny Depths Cetus Blue Dragonet shakes himself off in a clumsy rattling flap of wings, tail flailing in an awkward, lashing arc as he plunges forth into the world. His head lowered like a battering ram, he puffs breath through his nose and gives a squalling, half-shrieked creel through bared teeth -- and charges forward with startling speed for his unwieldy bulk, heedless and eager and hungry. A pale northern boy, too slow to get out of the way, goes down with a gasping cry, blood seeping to clump the sand.

Pyrene starts, a rather wry smile settling over her face. "Congratulations, Iliad," she murmurs, under her breath--only to jump at the noise that emerges from the blue and the subsequent injury. "Oh, good grief! I /told/ them to move!"

Cameron eyes widen even more as he watches the boy go down "Is.. is.. is he dead?" he gasps and stares Completely missing Iliad getting a just licking.

Micail gawks a little bit as the green goes to Iliad..but doesn't really have time to respond to it. There's /blood/, and cries, and he just erks a little bit, staring as one of the candidates goes down, wide-eyed. "Oh..my.."

Jillriel blinks once again as the blue dragonet plows over some poor boy. Whoa. Shaking her head as if to snap out of it, she then smiles over at Iliad. "Congrats!" is then hollered over to him.

"Iliad!" Yes, Cailyn is rather happy for him at the moment, jumping up and down in her spot, even if she didn't expect him to be on green. A dragon is a dragon, afterall. Just as soon after Cate is done jumping, she's brought back to reality with more blood being spilled onto the sands, causing her to cling even tighter to Jillriel.

Jaryyd whews in a sigh of relief when the green picks Iliad. "Well, at least we know that /she/ isn't maulinmg anyone, but that.." Jar jumps in the opposite direction of the charging blue and holds his eyes on it. "Congrats Iliad..." he says shakily, looking at the blood.

"Ah-ha-ha-hah," Meerak laughs in a sudden nervous patter as feet shuffle-step backward away from Khalylai and in the direction opposite the blue. "Is he--?" The question that everyone wants to know! "He came from the /nice/ egg!"

Cadgwith rumbles to the blue, affectionate and forgiving. Gently now.... gently... Take your time.

Stitch shakes slightly as Iliad leaves the group, starting to feel more and more exposed. "Good job, Iliad! Way to go..." when a boy is mauled not far from him, a nervous squeak escapes his throat as he shifts away from the incident, unsure if he should go to his aid or just get out of the way. "Oh dear...oh dear..."

Is this necessarily a good thing? Definitely not the sand in Iliad's eyes. Nor the dragon tongue against his skin.
"It's---alright. I guess," Iliad grins, reaching a hand out to scritch underneath the green's muzzle. "Szarabhayanath? There's no way I'm going to remember that. No way," he then laughs, twitching one eye before using his free hand to give it a good rubbing. "Nath is good, right?"

Airam doesn't have time to give Iliad a congratulations before the other boy goes down to a blue, "Oh..." He winces and looks at the mess with only one eye open. "Is he okay?" Airam whispers loudly to Micail, not willing to look too freely himself.

"Faranth!" I'anex is pulled from his (quite notable) shock over the green to fixate on the fallen. He starts forward a few steps. "What a mess." He forgets to do his flail, flail, to the side gesture. Well. Iliad probably knows where to go.

Em-Oh-Oh-En Egg develops a latticework of tiny cracks in its surface, thin lines myriad and originating from a single point of choice. Its frantic rocking peters to a halt, punctuated by the thrust of a goo-glistening forepaw through that weakest point. Paths not taken peel away from the hatchling as she shrugs loose her dichotomous prison, fragments of shell lodged in the sand like discarded futures. Liberated Libra Green Dragonet steps bravely out into the daylight world and leaves them all behind.

Liberated Libra Green Dragonet
A master's finest work, wrought in mother-of-pearl and spun glass: pride and perfection in pale, iridescent green. Luminous eyes shine like jewels in a fine-boned face; emotions' range is endless, marked by changes in hue but for a single scarlet facet in the left. Her neck's arch is long and elegant, her carriage erect; a coquette's body, slender and proportionate. Darkness limns the base of her tail, patterning subtle and indistinct as it flows upward like smoke to curl 'round the join of wing and back. The gentle spike of 'spars is inlaid with jet; between, 'sails spread in translucent glory, draped over her haunches like the open petals of a night-blooming flower.

Fortunately, there are still healers standing by -- they rush the sands under barked orders from the weyrlingmasters, efficient in the sands' heat. The unfortunate boy is tended to and loaded onto a stretcher, then whisked away, condition unknown.

I'anex back-steps back to his place and clasps his hands behind his back. He misses the newest green in the process.

Micail gives a rapid headshake, staring a moment longer before looking up at Airam. "I don't know!" He sure doesn't want to stare at it too long..although, really, he can't help it. "They took him away." Really, let's just /hope/ he's not all..dead.

Khalylai shuffles from Iliad to Meerak. She doesn't care about who she victimi--er, hides behind. "Two maulings, insanity, burnt feet, borrowed sandals, and.." She falters mid-sentence at the masterwork that just hatched. "Wow," is her only statement, Meerak forgotten for the moment.

Pyrene brightens at the latest one. "/She's/ pretty," she tells J'lal, although at least she doesn't lay claim to her taking after Cadgwith.

Jaryyd stares transfixed at all that has happened. He starts to rethink things, but stops this habit as the newest green hatches. "Wow"

Airam opens both eyes fully after the boy is taken away and looks out at the green that just hatched. Well /that/ certainly helps, the green is beautiful. The queasyness is already fading. "This is a violent hatching. Didn't expect it to be quite this bad."

Crying for the Moon Egg rocks casually. Background motion; just ignore.

Cameron is in shock as he watches them haul away the boy, eyes following before they turn back to the hatchlings. Ready to dive any which way if one starts heading his way. Least heading his way in a mauling type fashion. "I think I'll be thankful jsut to get out of this in one piece." he admits. He's not ashamed of being afraid. He's just a boy after all.

"Now that one," J'lal states, pointing at the latest green. "...is totally Ghraith's. My boy's got good genes. Good genes!"

Stitch clenches his teeth and watches, shuffling his feet a bit more. "Aye, I'm with you, Lad. First thing I'm going to do though is go stand in some snow."

Liberated Libra Green Dragonet stretches languidly from the midst of her egg remains. Her pricked gaze stares down the remaining white-robed figures. She doesn't move just yet; she analyzes the the situation before acting. Her wings unfold and her tiny head swivels to her left, and that's the way she goes. No question about it. A male figure is sniffed, a female discarded. Where is her partner? Not here. Not there. Liberated Libra Green Dragonet keeps looking with her chin held high and a hopeful twinkle in her pricked eye.

Right. A green and a blue are still loose on the sands, with one egg yet to go. Cailyn's eyes have slowed their frantic movement, as these dragons don't seem to be as violent as the previous ones were. Still, Jillriel is held close, just in case.

Monster of the Briny Depths Cetus Blue Dragonet lumbers to a halt and stretches his wings out to their full extension, arching his neck. He paws at the sand, talons cutting great gouts into it beneath him. There is something agitated to the sway of his head. Seeking, searching, wheeere?

Crying for the Moon Egg starts rocking more vigorously now. Let's end this shindig.

"Where'd that blue go?" Meerak asks nervously, too distracted by the recent mauling to spend too much time gawking at the pretty girl. Then -- oh, there he is, nicely stretching out to be seen. He eyes those talons edgily, shuffling a bit to the side to put Khalylai between them.

Jaryyd catches himself looking at the green hopefully. He shakes his head, afewtr all he /was/ hoping for a male, or, like others, just to get out alive. But his eye is on the blue as well, watching the blue's confused search.

Crying for the Moon Egg quakes under the pressure of inner thunder. It cracks, and crackles -- tiny fragments of shell falling away to pepper the sand beneath. For a moment, the egg is still. Then it is shattered by the vehement plunge of a proud dragonet's head. Encasing fragments of shell are thrust back and away by the wide plant of feet, broad wings spearing up and out as the Unbridled Pegasus Bronze Dragonet rears forth from the eggy wreckage.

Unbridled Pegasus Bronze Dragonet
Nobility mantles itself in bronze, but bronze occluded, bronze obscured. Yet the darkness that masks his hide also defines the clean lines of his proud neck and the strong angles of wide-set shoulders. Moonshadow dapples his legs and tail: a silver-greened starfield across the powerful muscles of his haunches. Wide, over-reaching wings sweep back to cover such distinction, but there is no self-effacement in the cut of his long equine head. The eyes that look out of the dark face are frank: acknowledging who he is; determining who he shall be.

Micail does give a small nod, returning to the mild chewing of his bottom lip. "Yeah..violent." Tsk. Candidates dropping left and right! He does breathe though, a huff let out through his nose. He's a bit tense, too, quite ready to bolt if it's necessary.

Khalylai is still, silent motion as she shifts back from foot forth to next; she stands alone, now, Nissa mauled and Iliad impressed -- and Meerak good for nothing, of course. Her gaze flicks from aquatic monster blue to delicate courtesan green -- to spirituous bronze. "He's a looker," she absently notes, but her gaze has fallen to one, and one only.

Jillriel prods Cailyn as the rest of the dragonets loom around them. Still kinda creepy. "I hope they all just keep their distance." After seeing that kid get mauled by the blue, it's in her best interest.

Bronzes tend to get I'anex's attention, naturally. His eyes flick over again and he props his chin against the back of his hand. "/Hmmmmmm/. Hmmm." No disdain this time.

Cameron watches the blue carefully, his eyes following the gouges in the sand. "That could be painful." he murmurs and his eyes look around for the green and oh look, there's a bronze now as well. "I hope no one else gets hurt." he murmurs. "You don't think he's going to get anyone else? Do you?"

Unbridled Pegasus Bronze Dragonet takes a few moments to just stand still and let goo drip off him, snorting vigorously to clear albumen from his nasal passages. Long wings flop and flap as he tries to figure out how to keep them in position, and his head gazes wearily at the candidates. Birth is not the most comfortable of experiences, so give him a break.

Airam is distracted from eyeing the blue nervously as a bronze hatches and he exhales in relief. It doesn't /seem/ harmful. "I hope the ones who are hurt are okay... but I don't think the blue will charge again. I hope not."

Meerak is good for everything! Anything! Except witty commentary: "Oh, hey. Another one." He rises onto the balls of his feet, scalded soles lifted off sand one by one as he tiptoes to take a glimpse at the new one. He promptly drops back on his heels with a twitching twist of his lips. "Gross," he says of snot.

"Another Bonze!" Jar exclaims after the dragon pops out. He stares amazed and almost in tears. The whole thing was beautiful, but he's starting to lose hope. Yes, yes he is. But the bronze, blue and green were beautiful, and he silently reminds himself to do carvings later for memory's sake.

"Same here." But now there are three of them loose on the sands, which only gets Cailyn's eyes moving furiously once again to make sure she knows where they are at all times. "I guess this is it."

Liberated Libra Green Dragonet hesitates ever so slightly. She knows she must do something, but she doesn't know how to proceed. She weaves in and out of the humans, searching for an answer, gathering every bit of knowledge to carve her path. She wants them all, just a little bit, but only needs one. Where?

Pyrene hugs herself. "Two bronzes and a gold," she declares smugly. "That's good for a dozen eggs. Nice complement of greens and browns too." Ah, would there be a colour missing there?

Khalylai is bemused, her gaze to Meerak a smirk within itself. "Go figure," she drily notes. Captain Obvious, Meeky is now crowned. "They've been an interesting clutch, haven't they?" she does query her so-called archenemy, gazing out over the dragonets. "Bloody, but interesting." It's a good quote to end on; thus, that is where she ends.

Monster of the Briny Depths Cetus Blue Dragonet seems to be at the point of working himself up for another charge. He spades sand with his muzzle, sending it in a spray. His wings flap anxiously. But when he moves forward again it is not at bolting speed, but at a cautious plod, marked slower by dawning hope. He weaves a little, not because his trajectory is uncertain but because he is quite clumsy with these unwieldy feet appendages. Still, he reaches his end point well enough, and gently, so gently, noses Cameron.

Monster of the Briny Depths Cetus Blue Dragonet turns his jewel faceted eyes toward Cameron, and steps forward.

"Huh!" I'anex proceeds back to clapping, if gingerly. "Not sure I expected that one to that one-- congratulations, Cameron!"

Unbridled Pegasus Bronze Dragonet does what he's supposed to do and saunters forward to have a look over these here candidates. Admittedly, he trips on his wings halfway and ends up with a noseful of Sands, but he picks himself up again. Now he's slimy /and/ sand-encrusted. Charming. Nonetheless, he proceeds with casual dignity, beading his eyes at a couple of lads. Nah. Not for him. Next!

Micail does in fact look surprised as that blue goes for Cameron. Who would've thought? He does grin though, laughing a bit as he stands up on his toes. "Alright Cammy!" Gonna have his hands full with /that/ one, definately..

Meerak nods with marked agreement. "Bloody," he repeats, gaze slanted sideways to track the progress of blue, on that note. "Ack, look out for that--" But seeing the blue slow, so lowers his volume, and when he sees Cameron not-die, but rather gain a new friend, he whoops approval. "Didn't kill anyone! I haven't seen anyone die yet."

C'mero startles a little as he's nosed by the blue and then he can't help but grin "Aerulunth" he murmurs softly and places a hand on the head. "And I you as well Aerulunth." he murmurs looking bemused, happy and then a glance goes to Pyrene. Oh, sweet Faranth.

Jaryyd says, "Cameron!" I s all Jar can manage for he is completely enthralled by Bronze and Green yet again. "Beauties...beauties..." He murmers and nudges Micail. "Hey Mickey, aren't they great?""

Pyrene briefly meets C'mero's eyes and mumbles something that might be a congratulations, before her eyes turn to higher colours. Like that green.

Khalylai starts at Cameron's impression. "Cam!" Her smile is bright with approval. She'll miss him at home, of course, but a good match. "No deaths yet," she agrees to Meerak - gasp! - "But it's not over with yet, is it?" It's never over. Until it's over, of course.

Airam gets ready to back away as the blue comes towards Cameron and is thankful when he isn't required to move. No more badness from the blue. "Good job Cameron." He compliments with a smile.

"Congradulations Cameron!" Cailyn yells out, the grasp on Jillriel going slack. Now, there are only two to watch. A deep sigh is let out as Cailyn's eyes sweep between the green and the bronze.

Jillriel glances over at Cameron and his blue, Aerulunth. "Congrats!" Cailyn's grasp is loosened, thank Faranth, and she side steps a little. "Two more. Can you handle the suspense?" Nudge.

Meerak goes to jam his hands in his pockets only to have hands skip right down thighs to first at the full extension of his arms and swing idly. "Er. Yeah. I guess it ain't quite over," he says, lifting a hand to rub his nose. Green and bronze are eyed suspiciously, looking for that inner killer.

Liberated Libra Green Dragonet has narrowed it down. She knows the way now. Her steps become surer, quicker. She dodges a young female, kicks sand past an older male human. She puts the brakes on as she nearly collides with a clutchmate. So many obstacles the flawed eye dragon has faced, but the path is clear now. It's straight ahead. Straight towards a female. Straight towards her perfect companion. Khalylai.

Liberated Libra Green Dragonet turns her jewel faceted eyes toward Khalylai, and steps forward.

Micail gives a little smile at Jaryyd, and then just nods a little bit. "Yeah..yeah they are." And then that green's gone for Khaly, and his grin grows that much more. "Oh..go Khaly!"

"And there is the next." I'anex claps again, craning slightly. "Attractive!" I'anex remarks, again, to his invisible friend. "Well, she is," is added.

"GO KHALY!" Jar is actaully really eaxcited for Khaly and claps loudly. "Good job!" His eyes linger on the bronze, but all of his sincerity goes to Khaly.

Meerak's steps take him rapidly away from Khalylai when the green closes, sure that there's about to be death, doom, and other good stuff. He starts to reach out for Khalylai's elbow to pull her backward and yank her away when, instead, it seems unnecessary. Chivalry dies a quick death. "Huh."

Jillriel grins as Khalylai Impresses the last green. "Oh! Congrats!" A hand then reaches up to rid her brow from some sweat and then is promptly wiped on her robe. "That was a cute green." The bronze is then eyed after she speaks.

"Nice green Khalylai!" Airam calls out to be heard when the girl Impresses. He smiles slightly and turns back to the bronze. Time for the guessing game again.

"I guess that's it, huh?" is mutted to Jillriel, courtesy of Cailyn, who completely releases the girl from her grasp. The bronze is still eyed for safety's sake before she yells out to congradulate Khalylai.

Unbridled Pegasus Bronze Dragonet hears a whoop, rolls an eye. Still struggling with those ungainly wings, he follows the sound to its source--it might be a journey of several minutes but he gets there. There before a candidate who doesn't seem to know what to do with his hands. He gapes his teeth in an amused but satisfied leer. You requested an inner killer?

Unbridled Pegasus Bronze Dragonet turns his jewel faceted eyes toward Meerak, and steps forward.

Khalai steps forwards, her face a show of triumphant surprise - a surprising mix of emotion for a none-too-surprising pair. "Of course I will, my love," she murmurs to the green; "I will choose, and choose again, for as long as I live." An oath, the only one that truly matters; "Of course I will, Neasiursath!" She leans forwards, then, conspiracy in her tone-- her gaze, as well as an eyebrow, glances back to Meerak. Only Neasiursath knows what is said, but it doesn't need a caption. Weyrlinghood is doubtless to be... interesting.

Cadgwith gives an approving bugle as the last of her children Impress and lowers her head towards Pyrene, who clasps it and kisses it lovingly. "Beautiful! Lovely clutch!" she assures her. Aerulunth aside.

I'anex does not hop this time, but he does do his laughing thing. "There we /go/. Really. I can't wait. Meerak as well!"

Jillriel sighs as Cailyn's releases her arm. And then there were none. "Wow, I guess it's just not our turn, Cailyn." A shrug rolls from her shoulders as she shuffles her feet along the hot sand. "You okay?"

Micail does turn after a bit to look, and smiles faintly to himself as Meerak impresses. Then? Another look is taken over the sands, a little surprised to notice the lack of eggs and blood-thirsty dragons. "Oh..it's over?"

Airam waves to Meerak and sighs when he realizes it's over. He nods to Micail, "Yeah, it is." He's not /too/ sad though, the hatching was exciting, and he gets to walk off the sands on his own two feet.

Huh, again! Times two! Three! Infinity! Meerak knows even less what to do with his hands now, finding them useless. He holds them out as if to fend off that leer, or perhaps turn it away, and instead fingertips slide forward, tentatively. Body quaking with a full shudder, he shakes his head. It fails to clear it. "Kyrioth," he murmurs under his breath. Louder, again: "Kyrioth!" The syllables become a pean, sung out triumphantly, but fading into the slightest uncertain edge.

"Yeah. I'm fine," Cailyn reassures Jillriel with a grin, grabbing her arm once again, but this time to lead them off of the sands. "Let's go get something to eat. I'm hungry."

Jaryyd sighs and can't help but make a dejected noise in his throat. "Well, that's it..." he says. His face does much like Nissa's had and crumples, and just maybe his eyes were watering up a bit. "Congratulations guys. Good luck to you and your dragons!" Jar says this with an enthusiasm that both held and lacked luster.

Mindful of the bruised hearts and disappointed faces, Cr'ash claps again much as he did in the barracks. "To me," he calls out to those scattered souls left on the sands. "To me," he repeats, "and then to the barracks."

Jillriel follows Cailyn off the Sands. "Sounds good to me!" Off they go.

Stitch escapes the earth-born heat and heads off the sands.

I'anex strides gingerly off the sands, whistling through his teeth in /immense/ good cheer. "To the barracks!" he echoes.

Hatching in the first turn of the interval!

2006-12-12T00:51:25Z

Here's the log of last night's Hatching, occuring in the autumn of the first turn of the 10th Interval.

15 candidates; 8 dragons; 2 hours - do we even need the spam warning? I d/c twice, but as far as I know, I'm not missing any poses.

Logfile from HT Pyrene.

Sunday 10 December 2006

Pyrene shrugs at J'lal. "The candidates have been in a tizzy all day." She stretches and peers at her dragon who is sleepily staring into space. "Hurry up, Cadge. I'd love to sleep in a cold weyr tonight."

Cadgwith turns at the sound of her rider's voice and considers the eggs with interest. She must be feeling obliging today, because her eyes brighten and she starts humming, a sound quickly picked up by hundreds of other dragons within the Weyr.

Cadgwith senses that she rushes tsunami-like in her delight. << They're ready! The Hatching! Come see! >>

Ghraith appears to be in accord with the clutch dam as he, too, picks up the bass thrum that reverberates through the Weyr. He rises, shifting back on his haunches, an anticipatory gleam swirling into his gaze.

J'lal clears his throat, brows lifting, as he watches first one, then the other, dragon begin to thrum. "Well, it's about time. I suspect we won't be getting any water now, though."

Beast of Gevaudan Egg gives an abrupt shake as if startled by the sudden humming. What, now?

Sweet as Honey Egg trembles gently, run through with the shock of a shiver.

Pyrene gives a little wriggle of delight as it kicks in, grabbing J'lal's arm as she moves to the side of the Sands. "Good luck darling," she calls to her dragon. "They'll be beautiful!" Of course!

J'lal is just in time to crook his arm and offer it to Pyrene as she preemptively grabs at it. He takes a long look at Cadgwith, then smiles at the goldrider beside him. "Of course they will."

Dark Side of the Moon Egg twitches.

Cheyanna [& everybody else] steps from shadows to sand, joining the eggs.

Come Reap Harvest Moon Egg shifts where it sits set apart, mucking up the relative smoothness of the surrounding sand.

Beast of Gevaudan Egg rocks sulkily. Just ten more minutes, ma, pleeease?

Alternately nervous, excited, and blase, the candidates come onto the sands behind Cr'ash, a sea of white robes bobbing against the hot sands. Though their eyes flicker to the eggs, to the stands -- a few hands lift to wave at familiar faces -- they proceed mainly towards the clutchparents. Coming to a shuffling halt, they bow as one towards Cadgwith and Ghraith, gold and bronze guardians of the clutch.

Pyrene inclines her head in acceptance of the bow. "I give them a 9," she murmurs as an aside to J'lal. "Synchronisation was pretty damned good."

Cadgwith hums with furious pride, snorting joyfully at her eggs and the candidates. Good thing she's not sick.

The head of the column breaks apart -- Cr'ash toward the rest of the assistant weyrlingmasters on the edges of the Sands, Siannen toward Pyrene and J'lal with a large and sweating waterbladder and two tall glasses. These are delivered, and then she disappears again.

Beast of Gevaudan Egg scatters sand with an emphatic shake, easing itself from the divot in the sand where it lurks. As telltale cracks chase their way across its shadowy shape, it struggles against inevitable destruction, writhing and bucking in place. Finally, it stills, mere moments before a foot pops from its confines, then another, a snout, a tail, which eventually solidify into a rather solid dragon: Not Leo Enough Brown Dragonet.

Not Leo Enough Brown Dragonet
Ruggedly rotund is the best descriptor for this shadow-cast brown: raw power coils beneath a meaty physique, a short neck and limbs and a long torso emphasizing the breadth of his shoulders and haunches. The bitter orange of burnt sienna ripples across the sepia gloom of his broad figure in brindled waves. Lightening against the stretch of a small paunch and the underside of his long but solid tail, sienna turns to charcoal-striped umber in the spars and sails of his expansive wings. His large, round head features a blunt muzzle, tiny headknobs and a face of wide planes and prominent curves in cheek and brow. His paws, dainty in comparison, are tipped with ebony.

Sweet as Honey Egg rocks anxiously, with an almost rhythmic sway.

Khalylai rises from her bow with a look of uncertainty - perhaps for the first time since being at the Reaches. Nissa's hand clutched tight, the young woman flashes a beam to Micail and Cameron - and those others directly in her near proximity. "We're here," she announces. (Well... duh.) Is it any surprise that 'here' is none-too-comfortable? The young woman's dancing already on bare toes. Second degree burns, here we come... "One already?" she exclaims, eyebrows arching reflexively.

I'anex trails in late, taking position by other weylingmaster types and straightening his shoulders promptly. His eyes flick toward the first dragonet, marking.

Cameron is certainly nervous, all legs and arms and those legs nothing but gelatin really. Is the poor boy going to faint? It would be fitting. The baby of the candidates. He swallows nervously and looks around, almost helplessly. Oh look. A dragon. Help?

Cheyanna, for her part, is wary more than edgy, with a subdued caution directed towards the eggs piled up. And just in time: as the first shatters, the guard-candidate jumps and skitters back a step, into Meerak.

Jillriel grips Cailyn's hand with sooome force. Oops. Too tight. Releasing the hand, the brown dragonet is then eyed her heart /thumps/. "Cailyn!" is squeeked as her hand is grabbed once again.

"Hmm?" J'lal asks, having missed the statement as he watches the candidates, mulling over the possibilities and the marks he has placed thereupon. "Yes. Very nice." At least his dragon was paying attention.

Meerak straightens up out of the bow with a certain alacrity: the better to shuffle his feet, toeing barefoot at the sand with a quick shuffle. "It's not so bad," he says of the heat, for all that he is quick not to settle too long on either foot -- and then an egg cracks. He startles with an unmanly yelp, bumping into Cheyanna in turn. He gives her a sheepish look.

Iliad won't hold any hands. He's too manly for that, or something. Or maybe it's because he's too busy scrubbing at the back of his neck with one hand while the other clutches the cloth of his robe. Nervous much? You might say.

Nissa lets Khalylai lead her to wherever is appropriate; at least there are plenty of candidates around them. She too shuffles on the sand, her bare feet warming uncomfortably. "I wish I'd found my sandals..." she moans again, and then gives a little jump as the brown breaks shell. "Oooh!"

"Shards, these dragons aren't wasting any time," is murmured to Jillriel. "Ow. Be gentle," Cailyn scolds, loosening her grip on the her buddy. "Just breathe, okay? Keep breathing." If only Cailyn could follow her own advice.

Xayna follows the people in front of her onto the sands and after the bow follows them to make the usual semi-circle around the edge. Her right hand reaches out and grabs Stitch, grabbing it tightly. She gives him a grin and then reaches out to her left, ending up grabbing Lairae's hand. A smile is given to her as well, before the beast egg hatches. /Her/ egg. Well, it isn't anymore. A look over the brown gets a soft ooo from her, and she shuffles her feet from the heat.

Micail is indeed shuffly. He doesn't really have anything to do with his hands like some of the others, but he moves along anyway. Where to? Somewhere near Airam. Airam seems like a safe person to stand with. Gack! They didn't even get a chance to breathe before one campe popping out of there!

Jaryyd raises from his bow to see a brown emerge from an egg and he stares transfixed. Thoughts whirl around in his head and it's eveident in his stare that not all the glows are open upstairs. He does jump back though, as if afraid to get trampled by the little beasty.

Airam sucks in a deep breath during his rise from a bow as he looks around the sands and up into the galleries. Okay, time of truth. Oh yes, he's nervous. And when did his heart beat get so loud? He steps back half a foot as the first egg hatches and watches the baby dragon warily.

To Feed the Hunger Egg rocks, its motion erratic and unpredictable.

Lairae fidgets desperately with her hands when she rises from the bow, but manages to stand still once she's found a spot. Mostly still. She shifts onto the balls of her feet, very cleary ready to move quickly out of the way. She jumps when her hand is grabbed, but manages a wan smile for Xayna. She looks uncomfortable at being tied down to two people, but doesn't pull free.

Cheyanna whirls to stare at Meerak as contact is made, letting a solid two seconds tick by before recognition settles into place for her. "Sorry," she says belatedly. "I -- sorry." She turns to glance back at the eggs, specifically the rocking Hunger Egg. "Oh, Faranth," she says. "/That/ one's starting."

Stitch looks toward NIssa and whispers "Ye can take mine." he says, slipping them off with one hand as the other is siezed by Xayna. Offering them toward her or to the next person to pass down, he lightly steps from foot to foot, the perspiration on the bottoms of his feet making the hot sand cling.

Not Leo Enough Brown Dragonet stretches, blinking with puzzled interest at the surroundings and just scrunching his belly on the Sands to get a feel for this new world. Warm and scratchy... It'll do. He pauses for a long moment, forelegs out and butt in the air, apparently poised for a rush. And then he gets up and plods unhurriedly towards the White Line of Intrigue.

Jillriel breathes as her buddy tells her to. "Yeah, that helps." Cailyn is then eyed as she inches a teensy bit closer. "Handsome brown, eh?"

Khalylai is enough to unman Iliad, you see. She lunges for his hand, attempting to snag it. "Iliad, you have to protect us," she announces, angling herself slightly behind the guard-candidate. She flashes Nissa a bright, bright beam. "This is outrageous." They're starting - already! She dismisses the brown, eyeballing the other eggs cautiously.

Dark Side of the Moon Egg rotates just an aota and then stops.

Ryan brings his torso up from the bow, blinking. Attention is focused on the eggs and---oh look, one hatched already. Gulping, it's plain he's nervous, but everyone else is too. Turning his head to whoever may be next to him in the semi-circle of candidates, he offers a weak grin.

Meerak dips his shoulders, apology accepted quick enough. "Yeah, sure," he says, words pitter-pattering in a nervous rush of syllables as he settles next to Cheyanna. "Whatever." He follows her gaze with a wary turn of his head, eyes widening. He backs away. "Bet you that one comes bursting out and claws someone. Half a mark. Well -- quarter mark."

Lairae 's nails are probably digging into Xayna's palm as she focuses on the rocking Hunger egg. "Got to be careful of that one," she mutters under her breath. To who, it's hard to tell.

Xayna takes in a deep breath as the first hatchling comes towards them, unvoluntarily taking a step back. Quickly she steps back in line and takes her eyes off the brown only long enough to look around at the others and the eggs. "Good luck Stitch, Lairae." Her voice is like a squeaky mouse in her nervousness.

Come Reap Harvest Moon Egg rocks and jerks, its gold-hued shell shivering tremorously.

Uh-oh.. Here it comes. Jar stares at the little brown, hoping that if it charged, it didn't charge his way. Unless it intended to pick him...which he thought doubtfull... and plausible at the same time. "WOw,..." he whispers, edging towards some of the other candidates.

Iliad's hand is grabbed. Lovely. But Khaly's hand is not released once contact is made. If anything, he squeezes it while chewing on his tongue through his teeth. "If one tries to maul me, I'm /so/ sacrificing you, by the way." Surely Iliad can pick her up enough to throw her in the way, right?

Micail chews on his bottom lip a little bit. Feet shift then, and he moves, looking at the moving eggs before his gaze turns right back around to that roaming brown. The boy is tense, really, after all those lovely lessons about how to avoid dragon-maulings. Duck? Run?

"Very handsome." The line of fellow candidates is eyed, with Cailyn mentally trying to figure out who he'll go to. There are too many eggs moving at once, so her eyes are constantly jerking around, nervous little twitches.

Nissa lets go of Khalylai's hand in order to grab at Stitch's shoes. They're a bit big for her, but by balancing precariously on one heated foot in turn, she manages to slip them on. "Thank you, thank you very much," she hisses to the harper-candidate, then glances rather guiltily at Khalylai's still bare feet before taking the other girl's hand again.

Airam turns from the dragon to eye the other candidates and their reactions, and then back to the brown again as it moves. "This was faster than I thought it would be." He comments to the other candidates closest to him. He offers a smile to Meerak but doesn't wait to see if the other boy got it. He moves foward just a little bit to get a better view, but still stays far back.

Cameron takes a deep breath and squares his shoulders. Getting his equilibrium back as he watches the dragon and then others eggs that rock. He moves in closer to Micail "Hope you got that nap in earlier. Too late now. Even moreso if you Impress."

"Eight," Cheyanna counters. "I'm going to lose too much money today anyway." She follows Meerak back a step or two, cautiously. "Uh, if it charges us, you don't mind me flinging you in front of me, right?" she says. She looks back to the brown now, wary and ready to dive out of the way.

Sweet as Honey Egg quakes nervously.

Khalylai is now ensconced between two, and that comforts her. She squeezes Iliad's hand, regardless of the fact that he carries the deadly cootilus naturalis virus. "Nissa, you suck," she states, but her voice is surprisingly cheerful. And feet dance! "You just -try- sacrificing me, Iliad. I could so take you."

Not Leo Enough Brown Dragonet wriggles his shoulders, getting into the feel of this walking thing--if it wasn't for those durned wings flopping all over the place. Patiently he continues forward until he reaches the first few candidates. One paw snakes out experimentally, lashing at a nearby lad, claws unsheathed. Fortunately, the lad dances out of the way in time. The brown has already moved on, sniffing and snorting and occasionally squawking as he heads determinedly down the line.

Meerak gives Cheyanna a /betrayed/ look. "You're the guard! You should be flinging yourself in front of it. Protecting people, like," he says expansively, gesturing with a nervous twitch to edge out the wave of hands, a wave that turns to a salute aimed in Airam's direction, smile caught and returned, if with a slightly puzzled frown.

Stitch gives Xayna's hand a comforting squeeze, even though the palms of his small hands are sweaty and clamy. "Should have brought some rolls...coulda kept em warm with melted butter..." Stitch tries to keep his mind off his absolute terror by thinking of food.

Dark Side of the Moon Egg casts aside its cloak of mystery, revealing the majestic mountains and steep crevasses that pock a surface heretofore hidden beneath the sand. This marvel is not long to last, however, as a myriad of cracks begin to mar its surface, sending flecks of shell scattering to the floor. Finally, with one last shudder, shell gives way, disintegrating, to reveal a hardly mysterious, but no less majestic I'm Too Sexy Pavo Bronze Dragonet.

I'm Too Sexy Pavo Bronze Dragonet
The virescent shimmer of honeyed gold hints in verdant copper lend a certain royal allure to this bronze. Elegance delineates the slender musculature of long limbs and frame, from the perfect posture in the proud arch of his neck and shoulders to the whip-flick of his tail. A charmer's face has he, the intimation of an inviting smile in the dark mask of hooded eyes, his mouth curling at the corners of a blunt, broad muzzle. His true glory, however, lies in the expanse of his wings and the hypnotic scintillation of color found within his sails.

Jaryyd steels himself. He'd get nowere in this hatching by running away, if he must get clawed, or trampled, then so be it. He stands his ground and watches as the dragonette nearly misses a lad with his claws. Jar whistles at the close encounter and looks over to Micail. "Bit vicious isn't he?"

"You can have them if I Impress," Nissa tells Khalylai, although she sounds very unsure of the whole idea as that brown comes around. She glances around Khaly to Iliad as the bronze hatches, looking rather hopeful.

"Shut up," Lairae says in Stitch's direction, lashing out without thinking in her nervousness. She noticed that brown's swipe, and her hand spasms in Xayna's again, as she considers whether to disentangle herself.

Micail makes a noise as one of those paws go striking for candie-feet. That's..not a good sign. "Watch your legs.." He offers to those around him, if somewhat quietly. Maybe it won't be too much help. But Jaryyd does get a quick nod as he's spoken to. "Yeah..yeah he-oh! Another one."

Airam moves a short distance across the ground to Micail and Cameron's side, managing to keep his eyes both on the newly hatched brown and his target. He leans foward and asks, "You scared?" Airam is, not that he'd admit it, and not that it's too hard to figure by yourself. He turns to look at the now hatched bronze, "Wow."

Ryan inhales deeply, eyes looking to the wandering dragonet for a moment before looking at the others around him to see hwo they're fairing. Gulp. Another's hatched. Eyes stay on that one for a moment to before he looks down, silently. Feet scuff against the sand, but he doesn't stir enough of it for anyone to complain.

"Guards learn how to use distraction techniques!" Cheyanna replies. "Any tool at your disposal, right?" She shifts again, back out of the way of the brown's approach. As the next egg shatters, she wrenches her eyes over. "Bronze!" she says. "That's one. One more and I'm up a quarter mark!" Her feet move lightly on the sands, bare and burning.

Khalylai grins to Nissa. "Okay." She does make a noise at the new dragonet, however. "Er.. he looks, ah, girly." A critical look. "Vain. Ah-- what's the word I'm looking for?" Beat. "Narcissitc."

Jillriel nods toward the newly hatched bronze dragonet. "Hey, look over there." Feeling a bit more confident now, Cailyn's hand is released for the moment while she stares at the hatchlings. Eee.

Iliad disregards what Khaly has to say as a finger waggles in the direction of the bronze. "Look! Looklooklook!" Whatever anxiety he might've had is replaced with anxiousness. "Gotta be mine, gotta be mine." If he chants this, it'll come true, right?

Xayna winces as Lairae's nails dig into her palm but she takes a deep breath and bears it. Another breath is taken as the brown takes a swipe at a boy. She squeezes both hands, but lets go of Lairae's. The pain is getting to her, that and she needs the extra movement so she can continue to shuffle her feet. "Hot sand..." Sand got into her sandal and now she tries desperately to kick it out.

Stitch emits a pfffft. "Just tryin t'keep my thoughts on something pleasant, otherwise I'm gonna start runnin round like a crazed wherry."

Jaryyd snaps his head round when the next hatchling errupts and is awed by the bronze. He's definately letting himself get swept away by the feelings and emotions running through him. And right now they are simply all in awe. The sweat on his brow thickens, but he seems not to notice at all.

Cameron eyes the newest hatchling and blinks "Wow." he admits quietly "Yeah, I'm kinda scared. They look big, even this little." he murmurs "But that one just looks. I dunno. He's just weird."

Meerak's gaze skips over to the latest, following Cheyanna's call. He wrinkles his nose, bare feet shuffling a tapping dance over the hot sands. "I forgot to put down any bets on what would hatch," he says, admitting to disappointment with terrible sadness. He watches back and forth, gaze skittering here and there. He curses under his breath. "This isn't anything at all like when we pretended to be dragons and hatched!"

As yet another dragon breaks out of its shell, Cailyn's eyes flicker between the two dragons, making sure to know where they are at all times. Perhaps that demonstration wasn't such a bad thing afterall. With Jillriel no longer attached, Cate takes up wringing her hands to try and relieve the inner stress.

I'm Too Sexy Pavo Bronze Dragonet shakes the gooey remains of shell from his figure, annoyed disdain apparent in the set of his shoulders. Finally immaculate, he poses, as any good bronze should, his predatory gaze sweeping the line of white, dismissing the vast majority in the first instant.

Micail throws a look up at Airam quickly, eyes again darting toward the dragonets. "Y..yeah. A bit--a lot. /Yes./" Gah. Fingers drop to grab at his robe a little bit. It helps with those sweaty palms and all.

I'anex humphs back in his throat at the bronze's arrival. "It's a /pretty/ one," he says with a certain removed disdain that can only be his (duller) dragon's influence.

Nissa looks the bronze over again, and then at Iliad. "He's very handsome," she comments, although of course that could be taken any which way. "It /could/ be yours, Iliad..."

"I, uh, put an eighth of a mark on someone dying," Cheyanna confesses, her voice very low. "It occurs to me now that might have been... a bad idea. Ill-wishing." She adds, "I've got a mark down on stuff, all told."

Khalylai makes a disparagate noise as to Iliad impressing pretty-boy bronze. "Somehow, I just think that would be an overload of vainglory." Her smile to Iliad, however, is joking.

Jillriel can't make up her mind -- to hold hands, or not to hold hands? With that in mind, Cailyn's arm is grabbed as the bronze ambles closer. "How often do candidates get.. mauled?" Scared? Perhaps. Just at that thought. Cough.

Airam shivers a little before forcing his fear down and taking several deep breaths. His own sweaty palms are already burried deep in his white robes, twisting the thick fabric harshly. "Don't be," He says to Micail and Cam, eyes still focused on the dragonets, "Just, if they rush us...move." This is more for his own benefit then theirs.

Jaryyd laughs when he hears Nissa's comment and looks over at the girl. "One that pretty is going to be vain, as well it should be!" He smiles and turns back to watch brown and bronze sniff our their lifemates. Secretely he hopes one of them picks him, but he doesn't voice that hope. Best not to jynx himself.

The bronze hatching catches Xayna's attention for a moment, but the hot sand in her sandal is more important right now. Another moment and she ends up taking it off to shake it out, putting her sandal back on quickly. Stitch's hand is dropped as she does this so as to better balance. Once on her two feet again, she looks up to see the bronze posing and then her eyes return to the brown.

Not Leo Enough Brown Dragonet follows his nose and the stench of sweat to reach one particular girl. The candidates to either side of her are ignored as he stares instead with great curiosity at her foot, which is kicking so enticingly. A little wriggle of his brindled rump, and he pounces forward, clamping both forepaws down on it. He scratches himself with his eagerness and in confusion, blinks up at Xayna. Need a little help here.

Meerak gives that a laugh all out of proportion to the actual humor of the situation. "On someone dying. You should've just put it on someone getting hurt. Did you see that brown--" His chin jerks, indicating the first. "--nearly take a swipe out of someone? And he's just the first! I should've taken the time to find my sandals, then I could've gone and dodge faster. Feet seem to stick and sink all barefoot."

Not Leo Enough Brown Dragonet turns his jewel faceted eyes toward Xayna, and steps forward.

Stitch puffs his cheeks. "It might be me. I never thought of being short as a disadvantage till I realised how hot it is so close to the ground..." he shifts one shoulder up to wipe his forehead, his long wavy curls soaked and sticking to the sides of his neck. "Oh goodness! Xayna!" he's either glad she impressed or glad she let go of his hand so he can wipe it on his robe. A sort of chittery laugh escapes his throat. "COngratulations! Don't forget to write!"

Cameron coughs a little "Move, yeah. Good idea. And hope that predatory instints don't kick in and they chase us?" His eyes watch the dragons and the he blinks. Oh my. "Xayna impressed." He swallows. Now he's even more nervous about Impressing.

"Could be, should be--" Iliad pauses, licking his lips. And to Khaly, he just pokes his tongue out. "Wouldn't you like that?" She might just die from the overdose. "Well hey!" he then hollars out, chin-nodding towards Xayna before using entwined hand to point. "Look! Xayna! Sweet! And she's alive!" Which is always a good thing.

"If you don't stop, I'm going to maul /you/," is Cailyn's reply to Jillriel, eyes narrowing in on her buddy. Her fingers work to release the death grasp Jillriel has on her in favor of a looser one. As Xayna gets the brown, Cailyn lets out a cheer. "Good job!"

"Xayna, Xayna!" Nissa squeals, bobbing up and down - still on the end of Khaly's arm - as she gestures with her free hand towards the newly impressed woman. "Xayna!"

If Xayna doesn't think to drop it, Lairae pulls her hand away. "Congratulations," she says softly, and shifts back to her balls of the feet ready to move stance a little farther away.

Micail eyes Airam for a moment. "I'd planned on it. I don't..really want to get trampled or some such thing." And..where'd that brown go? Oh! There. "Xayna!"

I'anex leaves off staring after the bronze with mild (mild) dislike to run his eyes back over to the first, the brown. "There we go. Excellent, Xayna!"

Jillriel chin-nods toward Xayna and the brown hatchling. "Ooh! Look!" Side stepping to regain some of her balance, her grip on her buddy's arm is loosened tremendously. There.

Khalylai points, sorta, with the hand that's grasping Iliad's. He had the idea before her. "Xayna!" It's more a squeak, and less a dignified statement. "I would just -love- that," she drawls toIliad. "I always saw her on brown," she states, with the satisfied tone of a bet won.

"I think they're too busy for a chase. Matter of fact, if we were chased it'd probably mean we Impressed them." Airam watches as the brown approaches Xayna and casts a wide smile at the girl who drug him to her flit hatching. He's glad for her.

Xayna acks as in putting her foot down the brown hatchling pounces out at it. A look down at him as he looks up at her. A moment passes and then a tear falls down one cheek.
"Luileeuth... Yes Luileeuth, we'll go get that milk and meat." She helps him to his feet, running her hands gently over his head before giving a smile to Stitch and the others. Slowly she walks with him towards the entrance where those that can help await.

Meerak flinches, closing an eye as the brown dragon pounces at Xayna. He squints with the other to see if she's dead -- and finding her not only allive, but calling out an long ol' name and getting lots of congratulations, he exhales. "I thought you just won your bet," he admits to Cheyanna.

To Feed the Hunger Egg splits down the middle, the ghastly horrors emblazoned in pattern over its shell cracking and shattering into nothing but shards. Leaping from the wreck of her eerie prison, the Squeeful Dolphin Green Dragonet shakes out her egg-wet wings and stumbles on her very first step.

Squeeful Dolphin Green Dragonet
Oh, the glory of her silver-green hide, sleek and shining over a dancer's long-limbed frame. Teal's capricious splash crashes pell-mell against rounded headknobs and along her neck's delphine arch. Ever-widening, ever-changing, ripples of that bright-dark hue spread in playfully undulating patterns across pale haunches and down the slender sweep of her tail. Wings' spread is elegant and evenly proportioned, shimmering green touched in moonlight and struck with occasional hints of starshine.

"No one was taking bets on getting hurt," Cheyanna mutters in reply. "Someone bet on /five/ deaths. That's awful!" As the brown closes in on Xayna, Cheyanna starts forward, clearly certain for an instant that the candidate is getting mauled. "Xay--! Oh. Xayna! Xayna!" Horror is transformed to delight, and she claps.

Come Reap Harvest Moon Egg quakes with a jolt bearing near enough force to tip itself over, but pendulums back nominally upright.

Ryan moves to peer over at Xayna, a bit wide-eyed. "Congratualtions!" is called over from his place. Moving gaze back to the sand, they still manage to trail after the new pair as they move off to the side.

I'm Too Sexy Pavo Bronze Dragonet is pretty, isn't he? He stretches the impressive span of his wings, still damp from his confinement in all that goo, then sets off to greet his adoring fans, head held high, a strut in his step.

"GO XAYNA!" is shouted by Jaryyd as he keeps one eye on the bronze...just in case. He fidgits a little, first by clasping and unclasping his hands and second by swinging his arms back and forth. But he's stopped by the emergance of the green. His nose wrinkles a little and an audible groan is soon muffled. He was hoping for more dragonettes of the shiny variety.

Crying for the Moon Egg trembles lightly, just testing out the idea of movement.

Micail has attention diverted again. Really, so much is /happening/ at once. Another egg splits, and he turns to look, watching the green before he gives another quick look toward the approaching bronze. He does, however, inch himself a little bit closer to Airam. "They're coming out /everywhere/."

Pyrene looks hugely approving at the first impression. "Xayna! She did it!" She beams proudly at J'lal. "I asked her to Stand, you know. A lovely brown, too. I expect good things of them." Pyrene is nothing if not unbiased.

"Wow. This is really going by fast." Nevermind that only one candidate's impressed so far, at least that Iliad's taken observance of. "Where'd the bronze go?" Eyes quickly glance in either direction, a glimmer of green catching his sight before he once against uses entwined fingers to point towards the newest hatched. "Look. A green, too." If Khaly hasn't noticed it for herself.

Nissa looks after Xayna. "Leel... Lilee..." She gives up, and shrugs. "He's a nice brown," she does say approvingly before catching sight of the green and giving a little excited shiver. "She's pretty, Khalylai... do you think she'd like you?"

"Ooooh, a green." Cailyn points her buddy towards the dragon, grinning in delight. "Finally a female. I'd laugh if it went to a guy, since the first male went to a girl." Irony is funny.

Meerak happy-feets edgily, kicking off top layers of sand in an attempt to find cooler sand beneath. "Five deaths. That seems like a lot, right? I mean -- right? It is? So there were bad odds, weren't there? How many people /usually/ die?" he asks Cheyanna, eying the green like she's a killer.

"Congratulations!" And I'anex is now speaking to Xayna more directly as he waves her over. "To the side, to the side. Everything great? Of course it is," I'anex rattles off cheerfully. A green to watch, now.

Cameron stares at the green as she hatches and the Weyrwomans words come back to him. He shakes his head a little. She would know. Wouldn't she? He gulps and watches. Absently shifting feet as the heat comes through the sands. "She's kinda pretty though."

Khalylai dances on burnt toes. "She's pretty," she remarks of the newest green, gaze studying the pale sweeps of hide. "She reminds me of water," is replied to Nissa, and also to Iliad. Speaking of Iliad-- "Yes, where -did- that bronze go?" Neck cranes, here and there, keeping a careful eye on the newest green.

"None," Cheyanna says. "Well, usually." She shifts her weight forward and back, remaining on guard. "But these are evil, right? I mean... you never know. Better to stay... alert. Ready for anything."

Squeeful Dolphin Green Dragonet stumbles, /fumbles/, then catches herself with out-thrown wings, flinging goo in a wide and splattery arc as she regains her balance. A joyful bugle sounds, then transmutes itself into a creel of hunger and dismay. She sets her head down, tucks her wings in, and begins her search with another faltering step.

Xayna smiles at I'anex as he waves her over and can only nod, babbling on something insensibly. "Yes, food. We'll get food and then a nap." She'll definately need a nap after this.

Jillriel looks in the direction that she's pointed it. "Ooh, green. Very nice and, yeah, that'd be funny." Grin. "She's awful shiny, huh?"

Now that the Hunger egg has hatched, Lairae's eyes end up glued to the green that emerges. She draws in a ragged breath and jumps when the dragon moves, but a frown settles into her expression. It doesn't seem to be acting evilly. Belatedly, she remembers to track the bronze also.

Em-Oh-Oh-En Egg wiggles and rolls around a bit, then stops. Patience is a virtue.

"I noticed." Airam answers Micail dryly, eyes now focused on the pretty green. "I'm glad Xayna Impressed, she's nice." If anyone asks later, he didn't say that. He winces as the green calls out and starts to move half a step backawrds again before forcing himself to stay put.

"Green." Ryan says to no one in particular. Just talking for the sake of talking.

Cadgwith gives a low foghorn call to the green, appreciating the splatter of goo. It's good when the kids know how to make an entrance.

Come Reap Harvest Moon Egg begins to rock more forcefully, spraying sand.

Jaryyd can't help but laugh at the green's antics. "Look at how cute she is!" he bellows, as a father would bellow over a first of his daughter's. He looks around and catches Airam's last comment. "Aye, Xayna deserved it. She'll make a good rider!"

"Shiny, yes, but possibly evil. That was the /evil/ egg. Don't look at it. Maybe if we don't look at it, it won't come over here." Wishful thinking, perhaps, but Cailyn focuses her attention on the other rocking eggs, the grasp on Jillriel becoming tighter.

"Hey, they don't seem that bad once they're out of the eggs, huh?" Knock on wood. If only there were some around. Micail? --oh, he's just looked at. Ah hah. "Watch him impress the bronze," Iliad asides to Khaly, giving anothing chin nod, but this time in the younger man's direction.

Stitch hops from foot to foot, making an awful face as he feels his legs sweating, pretty much feeling as though he were melting. "Augh...aye, she is a cute little lass...I hope she's nicer outside the egg than she was inside. Then again, if I were trapped inside and egg and people were touching me, I might be inclined to be a bit grumpy too."

I'm Too Sexy Pavo Bronze Dragonet stops once more, now that he's a bit closer, to study the males of the bunch, chin tilted high as though he doesn't expect much. He poses again, shifting a wing -- look at that blingbling, ladies! Something catches his eye, his gaze turning towards a young guard. With a prance in his step, he closes the distance and looms over Ryan as if to say, am I not impressive enough for you?

I'm Too Sexy Pavo Bronze Dragonet turns his jewel faceted eyes toward Ryan, and steps forward.

Nissa follows Iliad's chin nod towards Micail - and then swings her head around so fast that she winces, to watch the bronze take to Ryan instead. "Ryan!"

Cadgwith also approves of the spray of sand from Harvest Moon Egg. A bit premature entrance wise, but it doesn't hurt to warm up the crowd.

Micail smiles for a moment, but just nods. "Yeah, she is." An arm comes up then, wiping at some of the gathering sweat from his brow. He blinks in time to see that bronze looming toward Ryan, and just stares a moment before it becomes apparant what's happened. "Oh..congratulations, Ryan!"

"Oh!" Cheyanna cries out as the bronze advances on (who else?) a guard. "Ryan! Go, Ryan!" She claps her hands together over her head, fist into open palm. "Yeah!"

Jillriel's arm starts to tingle as Cailyn grips a little tighter. However, that doesn't seem to bother her since her attention is completely focused on Ryan and the little bronze. "Congrats!" is shouted to the young lad.

Jaryyd shouts for Ryan, taking his small sting of dissapointment in stride, there were other hatchlings still. And maybe, just maybe, this wasn't his time. "WOO! RYAN!"

Khalylai bounces. "Ryan!" He was one of the cool ones! Bounce-bounce. The young woman glues her eyes on the latest green, wary of evil surges from this particular batch of eggs, and squeezes the hands she holds again. "I guess that one wasn't meant for you," she teases Iliad. "Nissa... bets on the next one hatched?"

Stitch pats his hands together in a wet clap. "Congratulations!" hopping up and down in congratulations gives him a chance to put an inch or two between him and the sand.

Cameron just watches the dragons Impressing. "So far no deaths." he murmurs as he looks over in a certain direction. Gruesome that kind of betting. 'Another one down." he murmurs as he shifts some more, if anything to keep from fainting by having knees lock up. That would be embarassing. He closes his eyes a little as he takes a breath "Warn me if something this way comes."

Ryan is rendered speechless. Blinking at the dragonet before him he blinks, mouth opened before finally he stumbles with getting words out. "Ao-Aoja-Aojadinth!" Now beaming proudly, he awkwardly steps out of place to move with the little bronze off to the side near Xayna.

Airam nods absently at Jaryyd as the other agrees and watches closely as the bronze makes his way to Ryan. "That's two." He says with a slight smile at the guard candidate. He didn't know him all that well, but this is a special occasion. "Okay, now for the green."

Come Reap Harvest Moon Egg shudders in its gravid swell; it rocks; it quakes; and opens up, splitting to pieces in the pangs of labor to spill forth its contents, raining shards of gold-hued shell in a scattered arc. Thus is revealed the Enthroned Cassiopeia Gold Dragonet.

Enthroned Cassiopeia Gold Dragonet
A stark elegance is drawn in lean and weathered lines of once malleable, once molten, gold. Smooth and mellow amber sweeps back her wings, only to be burnt brown at the straining spars. The beaten curve of her neckridges is likewise tarnished, and the prominent leg-bones seem to bruise the hide that covers them. The delicate hammering of her face is buffed with soft brown on the headknobs and the upsweep of eyeridges. Beneath, an old gaze shadows her eyes with wisdom and quiet dignity.

"Hmmmm," I'anex draws the syllable out leisurely. "/This/ might be entertaining. Over here, over here!" But they know the drill. I'anex exists to make wide gestures, mostly-- "Ahah!" His gaze goes right /there/. On the gold.

Nissa is sorrowful as she leans around Khalylai to tell Iliad, "I thought he might be yours, I'm sorry..." She checks over at where the green moves - and before she can reply to Khalylai, out pops the gold. "Oh!"

"Yay! Congrats Ryan!" Cailyn cheers, grinning as she makes yet another aside to Jillriel, "A real handsome bronze. He'll make a good rider." As the gold emerges, the grip only gets tighter.

Meerak calls out the obligatory congratulatory-type sounds, which promptly faded into a snickering laugh. "Hahah, even /he/ had trouble with that name," he says, watching as it goes on before his attention is turned by noise in the stands and on the sands, all attention briefly drawn by the appearance of gold. "Huh."

"Or not." Well then. "Congrats, Ryan!" Iliad hollars over, momentarily distracted by the impression made. The frown only lasts a moment though before the other eggs are eyed skeptically. There's no telling what's to come, afterall. "Guess not," is idly offered in Khaly's direction, without so much as a look towards her. Nissa gets a look though, a crooked grin, and a quick shrug before "Heeey. Gold. Look," comes out.

Jillriel suddenly gasps and yanks Cailyn's arm when the gold hatchling is spotted. "Ooh, isn't /she/ gorgeous.." Oops. "Sorry. Sudden impulse." Eh heh. Grip is then loosened on the girl's arm right afterward.

And with one metallic impressed, another arrives on the scene; Cheyanna turns to look back at her. "Wow," she says in uneasy commentary. "The, uh, golds can sometimes be especially dangerous," she mentions to Meerak.

Jaryyd was about to shout for Ryan again but is held in silence as the gold blur errupts from her shell. /KNOWING/ that this one was definately not his he grins and gives a thumbs up to the girls in the group. "Good luck ladies!"

Another Impression without any deaths, and Lairae manages something close to a smile in Ryan's direction. The emergence of the gold finally takes her wary attention away from the green, and this time she flicks glances to the female candidates.

Micail is still smiling for Ryan when his gaze finally tears away from the pair. Popping of another egg moves his eyes toward it, blinking quickly. That's..definately a gold. Yes. "Wow..." Well what else can one say about that?

Pyrene suddenly stands a little straighter, her nails deathgripping into J'lal. "There! She's pretty, isn't she?" she asks, questioning, hopeful. Cadgwith is less impressed, merely giving the baby gold a happy snort before turning her attention back to that green (who is probably a truer daughter to her).

Squeeful Dolphin Green Dragonet creels, cries, and lunges toward the first line of candidates. Khalylai is inspected, then dismissed with an awkward sideways step. She lifts her head, cranes it from side to side, then turns away with a skittering, scampering lunge. No grace on the ground, and as she turns away she stumbles again. Tail whips around for balance, and catches Nissa behind the knees as she moves on.

Khalylai blinks at the gold's emergence. "Wow," is her word of the day; that is all. No more, no less. "She is beautiful." She's wary of the green more than the gold right this instant, however; and the other eggs are not disregarded, either. She's nearly leaning on Iliad, now. "I think I may pass out," she carefully articulates. That's said to Nissa, for the record. The-- "Nissa!" she squeals. Speaking of evil dragonets. "Nissa, are you okay?" !!

Cameron is watching Ryan as well and then the gold hatches. "Well, that's one I don't have to worry about taking a keen interest in me." he notes as his eyes go back towards the green just as she's heading for Khaly. Deep intake of breath. And then passing her by and then Nissa gets it from behind "Is she okay!?"

Meerak eyes the little gold with sudden suspicion at Cheyanna's words. "Oh? They can be--?" Nissa's whapped! Everyone who put money on people dying leeeans forward, and so does Meerak. "The green's the one from that one egg, too!" Killer! He was right!

Whacked in the knees, Nissa looses her balance nearly dragging Khalylai with her... her upper body swings violently as she lets go of the other girl's hand and falls awkwardly, banging her face on her own knees as she does. "OW!" Stricken, she lies on the sand for a moment - but a very brief one, as it's far too hot down there.

Jillriel squints a bit as she watches Nissa get smacked behind the knees by the clumsy green dragonet. Did that just happen? "Faranth! I hope she's alright." That didn't look good at all, poor girl. She ought to be bruised after that little love tap.

Micail gasps sharply as that tail thwacks into Nissa. Squeak. "Nissa!" She's okay, right? Let's hope so... Mph. "That can't be good.." Time to keep a better eye on that swatty green.

Enthroned Cassiopeia Gold Dragonet lifts her head, lifting her feet and placing them with solemn care as she steps away from the jagged remnant of her egg. She unfurls her wings slowly in a wide, wet, glistening arc and slants her head to the side, running her jewel-faceted gaze over the potentials.

"I told you that thing was evil." The attack the green did on Nissa, as minor as it may be in the grand scheme of things, is eyed, Cailyn keeping her eyes on the candidate to make sure she's okay. The other wandering dragons are ignored for the time being.

J'lal refrains from grimacing as his gaze follows the gold, the green apparently as beneath his notice as she isn't Ghraith's. "Yes. She's lovely. Both of them are lovely. All of them are lovely. How many are there now, anyways?"

Cheyanna jerks her head over to Nissa, too, startled. "Get her out of the way!" she says, alarm clear in her voice: it does not, however, seem like a disembowling is coming next. Cheyanna spares another look for the gold, uneasy.

Airam smiles as the next egg hatches and a beautiful gold meets the world. "She's very pretty." He says with a nod to Micail, shifting his weight onto another leg as his stiff posture is starting to make him ache a bit. He turns around to look at all the girls in the candidate crowd. "I don't have a clue who will Impress her though." A hand raises to cover his mouth as the green gets Nissa and looks on worridly. "Does she need help?"

Jaryyd jumps to help Nissa after she fell. "You alright?" He asks, wanting to help in any way shape or form. His eyes are keen for the gold and green though, should they come round again.

Meerak rocks back on his heels, settling back into place. That is surely worry on his features, not disappointment! "Well, good," he says lamely when others go to help Nissa to her feet. "I don't see any blood, do you? She's probably okay. Watch out for that gold. /Someone/ has to get hurt, right?"

Lairae squeaks, though she wasn't the one hit, and then flushes at the mistake. "Nissa!" she calls, but softly, and then bites her lip, and shifts from foot to foot. She lets out a held breath when the girl gets back up.

"Oh geez!" Poor Nissa. Iliad winces and works to regain his own balance as Khaly's tugged, therefore causing a domino effect of sort. His posture's steady enough to offer his free hand in assistance, however. "Hey--you alright?" It's a generic question, but one of concern, nonetheless.

Khalylai is intent to Nissa's aid, ignoring the movement of potential mauling dragonets. That's Iliad's job as a guard, hellllllloooo... Plus, Nissa almost knocked her out, too. "Sweetie, are you okay?" Her voice is anxious, pulling Nissa upright as she can. "Can you walk? Do you need me to call for healers?" She has a level-head, at least.

Nissa scrambles to her feet with Khalylai and Jaryyd's assistance - but watch out nearby candidates, her nose is gushing blood all down her robe and others might get splattered. "I'm alright, I'm alright," she answers, tentatively wobbling her nose. "Nothing broken."

Stitch watches the gold and says "Quite a beauty, that's for certain." Maybe if Nissa impresses he can have his sandals back. The short Harper is feeling a bit faint, being so close to the ground. "Nissa, what are ye doing? Yer not supposed to knock yourself silly on your own knees!"

Pyrene winces at the show of blood on the other side of the Sands. She most certainly does not brag about having asked Nissa to Stand, merely making some hope-she's-all-right noises.

Jaryyd tears off a piece of his robe and offers it to Nissa for her bleeding nose. "Here, pinch and hold your head up." he smiles and presses a hand to the girl's lower back, should she need to fall again. "Are you sure you're alright?"

As the candidates move to help Nissa up, so does Cr'ash -- he's there in but a moment, pale eyes worried as he reaches her. But she's upright, and he has a cloth in one hand that's extended toward her nose with an short gesture. "I've got it," he tells his step-neice with a nod, and closes strong and competant hands over Nissa's shoulders. "I'm sorry. You need to get off the sands," he says with sympathy, "the dragonets are -- hungry. Young. Confused."

"It was the /dragon/," Lairae hisses to Stitch. "Don't blame /her/. Shouldn't you ask if she's all /right/ instead?" She chews on her lip again to stop further words stemming from displaced nervousness.

"Ouch." I'anex scratches his nose. "Dual ouch, really."

Meerak, er, brightens. "Oh, I /do/ see blood," he says, catching the splash of red on white when Nissa moves. "Too bad no one was taking bets on that. But she stills seems okay," he adds quickly, glancing over at Cheyanna for confirmation, just to show he's not a total jerk. "So it's the okay kind of blood."

Nissa takes the cloth from Jaryyd and dabs it to her nose, looking around a bit bewildered. As Cr'ash orders her off, her face crumples... but she lets him lead her away. Though not before kicking off Stitch's shoes in Khalylai's direction. She did promise.

Airam scowls a bit at the green dragonet, not that he really /expected/ it to turn around an apologize, then sighs. "She seems okay..." He says doubtfully, eyes on Nissa now instead of either the gold /or/ green as she leaves.

Khalylai is all furrowed eyebrows and worried eyes, but she acquiests to Cr'ash's request, gracefully attaching herself to Iliad, worried eyes focused on Nissa. She doesn't mind the fact that she -does- have blood on the front of her robe; instead, she just grips Iliad's hand and shivers. "Poor Nissa," she mourns. Ish. "Poor-ish girl" notably is beamed at, however, and she hops into twice-borrowed sandals. Blessed relief. "Where'd she go?" She queries Iliad, then, gazing for the mauling green.

Nissa escapes the earth-born heat and heads off the sands.

Colour seminar

2006-11-30T13:26:41Z

Another OOC log (I really have done some RP too--just... not much). The colour seminar for the current Search at HRW. A rather waffly one with a big discourse on Interval.

Shazi will just sit here and talk about blue all evening long. ;)

Pyrene slips in from the Sands, way over there outside over there over
there.

[HrwCan] Stitch: where is the seminar?
[HrwCan] Shazi: Candidate barracks.
[HrwCan] Meerak: Hit home, boyo.

I'anex escapes in from the bustling activity of caverns and Weyr.

[SnowChat] Zana: you got blue covered yet?
[SnowChat] Shazi is a bluerider, but the more, the merrier, I say. ;)
[SnowChat] Zana grins "Alright.. I spose I can pop in"

Huebnerite escapes in from the bustling activity of caverns and Weyr.
D'baji escapes in from the bustling activity of caverns and Weyr.
Sao escapes in from the bustling activity of caverns and Weyr.
Zana escapes in from the bustling activity of caverns and Weyr.

You say, "Okay. We've got gold, bronze, and blue. I assume all of
you have read the color packet?"

Cheyanna nods!

Xayna nods.

Ryan has!

Cameron nods and has read it. Yes sirree I did.

Iliad says, "Yup."

Airam did!

Cailyn nods.

Micail nodnods. Yup!

Lairae nods.

[HrwCan] Cameron drags Stich in.

Shazi grins. "Okay, since you've all read the packet, I think we'll
just open up the floor for any questions you might have. :)"

You say, "If you've got a question, page me, and I'll either floor it,
or point at your, or something."

Zana winks "Don't everyone jump at once"

Airam says, "Well, this just means you put a /lot/ of good and needed
information the the color pack."

You say, "No babies for Iliad."

Iliad sniffs.

Micail celebrates! ..Quietly.

You say, "No questions at all?"

Stitch comes home.

D'baji says, "Good job we all showed up."

Cameron grins

Micail says, "I think Airam's got a point. There was a whole lot of
good information in that packet."

Xayna says, "There was."

Cameron nods "Though I wouldn't mind hearing the peoples hears ideas
on their chosen color. If anything just to see what they say."

You say, "Okay, I've got a question! Are there any IC restrictions,
besides position, based on the color you ride? Especially in Interval?""

Shazi throws that out there for the candidates to answer.

Shazi sighs. Riders.

Pyrene grins at Shazi. I've been wondering that about gold. I mean,
ultimately, we still have part of our job. Breeding and all. But
does that mean we have less flexibility? Would we be allowed out of
the Weyr?

Pyrene ahems. I mean, for long stretches of time. I'm pretty sure
we're allowed out for an evening or so. ;)

Zana hmms "I dunno.. I wouldn't see why not.. "

I'anex says, "I say no. Primarily for entertainment value."

Iliad was about to wonder if Pyrene lives in a kennel at night... ;)

Cameron has visions of gold riders chained to the Weyr.. thank
goodness I'm male.

Zana laughs "All the more reason to ride blue or brown.. they let you
escape without much fuss"

Pyrene supposes that we only need the Weyr for clutching, so we could
do quite a bit of something else in between clutches.

D'baji says, "At Ista, the goldriders (during Interval) are basically
part of the whole 'diplomatic relations' thing which limits some of
the things they can do, i.e. extended leave. But that's Ista. As for
general IC restrictions that don't have to do with position... can't
think of any."

I'anex says, "On a game I used to play, goldriders would get kidnapped
for political leverage, which seems somewhat less likely on
Harper's-Tale. I don't see why not some gold riders, at least,
couldn't do something besides diplomatic negotiations. Like
blacksmithing, for one."

Pyrene grins at Zana. Actually, I'm thinking the smaller
dragons--blue & green will be the most flexible in interval. Easier
to house elsewhere if they need to stay outside the Weyr to pursue
something. Easier to feed.

Cameron can just see a gold dragon going balistic over her missing rider.
D'baji says, "Guess IW's just hidebound like that? I blame D'baji.
*cough* He's kinda old-fashioned sometimes. And is big on keeping some
alliegiance to the Weyr among the riders."

Zana peers at Pyrene "In that case, you can house me on a tropical
island." :D
Xayna says, "That's an interesting idea, but not practical here."

Pyrene doesn't really see how you could kidnap a rider successfully
for any length of time. Particularly if they have a fire lizard.

Xayna says, "That was about I'anex's comment."

Pyrene sets Zana up on a tropical island. Hope you like coconuts!

I'anex says, "It was for a very short length of time. Heh. I wasn't
making a suggestion! But that was a risk there that /isn't/ a risk here."

G'deon escapes in from the bustling activity of caverns and Weyr.

Cameron wants an Island of his own.. cute puppy dog look.

Micail gives Cam one of those little drink umbrellas. It's a start!

Zana cheers happily and kidnaps Cameron "No but really.. even
diplomatically.. I don't see why we would need all of them at the weyr
at all times unless we can figure out some other risk"

Cameron oo's at Mickey and then yelps. "I don't see why a jr.
weyrwoman couldn't be out and about doing things. Sr. might be a
different mmatter?

You say, "To use a book instance, Lessa was practically held hostage
at the Weyr. ;)"

Pyrene thinks the Sr would have to stay at the Weyr, along with the
Weyrleader. Since they still have a Weyr to run, even in Interval.

D'baji says, "Stupid running of Weyrs..."

I'anex says, "Pah. No problem at all. ;) I agree. Seniors stay
home. But the rest could have some freedom, maybe. Go better
themselves."

Micail says, "Hope they get a nice paycheck."

Pyrene supposes Jrs would be kept fairly close so that they could
learn the ropes in case they become Sr--so us retired ww's are free
agents!

Pyrene goes to work for Shazi.

Shazi recruits Pyrene for her ... hahaha!

Xayna pours numbweed into Pyrene's cot... ;)

Shazi snickers. "Anyone else? I don't really see many restrictions,
beyond positions, for blueriders."

Cameron grins "I'm sure if you give Pyrene half a chance. She'll find
restrictions for blues I'm sure..." :)

Pyrene says, "Can I exile them from the Weyr now that there's no Thread?"

Pyrene will farm them out as fishing dragons or something.

Shazi snickers. "I've got a job!"

Cameron grins "Antiguity diving dragons."

Zana protests "You will not! I'll get my fellow blues together and my
wing to eat you."

Pyrene says, "You'll love fishing, Zana! Plenty of fresh air and
exercise!"

Micail snickers.

Xayna chuckles.

Zana prefers to go back to the guards and play with swords while Brae
sits on the thieves.

You say, "Dragons make great guards. ;)"

Zana says, "I think so.. they can be pretty intimidating.. hehe""

Pyrene says, "Not to mention, any rider could set up pretty much any
business. The dragon wouldn't have to be directly involved."

Shazi nods.

Zana says, "True.. but I think mine would involve himself or my weyr
will become a crowded rock and ribbon and odd object museum from his
boredom"

Shazi laughs.

Shazi grins. "Okay! Anymore questions?"

Iliad says, "Nada."

Micail headshakes.

You say, "Someone mentioned hoping for a rundown on what folks think
about their color?"

Xayna says, "Nope."

Airam shakes his head too.

D'baji thought Cameron did?

Cameron nods "I did."

You say, "All the cool people ride blue. End of story. Next
question! ;)"

Zana says, "And that makes Shazi and I the coolest people here. Yup""

You say, "Yep."

Micail tosses some ice on the cool people. :P

Cameron thinks the dragons are blue from spending too much time in the
cold...

Pyrene says, "Riding gold really does make you shiny and special and
perfect. Honest. ;)"

D'baji says, "So bronze is cool 'cause you get to be every newbie's
favourite person ever. Well, not quite, but there's fishbowl. But you
get to take charge of a Weyr sometimes and bend it to your char's
ambitions, and that's just fine. IC and OOC stereotypes to play with,
but otherwise, it's pretty basic?"

Cameron grins "All right. THat's what I want. I want a gold. Really I
do." *snorts*

Zana says, "And uptight while people drool all over you.. ;)
Perfect... riiiiggghhhhttt Pyrene""

Pyrene says, "Seriously, I think most of the girls who applied for
gold are pretty much aware of what I like about it. But it does offer
a very different riding experience, and if you're willing to put the
effort into it, the RP dividends can be fantastic."

Cameron ponders a gender changing operation.... hmm.. nah...

Micail inches away from Cam.

Pyrene says, "And if you don't put the effort into it, like any other
colour, it comes with a nice ledge to sit on. :p"

D'baji says, "True"

G'deon says, "A big one. For a big dragon."

I'anex says, "I like bronze for the IC pressure and the IC ambition.
And it is big and manly."

I'anex says, "Which is not particularly helpful."

Cameron phhts at Micail. "Bronze, good for Iliad... anything to get
away fromt he pretty boy aspect?"

Iliad headthunks.

Cailyn snorts. Iliad's not pretty.

Iliad prefers handsome, thankyouverymuch.

You say, "Cute, maybe."

Cailyn says, "Pretty fugly. But not pretty."

Iliad kicks Cailyn.

Airam snerks.

Cameron isn't about to defend Iliads prettiness or not.

Micail cackles.

Cailyn heart bubbles on Iliad.

Xayna is going to stay out of this discussion. What about green and
brown?

Cameron hmms "Greens get all the makes, and browns can make out with
both?"
makes/males

You say, "Brownriding females are dead sexy. That's what Jesha would
say if she were here."

Cameron grins "Well Jesha is sexy."

Iliad agrees. Complete MILF.

Pyrene grins. We've had a lot of very nice brownriding girls.

Cameron facedesks.

Pyrene thinks that girls on brown often have a bit of a husband and
wife dynamic.

Shazi picks her up on AIM and she adds, "...we have scintillating
personalities and figures like whao... and she says hi." ;)

Cheyanna says, "Husband and wife? In what way?"

Micail snerks.

Cameron waves to the Jesha.

Pyrene thinks as in an equal working partnership of genders. I'm
going to be vague here, but they tend to come across as a more
dependable/solid/efficient (?) pair than, say, a girl on blue or a guy
on green.

Sao says, "Hey!"

Sao comes back from food run.

Cheyanna huhs and nods. Okay.

D'baji has to vaguely agree there.

Pyrene giggles. OK, I think basically, I see girls on blue and guys
on green as generally being twenty-somethings, sharing a flat but no
responsibility.

Sao says, "There is a perceived element of maturity to a brown that
isn't there for a blue or a green. Which isn't to say there aren't
goofy browns and solid blues."

Pyrene says, "Girls on brown are in their thirties, raising kids and
paying the mortgage."

Sao nods.

Pyrene notes that's metaphorical, not literal. ;)

Cameron grins "I hope not. I'd hate to have a mortgage here on Pern.

You say, "Oljeitukhodath is solid! Shazi's not. :0"

Pyrene chuckles. "But do you get what I mean? There's a very
different dynamic to a relationship between two people before they get
involved in house/marriage/kids than after. It's that kind of
relationship maturity.

Pyrene says, "This is all as I see it though. The rest of you are
free to think I'm nuts. ;)"

Shazi snickers.

Micail grins.

You say, "Did we touch on green?"

D'baji says, "Only in passing."

Cameron says, "Which way did she go George, which way did she go?""

Shazi likes green for playing proddy just left of normal, rather than
completely off the wall. ;)

I'anex says, "I wish I knew more about green. My primary experience
with green has been sort of vicariously, since Tatia's my mom, IC.
Vespurath is a manipulative dragon, cute!, but with undercurrents and
Tatia's such a crazy-driven character. (And perhaps /nicer/ when
she's proddy.)"

D'baji once knew a Dr. Seuss green...

Shazi seems to recall a green based on Death from Discworld, somewhere.

Pyrene says, "That would rock."

Airam has to run for a bit. :(

You say, "She talked in caps. ;)"

Airam has disconnected.

Pyrene likes it when greens are for more than flights, herself.
Playing around with the feminine personality rather than the sex.

Cameron grins "I can play a part time woman."

Sao loves when greens are played as women rather than sex objects.

Sao says, "Which is not to say that greens (women!) can't be sensual
and magnificently played, nor that playing with sex is bad, but just
as with people, when the sexual element is the only active part of the
character, that is way less cool."

D'baji says, "We like depth!"

You say, "Yes!"

You say, "Okay! Anything else?"

Stitch cheers

Xayna says, "Nothing from me."

You say, "Okaydoke!"

[OOC:] Micail dances.

Iliad has nothing.

Micail eyes that OOC. Go away, silly commands.

Shazi claps her hands. "I do... I say I do... I do declare this thing
over!"

D'baji snugs people randomly. T'was fun.

Zana goes home.

Iliad woots... and heads back to the LC if anyone's interested in
finishing that scene XD

Cameron waves

Iliad slips back out to the caverns.

Pyrene follows, heading off the Sands.

Micail slips back out to the caverns.

Cameron slips back out to the caverns.

You say, "Thank you! Thank you!"

Search & Rescue seminar for the candidates

2006-11-24T23:01:08Z

Py isn't involved, but I've put this up here for the candidates' reference.

Candidate Barracks
Serviceable, this low-ceiling'd room runs right and left from the heavy canvas curtains that function as a door: relatively bare of ornamentation, tidy glows light the few worn tapestries that adorn the walls and depict a variety of dragons in flight or at rest. But it is the cots, lots and lots of cots, that distinguish this room from the others, their blue or black coverlets tucked neatly over relatively fresh rushes.
Candidate's haven, this is their escape from the bustling world of chores and Weyr; visitors are welcome if invited.
Perched on a few empty cots are eleven firelizards.
You see Name Board, Cheyanna's Cot, Xayna's Cot, Micail's Cot, Khalylai's Little Shop of Horrors, Nissa's Cot, Iliad's Cot, Jaryyd's Cot, Cailyn's Cot, Lairae's Cot, Meerak's Cot, Airam's Cot, Stitch's Cot, Ryan's Cot, Jillriel's Cot, Cam's Comfy Cot, and Sneakyfeet here.
You notice Jillriel, Cameron, Meerak, Nissa, Jaryyd, Stitch, Khalylai, Micail, and Ryan asleep here.
Cailyn, Airam, Cheyanna, Lairae, Iliad, and Xayna are here.
Obvious exits:
Caverns

A light knock at the door to the room precedes the entrance of a not very tall woman with fading red hair. Green eyes sparkle with curiousity, "Hello," no hesitation in the voice, "I'm Mailli, from Dolphin Hall," she looks round the barracks and takes a silent count, "I take it this is all that could get time off from chores?"

Xayna blinks awake. "Huh? What?" A look around room reveals there is a newcomer. "Oh, hello again. I...suppose so." She looks embarassed at having fallen asleep and sits up straighter on her cot.

"Oh, hey," Iliad greets, without titles, of course. If she doesn't give one, he's not about to entitle her to it. And charms? Foreign. Slowly, he peels himself up into a seated position on his cot, using the heel of his hand to rub away the fatigue. "Some'll pop in later if you let them, I'm sure."

Lairae wasn't asleep, just relaxing, but she sits up very straight also. "I tried to remind everyone to get here on time," she says, laughing lightly. "Sometimes it's hard to keep track, I'm sure."

Sprawled out on her stomach, Cailyn peers up from writing some sort of letter as Mailli enters. Knowing that personal time is officially over now, the hide and stylus are shoved under her cot before Cate pushes herself to sit, folding her hands on her lap as she awaits for it all to begin.

Cheyanna is seated on her cot, crosslegged, when Mailli comes in. She offers the Dolphineer a brief smile, recognizing the woman. She doesn't say anything, though, just rests her hands on her knees.

Mailli nods as she chuckles softly. Yeah, Mailli is easily amused, "Very well," is her reply, "Let me start by asking what you know about Search and Rescue?" after all, some of these candidates will Impress and as riders they may be called on to help in search and rescue. See, the question wasn't so random after all.

Xayna gets into her thinking stance, with her hand near her mouth. "Very little. I heard tales about dolphins saving people from shipwrecks, but that's about it." A slight smile and she looks around to see what everyone else knows.

"We've touched base with it in the guard," Iliad says, tossing Cheyanna a quick look for confirmation. "Pretty much a broad focus. We did a lot of first aid... uh, carrying techniques once you find a victim. Just stuff like that. Not so much actually searching for people, though."

Cheyanna nods back to Iliad. "Usually, they get dragons involved with finding people from here, so with us, it's just knowing roughly the kinds of patterns to fly and how to handle things once you get there -- securing the site, first aid, things like that."

Lairae nods. "I'm with Xayna. You can assume a certain amount from the name," she says, smiling in chagrin. "But other than that, I don't know anything about going about it, particularly."

Cailyn simply shakes her head in response to the question, eyes looking around to see if anyone else has any idea as to what it is. Iliad and Cheyanna's answers gets a headbob out of Cate, starting to get a feel for what it is exactly. It's better to give no answer than a wrong answer.

Mailli nods as she makes a mental note, "Yes, dolphineers work closely with dolphins to rescue people lost at sea. However, we also find that sometimes we need to rescue people from cave-ins, or rock slides," Mailli works hard to surpress a shudder unfortunately for her she can't quite keep the brief flicker of fear out of her eyes for all her voice is calm. Mailli looks round the room again before she continues, "There will probably be times when a search and rescue will be required and the only person that can get in to the area safely is a rider. Does anyone have questions?"

"Nope," is Iliad's quick response as he bends over to scoot up his boots, if only to slip them on his feet.

Xayna shakes her head, resting her head on her hands, elbows on her thighs. For now, she is content to just sit and listen.
Lairae indicates that she does with a flick of her hand. "So would riders doing this need a lot of strength? If we're going to be shifting rocks off people or pulling them out from under anywhere or anything?"

A nod is given as Mailli sits down and gets into the nitty gritty theory, "To actually conduct a search and rescue, you need to know the approximate number of people missing, and how long they have been missing. Ages are good to know," she looks at Iliad and then at Cheyanna, "Does anyone know why?"

Cailyn shakes her head at Mailli's questioning, clearly feeling like the dunce in the class. She knows nothing.
"Different age groups present different health problems. The young and elderly are more prone to illness," Iliad suggests as he leans his hands back behind him and stretches his legs out in front before crossing them at the ankles.

Cheyanna is being singled out. Ack. She glances at Iliad, nodding in response to his words. "Children are also more likely to get panicky and not trust rescuers, so they need a different strategy sometimes," she puts in.

"Well, but they wouldn't really be lost long enough to get sick," Lairae replies to Iliad's answer. "Wouldn't it be that they're the ones you can't trust to get up and climb out on their own, barring injuries, so you have to take into account injuries /and/ ages?" She nods at Cheyanna. "Because of panic and frailty and such?"

"Yes, also there is the concern for hypothermia and dehydration. Children are going to dehydrate much quicker than adults, and both children and elderly people are going to go into hypothermia much more quickly," Mailli nods, "Yes, that's correct too," Mailli says to Lairae's answer. A quick peek is given to the other candidates as Mailli looks round the room.

"Should we be taking notes?" Iliad asks quickly, already starting to rummage around in his rucksack for some form of book to scribble down in.

Mailli laughs at that question, "That might not hurt," she's feeling rather lost herself since she is present sans her own rather copious notes, "So obviously a search and rescue by sea is going to be conducted differently than one adragonback," Mailli is now thinking rapidly, "We usually sector the search area and search the area by sections. This is so that we can be sure not to miss anything," after all even the smallest clue on where to look should not be over looked, "The last search and rescue I was on took us nearly a sevenday to complete. It was the stuffed llama that gave us the clue where to find the child," the 'phincrafter smiles at that memory, "She was cold, hungry, and slightly dehydrated, but otherwise fine," those are the best rescues.

Xayna watches as some others pull out stuff to take notes, so sighs and pulls out her scrap hides and stylus to take notes as well. Scribbling furiously to write down all she knows, though whether anyone will be able to read it later is another question entirely. "What are the most common types of rescues?"

Lairae looks impressed. "She was still all right after a sevenday?" She bends her head back to taking notes, though hers look fairly short and to the point.

"Are we actually going to be doing these rescues? Like practice or...?" Iliad asks, shifting on the cot to get more comfortable.

Going along with the rest of the group, a clean hide is pulled out and some random notes are scribbled down on it. Since everyone else seems to be asking the questions that she would ask, Cailyn remains oddly quiet, concentrating on listening and taking notes.

Mailli nods at Lairae, "She was mostly alright. The nearest we could figure out was that she managed to find some berries to eat," Mailli then looks at Iliad, "I could probably arrange a mock search and rescue," then Xayna's question is answered, "I've actually helped the most with cave ins," which stands to reason considering where she lives, "Though I have also helped with shipwrecks. My specialty is making and repairing charts and maps, but I have working knowledge of all the specialties in my craft," brief? Probably not, but it does answer the question.

Xayna nods and scribbles down the answers, then holds her stylus ready for more note-taking.
"Sweet. That'd be pretty neat if we got to actually do something," Iliad says, setting the notebook down for a moment, if only to pick dirt from underneath his short nails.

"How much specialized training would it take to start doing it?" Lairae asks, tapping idly with her stylus rather than writing with it. "Or is it something you only do so occasionally you just get a little basic training?"

Mailli ponders the question just asked for a moment, "On average there are somewhere between two to three ships that go missing for various reasons each Turn," Mailli thinks a moment, "The last big cave in at Seacliffs was just over a Turn back, then there are the various caves and ruins that have been found at Windcrest Island that have been known to be affected by quakes," Mailli's voice holds steady as she continues, "We arrange mock search and rescues on average once every two sevendays. Or whenever we have the worst storm," she thinks a bit more before she adds, "It's important to have the most distractions possible, and the worst conditions possible because the rescuer does no one any good if she or he in turn need to be rescued," Mailli gives each candidate a steady look.

Xayna nods and continues writing. "So, it isn't all that uncommon then, though big rescues are. I suppose it would be the riders that would do searching for lost people in the mountains? Of course ground crews from the weyrs." A nod is given to Iliad and Cheyanna.

Mailli nods, "And in the mountains you have snow that you need to know how to search in," something Mailli has little experience with, "The extremes of Ista are quite different from what would be found here. You'd have a completely different training parameter as you'd have to keep in mind that the two biggest risks for someone lost or in trouble would not be dehydration and hypothermia. You'd have hypothermia and frostbite," she thinks a moment, before she nods, "Yeah, frostbite and hypothermia," ah the joys of working from notes one does not have present. Mailli's actually amazed she's remembered as much as she has on what she had prepared for the presentation.

Xayna nods and writes that down, along with a few extra comments.

"Snow. Yeah, I'd say we get plenty of snow up here," Iliad comments from the peanut gallery as he sprawls out on his cot now, rolling onto his stomach.

Mailli stands and looks round, "So here's the scenario, word has come in that there is a family of traders that has lost control of their draft animals. It's midwinter, the father has made it to the weyr safely, however he has a pregnant wife, a small child and his aging mother that he has no idea where they are. Who is most at risk and why?"

"I'd say all of them are at high risk, but if we have to pick one, the pregnant wife, maybe?" Iliad replies, tapping his stylus against his cheek for a moment, if only to make a popping noise.

Xayna thinks. "The aging mother and small child because they will both be more susceptible to the cold, though the mother would be more at risk." Her voice is shaky as she says it, as she is not really sure about her answer.

"Uhm, the pregnant wife?" Cailyn speaks up, shrugging a shoulder as she looks around to see what everyone else guesses.

Cheyanna wrinkles her nose. "How small a child?" she asks. "I'm guessing them."

Lairae considers hard. She ticks off the people off the people on her fingers. "Child, mother, and then the wife. Because the child is frail and confused and panicky, the mother's frail, and then the wife's...slightly less frail?" Lairae shakes her head. "How much is a pregnant woman suceptible to the cold?"

Mailli is impressed with the answers so far, "The child and then the mother. The pregnant woman is least at risk unless she's at the end of her pregnancy," though it has been Mailli's experience that few woman travel while at the end of their pregnancy, "The wife is less susceptable to cold if only because she's likely wearing loose layers of clothing," ah the memory of cold winters speakes up, "So which would you rescue if you know you can only rescue one?" yeah, Mailli's had to make that call, fortunately only once.

"I'd say the pregnant woman. You'd be saying two lives with her instead of just one." And that's Cailyn's logic. "And if not her, then the child."

Lairae grimaces. "Well...Yeah. Maybe the pregnant woman, then the child, because of who's most likely to make it anyway and who has the most of their life ahead of them."

Xayna nods. "I agree with Cailyn in part. I'd choose between the pregnant woman or the young child."

"Only rescue one? Couldn't we---why? I mean, does that actually -happen-? Chances are we wouldn't be rescuing people by ourselves, right? But, if that's the case, I'd say the pregnant woman too, if only because there're two lives at risk, not just one." And now he's just repeating what everyone else just said.

Mailli nods, "You'd be right. As difficult as it is to make that kind of a choice there are times when one must do just that," Mailli nods again as she listens to the answers, "Yes, that does actually happen, though that is extremely rare to see happen," something that Mailli's tone and expression state very clearly she is glad of, "I've only seen that once in my entire time with Dolphincraft," unfortunately she was the one that had to make that call, "The mother is going to want her child saved. Most often you're going to be able to successfully rescue everyone. Occassionally you arrive too late and the rescue becomes recovery," and she's seen that too.

Xayna nods and scribbles all of it down. "I'm glad it's a rare occurrance." As to what part is not spoken. Her head is down as more notes and comments are added in the corners.

"I bet it's hard to do when you actually have to do it, rather than just sitting here talking about it," Lairae says, frowning at the floor. "Choosing between people, I mean."

A light tap and a dark haired head peeks into the barracks, "Master Mailli?" Mailli looks up and rolls her eyes and sighs, "Give me another five minutes and I'll be out, Vera," the 'phincrafter truly does detest that particular rider, though her dragon is actually very sweet and makes up for the surliness or her rider, "Yes, it's very difficult. It's actually a situation I hope never to see again," and so far Mailli has been very fortunate in that one wish, "The best rule of thumb is to assess the situation and the people. Those who are in the most need of care are rescued first. Someone that is unconscious, has a broken limb, or incoherent as they could have taken a blow to the head; these are the critical care and need a healer the fastest. If you get to a scene and you have one or more people trying to make others comfortable, they can wait."

"That's pretty intense." Well, it's something to say. It makes Iliad active in the discussion, doesn't it? By now, he's sketched a little doodle onto the back of his hand.

Xayna leans back against the wall and pulls her legs up to sit cross-legged. "Sometimes decisions have to be made. At least now we know why certain ones are made they way they do."

Mailli nods as she stands and heads for the door as Vera coughs outside the barracks, "It is very intense. It's one of the reasons we train so intensely. The first rule of search and rescue is to stay calm. If you panic in a situation where you are already dealing with people in varying states of panic then you're only going to make the matter worse," a decisive nod is given, "Exactly, sometimes you have to make a choice and hope that you've made the right one. In the situation that I touched on, the situation was a ship alight. There was a girl making passage to Southern when the incident happened. Most of the crew had managed to get off, there was a deckhand trapped under a boom while the girl was simply behind a rather small wall of flame," Mailli closes her eyes and shakes her head slowly, "I had to make a choice. I knew I could only save one of them, the deckhand was trapped with no way to get at her without risking being trapped myself. The girl was the most logical choice," though Mailli still has nightmares.

Xayna smiles sympathically but has no words. "Thank for the information Master Mailli. I learned a lot." The notes are now put away with the rest of her personal hides.

"Yes, thank you! Especially for the stuff from personal experience," Lairae says, nodding to Mailli.

"Thaaaanks. I hope we can do that practical--thing. You know, the mock session. That'd be fun," Iliad says, finally rolling onto his back.

"Not to rush you, Craftmaster, but I do have a sweep to ride," Vera's tone is cold, her gaze even colder, "Then leave, Vera. I'm certain I can get a ride back when I'm finished here," the greenrider glares and storms from the barracks, "That woman gets worse every time I see her," Mailli shakes her head sadly, "Please tell me no one here was coerced," of course not, but Mailli's heard rumors concerning Vera; and of course the crafter is completely unaware of having spoken aloud, "Well, now that my ride has left, I think I should wrap this up and go see if I can scrounge a ride home. Any last questions?" Mailli nods, "I'll see what I can do. I know a boy that's very good at finding very obscure hiding places," if there's a space big enough to hide in, Mailli's son will find it regardless of how well he knows the area, "He's not very big either, so he'd be perfect."

"Sounds like fun," Lairae says. "Thank you for your time."

Xayna shakes her head. "No more questions for now, but if I have any later I'll be sure to ask you."

Mailli nods before she steps out of the door, "It was good to get away from the hall for a time," even if it was a short time, and with that Mailli ducks out of the room.

Best SearchCo Mav Ever

2006-11-14T03:37:32Z

On request, here is the infamous "Hatch Sikkyen's" mav that happened during a Hatching a few years ago.

Note: Cayl was puppetting one of the candidates for the Hatching, hence the knowledge of what was going on on their channel.

The Mav:

[HrwCan] Tyara: Heh yeah. :p Hiza, can you hatch Sikkyen's instead?

Reaction on the Search Channel:

[] Cayl dies.

[] Ciera: Tya.

[] Lylia CHOKES.

[] Pyrene squeals!

[] Tyara: Oh fuck.

[] Pyrene bets the canidates are going mental.

[] Cayl: They are :)

[] Lorsalia: oh?

[] Cayl: Well, a little.

[] Ciera: Oh, to be on their channel right now.

[] Talae: ???

[] Pyrene rolls around laughing. Oh, Tya...

[] Quara sighs.

[] Tyara: See, I should've turned the channel off. :p

[] Pyrene: Tya just mavved to hc.

[] Tyara: Hiza, can you? :p

[] Cayl laughs. Being on their 'secret channel' helps.

[] G'deon just dies.

[] Shaela: OMG.

[] Lorsalia wants to know if they think Tya was joking or not

[] Tyara snickers. Prolly not. :p

[] Shaela: Just don't do Sikkyen's next, and that way they won't know for sure. ;)

[] G'deon doubts it.

[] Pyrene laughs. Yeah.

[] Tyara snorks. Right :p

[] Ciera has been laughing so hard for thepast 30 minutes. If I pass out, I blame all of you.

[] Lylia giggles. Yeah. :)

[] Hiza squeaks. You want me to hatch?

[] Cayl: No...They know its a mav. They're congratulating her. She's just going 'good lord' over and over again :)

[] Shaela: At least that way he'll still be somewhat surprised.

[] Tyara: Her who?

[] Pyrene: They're congratulating /her/?

[] Quara sighs and giggles.

[] Pyrene: Sikkyen's male.

[] D'renn fishes through the candidate channel elsechar and groans.

[] Cayl: Sikkyen. Him, her, I'm genderblind :)

[] Pyrene: Yeah, don't hatch Sikkyen's yet.
[] Pyrene: Hatch a blue next. He didn't ask for blue.
[] Pyrene: That'll confuse him.

[] D'renn: Smart move.

[] Lylia: Okay, we had our code glitch and our MAV. We're done. :)

On the candidate channel:

[] Azia snorts. Did Tyara just mav?

[] Fyria can oblige in her next pose? :D
[] Fyria wonders.

[] Miralwyn thinks she did...

[] Sikkyen twitches. Good lord.

[] Azia thinks so, too. Hehehehehehehe..

[] Lianta laughs! Go Ike!

[] Fyria dies. IKE! heheh.

[] Sikkyen: Good /lord/.

[] Sage: Yay!!!

[] Miralwyn: Ike's the man!

[] Kirana woots!! Yeah Ike!

[] Lhana shushes all. You'll jinx it!

[] Sikkyen clings to Lhan. Thank you.

[] Squaln snugs Ike!

[] Azia pauses. Are the eggs themed on the Wizard of Oz?

[] Oliana rereads the channel. "Oh my! Well...! That's a mav that
will go down in history!" ;)

cadge @ 2006-11-11T21:52:00

2006-11-12T02:52:27Z

Sao, Vaeli and I did an egg touching today and along the way realised that we have one heck of a scary clutch. Actually, this is probably the most enjoyable egg-touching I've ever done. Candidates involved are Airam, Cheyanna, Khalylai, Meerak, Micail and Xayna.

I think I caught all the poses and egg-emits, but I did d/c twice. If anybody notices that I'm missing anything and can provide what is missing, please say!

Living Caverns

Khalylai is all yawns and half-tripped steps; the young woman is as immaculate as ever, her hair groomed back into an almost severe braid, clothes clean if a bit careworn. However, her eyes have the telltale signs of recent sleep. She half-sleepwalks over to the serving table, and fetches herself a light breakfast, moving on automatic.

There are quite a few sleepy people around here. Micail is included as he trails after Khaly, rubbing at one of his eyes tiredly. Really, just a few more hours couldn't hurt anyone, right? Still..even half-asleep, he's hungry, and shuffles for the tables, plucking a few things onto his plate before mumbling a soft hello to Khaly.

Cheyanna bites off half a sausage, swallowing with a minimum of chewing; she offers Micail a bright smile and a wave as she sees him. "Hi, Micky!" she says. "Come sit with me!" Guess who's not sleepy at all. Belatedly, she tacks on a rather less enthused, "Oh. You too, Khaly?" The words are cautious, as if expecting a refusal.

Khalylai yawns again, shoving more food onto her plate at the end. Micail is graced with an unwontedly beautific, sleepy smile. She looks so.. er, innocent like that. Her eyes sharpen, however, with the first blush of true cognition as Cheyanna's words slice through her nice sleepy haze. "Sure," she responds, her voice holding some slight reserve as she pads in that direction, softsoled shoes trodding the stone to where the other candidate's settled.

Klah. Klah is necessary! Once gathered, Micail takes it along with his plate over to sit with Chey, giving the girl an odd look. "How long have you been up?" She's too awake! He does plop down though, tugging his mug up to his lips.

"Hour or so?" Chey guesses. She taps her half-sausage against the edge of her plate lightly. "It's a gorgeous day out. I had to cut my run kind of short, but I hope I get some outside chores today. It's one of those days where the sky looks like you could touch it, it's so /there/. It's clear and the blue is really, really blue."

Sao sidles in from the Central Bowl.

Airam arrives from deeper in the Weyr.

Khalylai blinks groggily at Chey and her vivid description of the day. "You're way too awake," she opines dryly, digging into her gravy and biscuits with a slight shake of her head.

Meerak arrives from deeper in the Weyr.

Micail shakes his head just a little, and goes about munching. Breakfast! In the stomach it goes. "She /is/ way too awake." Though luckily, that klah is at least having an effect, perking the younger candidate up. "Is it that nice outside?" Maybe he /won't/ mind if he gets chores out there.

Sao thumps into the caverns from the great outdoors. Thump, thump. She is wet /and/ messy, with sand clinging to the calf of her wet trousers all the way up to a few inches past her knee. The reason for this is not immediately apparent. She brings two fingers to her lips and breaks through the slurred and peaceful morning with a piercing whistle. "Oi! Candidates!"

"I am not," Cheyanna starts to protest. At Sao's whistle, she jerks sideways to spin around towards the rider, then flinches back, putting a hand over her ribs. She grimaces briefly, then looks back with more care. "Yes'm?" she asks. Sao is a ma'am, now! Cheyanna's eyes are bright.

Meerak is awake, aware, but not especially amiable. (which begins with the wrong a- sound, anyway.) He's managed to dress himself, which is a bonus, but he's only just shuffled his way toward food and drink when Sao's whistle splits the air. He slants a dark look at her over his shoulder.

Khalylai longingly stares at her food, knowing from the whistle and the yell that the likelihood of finishing said plate is decreasing exponentially. She heaves a sigh and snitches Micail's klah; a big gulp and a wrinkled nose later, she returns the drink to said rightful owner. "I hate the taste of that." Ahem. She throws the most halfhearted salute she ever has to the rider, and straightens in her seat, contemplating what horror awaits her -now-. Oh, wait, there it is. Meerak just arrived.

Airam has just entered the living caverns from further inside and stops his journey to find food to look up at the intrupption that is Sao. Guess he's not getting to eat anything yet. He sighs and leans back against the wall and waits for an announcment with the others with crossed arms.

Micail pauses in his chewing at the whistle, looking up so that he can just blink at Sao. Meep. After another moment though he starts chewing again. Best to get it in his stomach before he has to abandon it. Which is looking pretty likely. "Y..yes?" His klah is /stolen!/ Khaly gets a brief stare before laughing, and just shakes his head. "I don't like it much either..but it wakes me up."

There will be no finishing of plates. Sao shakes herself off like a large wet dog, although this does little besides shed a few water droplets from her damp hair and a few grains of sand to the floor. Blithely oblivious to all shows of respect or not -- except Cheyanna's, which jars her enough to give her an eyeballing -- she bounces forward on her toes. "To me, candidates. Come on. All of you."

Cheyanna shoves the rest of her sausage in her mouth, grabs her juice to wash it down with a long gulp, and pushes to her feet. She swings her leg over the bench and steps away from the remnants of her breakfast, grinning at Sao. "Latrines?" she asks. She really is too cheerful for her own good today.

Meerak palms a roll, breaking it behind his back as he meanders away from the food to jam a bit of cheese inside. Dear, sweet (ninja) food. He hangs back a pace, just in case Sao's calling candidates out for something horrible. He slides his scrawnier torso to hide in the shade of Cheyanna's manly bulk.

Khalylai rises to her feet, graceful despite her misgivings. "Yeah, I did steal it," she impishly replies to Micail, flashing him a grin and hoisting her nose in the air. "Don't you know it's my due?" A roll of the eyes, then, and she pads along in her softsoled shoes to linger about Sao's proximity. "C'mon, Mouse," she calls, slightly mischevous.

Airam nods, and after a longing look towards the hearth, pushes himself off the wall and navigates himself around the room to Sao. He gives her a scan and blinks, then rubs his green eyes to clear them a bit, "What happened?" He asks, praying he isn't going to have to do anything that included latrines before breakfast.

Micail sighs before getting up..and then just /stares/ at Cheyanna even as he follows Khaly over to Sao. "..Chey.. You cannot be /that/ happy while talking about /latrine/ duty." It's just wrong. /Wrong./ "..It's../not/ latrines, is it?"

Sao hand-wiggles a beckoning wave, one-handed. "Never you mind, none of your business," she carols cheerfully at Airam, scratching her other hand through her short hair. "If it were latrines, I'd expect happy smiles on all your faces, and all whiners get to do it with a spoon." She crows a cackling laugh, apparently impressed with her own /hilarity/, and then shakes her head. "Eggs are waiting. We're all gonna go poke 'em. You can eat later and play in the latrines all you want."

Khalylai shivers. "I need to go get my boots if we're doing latrines," she states, her voice plaintive. She props an arm up on Micail's shoulder and drops her forehead to forearm. "I want to go back to sleep," she states, voice muffled. It's too early. Khaly doesn't have the energy to perform her aires this early. Then-- she perks, straightening. "We get to go out on the sands?" Wow, that's the first time she's expressed eagerness... er... since getting to the Reaches.

Cheyanna grins cheerfully along with Sao, then casts a look back at Micail. "I'm just happy for Sao," she explains without elaboration. She turns back to the rider, bouncing slightly on the balls of her feet.

Micail leans a little as Khaly settles an arm on his shoulder, and then just laughs for a moment. "Me too, but it's a little late for that now." She should've stolen more of his klah in order to wake up. Still, he does look rather confused. "Happy for..what?" Wait a minute, how does that make any sense? Luckily enough, the question doesn't plague him for long. "We..we're going out there? Now?" Well that certainly has him waking up the rest of the way.

Not latrines! Meerak gets to eat his roll over a calm stomach, bites quick and neat as he settles an empty stomach on bread and cheese. Dark eyes skim sidelong over Micail and Airam, skipping Khalylai to look back at Sao. He looks at her closely, looking for something to be happy about.

Airam scowls at the over the top cheerfulness in the rider's voice, but eyes widen with suprise and intrest at the prospect of seeing the eggs today. Nevermind breakfast, he's ready to go! Not that any of this shows for more than a second on the outside, to anyone watching he'd still look quite bored and irritated with just about everything, but he /does/ move a bit closer to the group and the door.

"Happy for me?" Sao looks blank, wet, and messy. She blinks at Cheyanna, owlish. "Um, awright then," she adds, rubbing baffledly at the back of her head. "Anyway, let's go, move move, you're all too slow coming loose from the tables as is." With that, she turns on her heel and tromps noisily out of the caverns.

Khalylai slings an arm around Micail's shoulders this time, bouncing a bit in her stance as well. Cheyanna's enthusiasm is catching, it would seem. "Our egg-touching virginity is about to get busted," she solemnly declares, a twinkle in her eyes. She follows Sao, then, dragging Mouse along with her, whether he wants to or not. Ahem.

Micail is manhandled right out of the caverns, apparantly. Though he does peer at Khaly as best he can, eyeing the girl. "You like to talk about virginity." But he's also not about to argue with being on their way. He's far too excited for protests.

Airam turns this head to glance at the others after Sao exits and then follows Khalylai and Mouse, albeit much more quieter, and a bit slower.

Cheyanna follows behind Sao, moving with a slight but noticeable limp that doesn't slow her much.

Sands

Cadgwith is waiting for the candidates, mouth agape and leering over her brood. It's hard to tell without knowing the gold well whether she's welcoming or threatening. However her eyes are blue--OK, with yellow flecks of worry in there. But mostly blue! Pyrene is a bit more readable. "Did you bring me some iced water?" comes her plaintive whine.

Cheyanna knows the drill. She moves onto the sands, stepping gingerly as she moves from hard stone to loose sand. Her eyes skim the eggs -- they're much bigger from down here -- but she drags their attention back to Pyrene and Cadgwith, following Sao across to the goldrider and giving the customary low bow of do not eat me please!

The candidates enter, herded by a most unwieldy shepherd; Sao is damp and sandy. "Was I supposed to bring you icewater? I thought I was supposed to bring candidates." Blueriders are so useful! Look how useful.

Micail is going to need some water too if he stays out here too long. He makes a face at the /heat/ once he shuffles in. "Gah..and I thought it was hot in the galleries.." /So/ much worse down here. He does shift around nervously though, not quite sure what he's doing. Therefore? He looks around and copies Chey's bowing. That seems like a pretty sensible thing to do.

Khalylai strides out on the sands after Sao, moving with confidence but treading gingerly. She, in turn, bows low, dark braid falling over a shoulder as she offers her homage to Cadge The Eater Of Candidates. Cadge's getting a lot of worship at the moment, it looks like, actually; Khaly skitters her gaze over the other's bows, and then expectantly gazes at Pyrene. "I like it. It reminds me of home," she responds to Mouse, then, flashing him a grin. It's like Southern! But hotter. And drier.

This is officially the last time Pyrene uses blueriders as her lackeys then! Although she's probably made that resolution before. She nods back to the candidates' bowing. "The eggs are hardening nicely, but please be gentle when touching them. Just spread out and concentrate on getting used to their existence. They really do contain future dragons, y'know." She winks. "Don't worry about Cadge. She's not overly protective, and we've told Ghraith not to bite either."

Airam fans himself a bit as he slowly walks his way in with the other candidates. His eyes are first drawn to the dragons, secondly the eggs, and then Pyrene, taking a few moments to stare and examine each group. He sees Cheyanna and Micail's bows and while he gives his own version, a slight tilting of the head- respectful, but not fearful.

Meerak picks at the collar of his tunic, pulling fabric from from his body. "Huh," he says of heat. He does not know the drill, and has no idea what the expect, so he does what the others do: bow! He is among the last to dip and bob, attention finally pulled from sand and eggs and surroundings to turn to other candidates and the momma dragon. His bow is stuff, but bow-like! He hangs back, taking his cue from the others.

Cheyanna doesn't immediately move towards any egg, all her earlier excitement aside. Instead, she turns to look at all of them, wrapping her arms around her ribs. Taking a few cautious steps, she moves among them, cautiously avoiding contact.

Khalylai is more apt to shiver when looking at Ghraith. Cadgwith she knows-- stories of, if not the actual dragon herself. Her green gaze pins automatically on Beast of Gevaudan, at the other side of the mound, and she treks out for that peculiar egg, moving with slow, but assured strides. (donteatmeplease). She's curious about this one. However, even when she's not a step away, she's still hesitant to touch the shell-- finally, she glances up, quasi-nervous. Meerak happens to be the one she sees; that hardens her nerves, and palms come up to gingerly rest on the leathery egghide.

Micail shuffles a little, pulling away from Khaly who he was nearly attatched to upon coming in. Or being dragged along, for a while anyway. He chews carefully on his bottom lip as he wanders away, feet scuffing through the sand. He does look back a bit, keeping an eye on the other candidates before he continues on, moving to find the egg he'd seen from the galleries. Slightly different perspective out on the sands, after all. He does locate it though, reaching tentative hands out to graze across the Dark Side of the Moon egg.

Khalylai saw: Viciousness. Evilness. Cruelty. Some dark shadow swirls in the midst of the depths of mind with fearful intellience. Sadistic intelligence. Straight towards the hand that touches it.

Airam shuffles foward in the warm sand, eyes going from one egg to the other, and eventually coming back around to the Moon After Yule Egg, the cold colors attracting him. He looks up at the dragons cautiously and moves a bit quicker to the egg's side, then runs a hand tenderly across the shell.

Cheyanna still does not touch. Cheyanna is being rather the pansy about this, really. She watches as the other candidates all touch their first eggs, and frees one hand to fake-brush the Em-Oh-Oh-En Egg: she does not actually make contact.

Meerak serves a purpose after all: steeling Khalylai's nerves. It doesn't seem to work the other way 'round. He skitters along the edges of the sands, keeping far from gold and bronze. For all the reassurance, the looks that he sneaks back toward Cadgwith and Ghraith are tinged with edgy nerves. The egg he finally heads toward is all warm and sqooshy (metaphorically!) and reassuring: Sweet as Honey, that egg, and sweet as Meerak isn't. He wrinkles his nose at it, looking up and over at the others to see what they do with their eggs. He gingerly prods a finger at the shell, touch cautious.

Airam saw: Visions of a desolate frozen tundra. Freezing bitter winds whips the snow into mini cyclones while a lone speck awaits silently on the cracked ice. Musty. Old. Cold. And it sees you.

Cheyanna saw: Red dragon on one shoulder, white on the other--or so it feels. You find yourself at a moral crossroads with paths to good and evil stretching before you. The choice should be yours, to make free and unbiased. However, the egg's pull on your mind suggests you might not have the choice in the matter after all.

Micail saw: At first, all is stillness. But not he stillness of emptiness. Silence. Coldness. Darkness. The distant glimmer of curiosity. Something, /something/ is aware.

Cheyanna jerks her hand back as if it was burned, betrayed; her eyes lock on the egg as she steps back. Firmly, she shoves her hand back in the pit of the opposite elbow. Safer there.

Meerak saw: Enticing, seductive yet free from guile. A charm and attraction takes possession of you, making you feel inexplicably like singing and dancing. The world has taken on a rosy hue and for this fleeting moment, all people are innately worthwhile human beings and life is not only fair but joyous.

Khalylai jerks away at the first impulse, her eyes widening. They then narrow to green slits, as she dissects what she just felt. Fingers return to brush the egghide on Beast of Gevaudan egg once more, concentrating on classifying the texture of said egg. Her gaze sidles upwards after a moment, fingertips resting on the shell of the Beast as she considers her next target- and her fellow candidates. She notes Chey's reaction, and wryly smiles.

Micail jerks back briefly, just /staring/ at the shell in front of him as if it just did a jig in the sand. "They..they really /are/ in there!" ..Well where did he /think/ the dragons were going to come from? Duh! There's still a bit of hesitation when he puts his hands back on the shell though, firmly, and moves a little closer to it. "Hi there.." What? He can talk to the egg if he wants to. It makes him feel better. "Is it a good day for you..? Hm..well I bet that you can't really tell about day and night in there, huh?"

Airam uses a couple of fingers to trace trail of color that makes it look like the egg is cracked. Suddenly he jerks his hand away and gives the egg in front of him a shocked look. He tilts his head and after looking up at the dragons again extends a hand to feel trace the same line again, see if he feels anything else. He looks around for a moment to see the other's reactions and smiles a bit.

Pyrene stifles a chuckle at some of the reactions. "They can't bite while they're in the shell," she observes casually.

Meerak startles less obviously than some, but he still startles. At first, he's smiling, a really /dopey/ smile, in that moment where fingers press to shell, and tension briefly leaves his stance -- but then he startles, shoulders hunching over and hands going to his side. He stares, and then he stares at the others.

Khalylai saw: Frostbite whirls closer as the -something- recognizes that hand again. Something cruel. Something evil. Is it willing the mind attached to the hand away, or trying to pull it deeper?

Airam saw: The sensations are the same. Desolate and cold. The lone speck seems closer this time. More attentive. A rusty, unused howl screams into earshot. Then...nothing.

Micail saw: Night, night, and more night. Endless night. The world is chill and sheathed in monochrome, all light is silvered, all breath is mist, and there are no answers for you here. There is only silence.

Cheyanna reverts to childhood guile: if she moves around a lot, it will look like she's making progress, even if she never gets within a foot of any of the eggs, right? She meanders, circuitous and tense.

Khalylai caught Meerak's startledment and dopey smile alike, though not in that particular order. She smirks, amused-- before the egg she's touching mentally bites her again. Rawrgh. The young woman gives the egg a considering stare, then, narrowed eyes once more. Then? She's walking away, moving with a certainty over to Feed the Hunger egg. She's just glued to the bad boys, it would appear. Her hands come up of their own volition, spread fingers and palms resting on the shell of conflagration.

Xayna moves into the heat, shimmered and blurred by the ripples that rise off the Sands.

Meerak moves to cut Cheyanna off and interrupt her circling; Micail's busy communing, Khalylai's Khalylai, and Airam is smiling. Clearly unsuitable. "Psst," he hisses, coming up to jostle her elbow. "Are they supposed to do that?"

Micail just grins after a moment, giving the shell a gentle pat. Indeed, he looks downright excitable now, with a silly grin plastered to his face. "We're..allowed to touch more than one..right?" Even without an affirmative, he moves away from it, hands clasping behind his back in order to rub together as he explores about, before one hand frees itself to slide slowly over the Minions of the Moon egg.

"I didn't even /touch/ it," Cheyanna hisses back, reaching out to physically cling to Meerak's arm for moral support. "I swear," she goes on, sotto voce, "we're not waiting for eggs to harden, we're waiting for the EVIL to leach out of the dragonets!"

Khalylai saw: How would life be living with the pangs of hunger, but never dying? The imagery isn't imagery at all, but feeling of longing, pain, HUNGER. Phantom pains chase phantom prey over the most desolate landscape of them mind. So forceful, so strong, re the hunger pains, the longing, the desperation on the dream plane, or this reality?

Airam glances up at Pyrene and nods, of /course/ they can't bite while in the egg, he didn't thing that. It's just a bit unsetteling to feel something from an egg. Speaking of, Airam twitches again- his whole body this time- and turns his emerald eyes back to the shell. "Wow." He comments quietly and rises to his feet smoothly to look over at the other candidates and eggs again. He gives the Moon After Yule Egg a last stroke with his fingers and moves over to a differnet one, the Crying for the Moon Egg. He reaches out his right hand and gives it a stroke with his thumb, exploring the colors on the surface.

Xayna has been leaning up against the wall, a very worried look upon her face. Also she is not sure about going anywhere near the eggs, but finally her curiosity wins over and she heads for one of the nearest eggs. "It's ok. They aren't going to bite or hatch yet." She mutters to herself as her slow walk carries her towards the group of eggs.

"It was in my head!" Meerak says, agreement rising and lifting his tone above the hissing whispers of confidence. "All happy-happy-love-everything! What the--" Teeth snap shut over his reply and he shakes his head. "It /changes the way you think/."

"Yeah, well, mine was all, like, good or evil, and /I/ will decide!" Cheyanna hisses back. "I swear, I think these things are -- I dunno!" She sends a haunting look back at the Em-Oh-Oh-En egg. "Weeding out the weak," she whispers back, barely audible. A brief pause, then -- "Dare you to touch the gold one. /Double/ dare."

Airam saw: Salty tears. Slow death. A sentient creature's wanting. The wanting pulls strongly at the mind, longing to give misery company. Anything. Anyone. You'll do.

Khalylai is herself, apparently. Cheyanna is correct, apparently. Meerak is a loser, apparently. These things ascertained, Khaly gives a quick bark - something of a yelp, something of a wheeze, and a definite step back. "That's bloody unnatural," she mutters under her breath, becoming more composed and walking, aimlessly, in Mouse's direction. She eavesdrops on Chey and Meerak. She be's herself, in other words, and... ends up in front of the Sweet as Honey egg, considering it before laying her palms against it. She's wary, now. But in a good spot to watch Meerak touch the gold egg. Birdseye view, y'know.

"That's creepy," Meerak agrees absently, but affirms, "but not as bad as having it change how you feel. That's just /wrong/." He stares at Cheyanna for her challenge. "No. Well--" He temporizes denial by making it inclusive: "I will if you will. Are boys allowed to touch those, even? Because I'm a boy." He is! He's even pulling her toward the gold with manly impulsiveness, the sort of manly impulsiveness that keeps a wary eye on the momma dragon. "Should we bow again?"

Micail saw: Doom lingers here, shielded only by a thin veil of shadow. Dark and sinister, an ill-defined shape lingers on the edges of perception, hinted in black steel and the dribble of bitter venom.

Hovering over the gold egg, Cadgwith looks brightly back at the two candidates who are eyeing it up, teeth gleaming in the glow-light. Bows are nice.

Cheyanna glances again at the gold, trepid. Deeply trepid. "Oooookay?" she tries. Not afraid. Right. She lets herself be dragged, eying Cadgwith. She risks another quick bow, then drops her eyes to the gold. "Count of three?" she whispers.

Khalylai saw: Vibrations of warmth, unlike it's siblings. Weak now, with no contact. Reaching out for more. You know you want to.

Micail continues to touch, fingers lightly sliding across the ominous shell. There's a little shudder though after a moment, the candidate's eyes closing. No, he doesn't start talking to this egg, but he does stay where he is for the moment, quietly looking toward the others...and positively /staring/ at the pair of Chey and Meerak. At the gold egg. Boggle. Although he really can't help the little giggle that comes out of him as he glances toward Khaly.

Xayna starts to reach out to touch A Grand Day Out Egg, stops halfway there. She looks up at the mother and father dragon for a moment, still looking completely worried. After a couple more moments, and closing her eyes, she lays her hand on the egg. Caressing the shell softly, she slowly opens her eyes. See, this isn't so bad. Her attention however is caught by Meerak and Cheyanna going towards the gold egg.

Meerak bows, then! Oh, how he bows, following Cheyanna's lead in a deep, stiff deep. "Count of three," he agrees, edging closer yet. Shuffling over hot sands, he looks up at Cadgwith, then back down. He takes a breath. "One, two--" A pause, the stretch of his hand. "--three!" He waits until she's touched first before laying light fingers on the gold egg.

Airam turns to look at the others, giving them all a roll of his eyes before turning back to the Crying egg and recieving a mental jab. He narrows his eyes at it and frowns as feelings of misery and saddness fill him- it's a bit too meloncholy for even him the poor thing. He jerks his hand away and backs up, shuffling backwards in the sand and giving the eggs around him another look. His eyes follow Cheyanna and Meerak as they approach the gold egg, waiting to see what happens.

Cheyanna operates in good faith, hand going flat and gentle on the eggshell. She is tense, ready to jerk back as needed.

Khalylai wavers, caught between watching Chey and Meerak's antics and the syrupy feel of the Sweet as Honey egg. She catches a familiar giggle and glances askance, finding Mouse the culprit; a quick flashed grin. Yeah, she's crazy. Not as crazy as other people, but-- she shakes her head, ignoring Chey and Meerak to focus more fully on Sweet as Honey, hands laying firm, finally, on the shell of the egg.

Micail saw: Creeping towards you, tendrils of interest: mild sadism, coiling black and malevolent 'round the rictus of an invisible grin. You want to stay, don't you?

Meerak saw: The sensation is slightly jarring, peculiarly feminine, maternal, matriarchal. Yet it is not exclusive, allowing you to visit its garden of sensations: fecundity, love and hope.

Cheyanna saw: Succulent, lush and sleek... these feelings welcome you, with both decadence and earthiness and love. Accompanied with this is a disconcertingly inappropriate sensation of fertility, stirring deep within you. Above all rises hope: a future that does indeed hold promise.

Xayna saw: Laughter begins, distant and warm and full of mirth, on the very edges of perception. As you touch, vitality and fun pervade, fireworks of joviality, sparking through your mind. Hi!

Khalylai saw: Happiness is the prevalent glow; laughter, good times. Fun, love, passion, intimate; this egg touches places that were never meant to be caressed. It's good, at first. But when is this much too much? The feelings continue, inside and out, worming themselves deeper into the mind and soul with love and passion. Be careful, though. The warm fog of compassion could be clouding the cliff over a chasm. Who knows?

Cheyanna pauses. Her hand is on the egg. Her eyes close. She does not pull back. She just...pauses. Then, slowly, distinctly, her cheeks begin to flush, from nervous pallor up to a light pink and on. Her eyelids flutter back up and she casts a glance at Meerak, calling up a vaguely ridiculous grin for him.

Meerak does not recoil quite as quickly this time, but he does pull away just as completely. The knit of his brow is puzzled, while the set of his lips isn't exactly happy. He rubs his palm against the thigh of his trousers, easing a nonexistent itch. He mutters something under his breath and gives Cheyanna an up-twitched eyebrow of a look. "Weird."

Micail has his attention stolen by the egg again, and he jolts, turning to look at it. There's a hint of mild confusion there..and a horrible amount of curiosity, nibbling on his lower lip as he scoots himself closer, settling more of himself to touch a bit more of that egg.

Cheyanna saw: The egg continues to caress you with a near drunken lure. Warm, protective and cosy, with its own supreme confidence that what will be will be--and it will be good.

Xayna is surprised at the feelings that flood into her, pulling her hand back to just the fingertips. "Interesting. You are..." Biting her lips from saying any more, fingertips caress the shell a bit more before she pulls away and stands up fully. She didn't experience anything like that the last time, but then again she had missed all the egg touchings. After a bit, Xay carefully steps around the eggs to see which one to touch next. For now she avoids the gold egg but comes close enough to speak with Cheyanna and Meerak. "So, what did you feel?" A wink for Meerak before she kneels down to touch the Beast of Gevaudan Egg.

"Do -- " Cheyanna begins, then breaks off. She pulls her hand away, her flush rising. She swallows, then looks down at the egg again. "I need to go swimming this afternoon," she mutters under her breath, stepping away and rubbing at her upper arms.

Khalylai is convinced, now, that every single one of these eggs are evil. Even if they don't appear evil, they're Mira-evil, all pink and bubbles and dead kittens. She slowly removes herself from Honey, shaking her head - hard - as if to clear it. "Oh, that's insidious," she declares, eyeballing the egg and shaking her head again. Eeevil eggs. She squints over at Chey and Meerak, reflexively, and eyebrows cock upwards just slightly. After that? She wanders, over in Micail's direction again.

Airam eyes Cheyanna and Meerak, wondering what they felt when the touched the shell. He moves further away from the Crying egg and towards another intresting looking one, the Chill of Winter Moon egg. He decides to get a bit more comfortable this time and kneels down when he gets about a foot away, then reaches out a hand again to stroke it. He does it much more slowly and timidly this time, still feeling odd from the Crying egg.

Cadgwith snorts loudly over Cheyanna and Meerak, possibly amused by their reactions. And a little curious as she usually is during these events.

Micail saw: Laughter's bite is stark amusement, layered syrupy rich over the deep vibrations of certain threat. The caress enveloping your mind is cool steel and blooded leather. It prickles. It bites. It is followed by nasty, low, creeping shadow, seeping insidious fear into the depths of thought.

Meerak murmurs something appropriately agreeable and entirely vague. He ducks his head as Cadgwith weighs in with her opinion, and skitters away over the sand with a dipping bow on retreat. And, oh, it certainly is retreat. He comes to a pause next to a yellow egg with red laid over the top, and an /oven on skis/ scribbled near the bottom. Meerak eyes A Grand Day Out sidelong, wary. He'll stand here, and you'll stand there.

Xayna saw: Something dark, something swift, something cold -- wind through your hair, cold and icy wind, and the sensation of flight, running. Wary. Wary.

Airam saw: Dark power. Deep wells of intelligent power. Something whirls up from the abyss with sinister intelligence, full of the potential to rip your world apart. Something so old that time itself doesn't remember when it was born into this dimesion. Something so powerful that it's best left forgotten. But it hasn't forgot. It won't forget. There's a vendetta to settle. Power to use. Evil to do. And it likes you.

Khalylai moves, then, footsteps gingerly set as she walks to Harvest Moon. She has a bad feeling about this. A trepidous look is raised to Cadgwith-- "Is it going to bite me, you reckon, madam?" she questions the gold dragon with something of low amusement and wry selfefacement to her tone, before bringing her hands to rest lightly on the apex of said egg.

Micail pulls away from the egg almost abruptly, standing there for a bit in order to wrap his arms around himself a little. There's still confusion there, staring at the Minions egg before peering at the nearby Khaly. "This..is so /weird./" He moves over just a few feet, now tentative again as he reaches his hand to lightly rest on the Crying for the Moon egg. "They..they really do get all in your head and stuff."

Cheyanna just shakes her head at Xayna, not replying. Her eyes flicker to Meerak, who is moving away. Lost, she steps again away from the gold egg, staring in search of an egg that looks wholesome and innocent. Hahaha. She does not find one. Instead, she braces and steps in towards one at random. Chill of Winter, hand. Hand, Chill of Winter. PLAY NICE.

Meerak draws a deep breath and gives Micail an annoyed look, close enough to overhear now that he's abandoned the gold egg to the girls. "You noticed, did you?" His hand twitches at his side, fingers curling to form a fist and then relaxing again. Gathering his composure, he lays his palm over the red latticework of A Grand Day Out.

Airam jerks his hand away quickly, MUCH faster than for the Crying egg. He gives Cheyanna a nervous look over the egg and backs away from both her and the unhatched dragon- rising to his feet as he scampers. He moves closer to the first egg he touched upon entrance to the sands, and keeping away from the others.

Micail saw: As you withdraw, you escape laughter and malice and darkness -- they will be waiting for you.
Micail saw: Soft melancholy thrums awake at your touch, reaching out to bathe you in its bittersweet wash. Blind and fumbling, it wraps you in a wistful latticework of wish.

Khalylai saw: Sweet undistinguishable music floats from this egg, followed by the entrancing aroma of fermenting fruits. Come to me, it calls. Like the beautiful siren that lures sailors to their death, this one swirls with a hidden agenda.

Xayna blinks and then closes her eyes to let the feeling be felt without the distraction of sight. Caress, caress. Slowly, very slowly, she pulls away. Palm, fingers, until finally she pulls the fingertips off the egg. Only then does she open her eyes and stand. "They do, but some of them are...well..." The train of thought isn't finished as she decides to move down to the next egg, which happens to be the gold egg. Should she? A look of apprehension and she looks up to Cadgwith again, giving another bow. "May I?" Is asked softly, even though she has seen others touch it, she gets down on one knee and is reaching out towards the Harvest Egg. Her fingers don't touch though until Cadgwith gives some sort of approval. In the meantime, she is looking around to see what other eggs are near just in case.

Cheyanna saw: Play /nice/? The egg does not deign that with an answer at first, and for a moment there is just a discomfiting sensation of nothingness, death within the shell. Then comes the realisation that despite the heat and sweat of the Sands, chills are running through you, raising bumps on your flesh. It is not for you to command this egg.

There's no real reason for Micail to pull back as Airam had done with the Crying egg. Still, he does peer toward Meerak as the other talks to him, and sticks his tongue out. "I like it." He doesn't mind the little things in his head, and he concentrates on the egg under his fingertips..despite the trailing gaze that slips right back to the Minions egg. That one.. That one is interesting.

Xayna saw: Warmth bathes you, all-encompassing, enveloping: soft hands over your mind like a mother's caress. It is as rich as wine, as heady as pure song, a cornucopia of feeling. Passion and love and female, bound together inextricably, with an aureate shimmer that surpasses mere beauty.

Khalylai stares at the egg. "Are you for real?" she states, her tone dubious. "Look, every single last one of your buddies is evil, and you're trying to play it off too?" Yeah, she's totally over it, now. "Posturing. That's all they're doing. Posturing." This is a dark mutter to herself- but Xayna probably hears it, given she's right there. "You can lay off." Muttermuttermutter, but her hands don't shift from the egg.

Cheyanna does not pull away. The fingers of her left hand curl into a tight fist, but her right hand remains, stubborn, unyielding on the shell. Her jaw tenses, jutting out very slightly as she settles down for the brief contest. She's pitting her will against an embryo. That's... actually kind of sad.

Meerak saw: Bizarrely it's a sensation of cheese that assaults you in a veritable mood-picnic. Mozzarella stretches lazily around you, gorgonzola rears over with mouldering challenge, but loveliest of all is the crumbliness of Wensleydale satisfying your very soul. Strike up the band! Cheese is the new religion and the one true quest in life!

Micail saw: Wistful and lonely, unseeing touch. The world is empty. Stay. Search with me. Are you lost?

Khalylai saw: The music is stronger now. The smell is sweeter. It knows it has won. It is a matter of time. A feeling of sinister grin like the Cheshire Cat gone bad fills up your mind with drunken laughter. A little closer now.

Xayna looks over at Khalylai, but does not remove her hand from the egg. "What do you mean by that?" She is enjoying the feeling coming from the egg, so doesn't understand why the other candidate is making the statement she is. Though after a good couple of minutes, she does remove her hand from the shell. Maybe she'll come back, maybe she won't. For now, she eyes Minions of the Moon Egg not far away, but does keep glancing back at Khaly.

Cheyanna saw: So you will let it in? Or are you trying to guard against it? No matter, the cold seeps inside you, oddly seductive once it settles in. The world is bleak, barren and hopeless, but all of a sudden it is yours. And you have the choice whether you give up or whether you carry on the eternal struggle.

Airam sighs and kneels down on the sand beside the Moon after Yule Egg, ignoring the heat as well as he can. He watches the others silently as he idly strokes the shell beside him, finding a bit of comfort in the fact that /this/ one didn't feel evil or miserable. He raises an eyebrow at Cheyanna, wondering how she could keep touching that one. Maybe it didn't /like/ her as it did him.

Meerak drops his hand back to his side, folding both at the small of his back. He stares at the red-and-yellow-and-cheesy egg. Just stares. -- And takes a step away, then two. He swears softly under his breath in a rapid murmur of syllables.

Cheyanna stills. Her left hand opens. Her eyes close. Her lips part. There is, there, an instant of... something.

Micail tilts his head just a little bit, smiling gently at the Crying egg. His hand moves then, rubbing over the shell lightly. One caresss for the little one within. "Hi.." And he's back to talking to the egg. Minions needed no words, apparantly.

Xayna saw: As you withdraw, warmth earthen and deep falls away, leaving behind only alto shimmer of music fading slowly from your thoughts.

Airam saw: Lonely. Older than time itself. The howling screeches back towards the entity touching it. The ghostly speck, no longer tiny, burns with two pinpricks of fire-red light, strong intelligence, eternity of waiting, and now it has someone. Goody for it. Bad for you.

Khalylai stills, staring at Xayna as if she's grown a second head. The lass considers Harvest Moon once more, shudders, and pauses one final moment before completely removing herself from the egg. "Oh, that's bizarre. All of these eggs are bizarre." There's a pause. "Begging your pardon," again to Cadge. "Don't eat me or anything. I'm just saying." With that, she turns and moves -away- from the eggs to catch her breath.

Cheyanna saw: Wind laced with frost blows through you. It promises little but at least it does not offer false hope.

Micail saw: Emptiness, hollowness, loneliness: there is no sight, there is only blur and a weary, distant thread of hope. It grows stronger as you touch it, drawing you in like a bolster to its spirit. No more I am alone -- we are alone. We. Lost, alone, empty, hollow ...

Cadgwith huffs slightly--as indeed does Pyrene. "Honestly, they're just /eggs/," the latter declares discomfited. "Cadge has produced some fine dragons." Some. Let's ignore that one clutch she had with Druseth....

Meerak sidles over to Khalylai -- not /friendly/, no, but with a certain companionable paranoia. "Hey. You touched that one, right?" He jerks his chin toward the Honey egg. "Aren't they kind of--?"

Xayna watches at Khalylai walks away, confusion furrowing her brows. Finally she shakes her head and stands, but seeing Micail is talking to the Minions Egg, her eyes look around for an egg she hasn't touched yet. She begins to walk around the eggs, stopping to touch the Dark Side of the Moon Egg, bending over to let her fingertips touch the top of the shell.

Micail gives a little whine after a few more seconds of touching that egg, and then pulls right away from it, frowning. "That one.." Is a vaccuum. Shaking off that little chill of emptiness that came along with it, he shuffles back again, gravitating right back to the Minions egg that he'd been touching previously. He just stands in front of it though, staring, before giving it a little poke with a finger. Look! He came back. "Are you still in there..?" ...Where would it /go/?

Khalylai bobs her head fiercely in agreement. "I know, they're just... well..." That's to Pyrene, but sidelong to Meerak, she hisses under her breath, "They all want to eat me or lure me to my death or drown me in sweetness!" She's especially paranoid, now that Meerak has verified her feelings.

Slowly, Cheyanna's hand pulls away, fingertips trailing. For a moment, she stands like that, then she opens her eyes to stare again at the egg. Her right hand closes in a loose fist, and she pauses for a long moment. Then she turns away, shoulders first, hips after, and her eyes last, dragged away only at the last minute. Her skin is prickled with goosebumps, despite the heat of the sands.

"Yes!" Meerak agrees, whisper rising to a sharp punctuation. He eyes the eggs suspiciously. "Yes, yes! Well -- less with the eating. But they are all trying to make you /be something/. Or /do something/. Control you! Which one wanted to eat you?"

Airam doesn't feel bad about anything as he recieves another mental prod, he just pets it some more and keeps quiet by it's side, in contrast to the howling it seems lets off. He gives the egg another small smile, "Lonely." He murmers, knowing perfectly well how it feels. He doesn't move to another egg- he's has had enough evilish presences poking around in his mind thank you very much.

Xayna saw: Stillness. All is still and silent and dark. There is no breath, no word, no heat, no hope. There is only something -- something indefinable and distant. But aware.

Micail saw: Darkness unfolds to wrap around you again, welcoming in its prickly, treacherous way. Mocking laughter rings in your mind. Of course you came back. Of course.

Cheyanna casts her eyes over all the eggs. Innocuous, light... there. She seeks presence, fire, life -- yes, even evil life. To Feed The Hunger Egg seems to fit the bill; she bypasses several eggs to brush fingertips against the cacapohony of color.

"Yes she has, from what I've heard." Xayna responds to Pyrene but since she's hasn't been here but a couple turns she doesn't know more than what others tell her. "I haven't felt anything controlling." Yet as feeling floods over her from Dark Side, she pulls away quickly. "Ok.." She moves off and decides to put her fingertips on the Em-Oh-Oh-En Egg since she is making her way back towards the eggs nearest Cadgwith.

Airam saw: The loneliness doesn't abate. It gets stronger. The fire red eye creep closer. Circling the prey. Are you company, or something else?

Cheyanna saw: No slow infiltration here, but a full out assault, flashing lurid colours into your mind's eye. Brassy and vivid and distracting--for it may take a beat to realise that they're accompanied by hungry fingers clawing greedily at your very awareness: You live; live for /me/....

HOLY CRAP. Chey rips her hand away.

Khalylai saw: How would life be living with the pangs of hunger, but never dying? The imagery isn't imagery at all, but feeling of longing, pain, HUNGER. Phantom pains chase phantom prey over the most desolate landscape of them mind. So forceful, so strong, re the hunger pains, the longing, the desperation on the dream plane, or this reality?

Micail looks quite pleased to be back at the Minions egg, tilting just a bit to rest his forehead on the shell. His palm presses to it finally, fingers curling just a little against it. He does turn his head a little after a moment, looking at the other candidates still milling about, touching eggs and lamenting over carnivorous egglings. Meerak gets a little grin then. "It's not so bad.. I kind of like what they do." Messing with /brains/.

Khalylai points at Beast. "Wanted to eat me. I'm telling you. Vicious! Like... violent!" She just used the word 'like'. This is Khaly. She must be shaken fairly bad. A shudder, then. "And that one..." she nods to Harvest Moon. "Wanted to lead me off somewhere-- for something BAD." It's stated with ferver. "See? Seee? That one's -hungry-," with a point to Chey. "For -you-." She's fervent, now, indeed. Ahem.

"You're a freak," Meerak tells Micail, point blank. He slides over the stand to Chey, who has much more reasonable reactions, and eyes the egg she'd touched. "What's it like?" he asks, unwilling to touch it yet.

Cheyanna turns to look back at Micail as he speaks, her face flushed and her eyes dark. "What are --" She breaks off. "You are just..." She trails off as Meerak approaches. "DON'T," she tells him. "Just don't. I'm going back to the one that wanted me to sleep with you, okay?"

Airam arches a 'brow at the egg beside him, but doesn't remove his hand or show any fear inside or out. He knows the presence in his head can't hurt him. Of course, that information didn't stop him from getting away from the last egg he touched pretty quickly. He turns to look blankly at Khalylai, believing it fully if any of the other eggs are like the Chill one.

Xayna saw: Chaos in balance -- opposites strive against each other in a wild furor that spills over to assault you with paradox. Coldness and passion, sin and virtue -- this egg holds a choice.

Airam saw: Loneliness will follow wherever you go. The feeling gets weaker as contact gets farther away, but it is still there, nonetheless.

Meerak holds his palm a breath away from the surface of the HUNGRYEATYOURFACE To Feed The Hunger egg and eyes Cheyanna. Dare him? Dare him? "I--" Don't have a comment. He closes his lips and considers. "Okay."

Khalylai saw: Dark laughter still rings quietly in the far corners of your mind. It has won. Don't forget that.

Micail saw: Darkness does not rest content. It prods, it pokes, it bites, it blades. There is no peace here, no respite from the continuous, curious batter of sensation. It thunders, a horde of black and vile monsters sending forth a single scout. Is this pain? Is it something else?

Cheyanna goes back to the gold egg. Bows to Cadgwith. Reaches out a hand for warmth and life and...contact.

Khalylai nods at Airam. "You know -exactly- what I'm talking about, don't you." She's happily living in her paranoia, now. Conspiracy theorist she may be, but she -heard- that laughter. She eyes each of the eggs in turn, wondering which sadistic monster did that. A shiver, and she moves to one last egg: Minions of the Moon. Her palms shift, hesitant, and then gracefully slide down the sides of said egg. She glances over at Micail. "Do you need a tissue?"

Airam rolls his eyes at the others and raises his voice enough to be heard by the rest, 'specially Khalylai, "They're just eggs! Can't hurt." Physically at least. The corners of his mouth twitch up a bit at Cheyanna's comment, knowing it was probably the gold egg that made her feel that after seeing her reaction the first time she touched it.

Cheyanna saw: Addictive, isn't it? Flushed with life and so much else, the egg greets you as an intimate friend. Open and inviting it invites you in: for honest work; for unabashed revelry.

Khalylai saw: This one calls for attention. Look inside. Look at me. Silence. Armies upon armies of....creatures march forth into the mind. Still silence. No sound accompanies this vision. Sheer numbers, after all. Blood, gore. From above, a hand reaches down...down...down into the mind. Only visible out of the corner of the eye. Try to focus, and it's gone, coming from another angle. Intelligence is here. Somewhere. Looking for you.

Cheyanna remains for a moment, hand pressed, hand still. Her eyes are closed, her breathing even. Then she pulls away, letting her fingertips trail. She inhales deeply, then exhales, and steps back. Again, she bows to Cadgwith.

Xayna cocks her head at the egg and then slowly pulls away. "Interesting...so..." She shakes her head and walks on. Though she does start moving through the eggs again. Apparently she is headed back toward the gold egg, drawn to it. At overhearing Cheyanna's comment, eyes to turn to look at the other woman. "Sleep with him? I haven't gotten that feeling." Yet she stops as Cheyanna is now in front of the gold egg, not really sure what she wants to do. Giving a long sigh, she decides to let her fingertips touch the Harvest Egg again, hoping against hope that she gets the same feeling. It is a bit more gentle than some, and with her current state of confusion, it is helping to increase her confidence.

Micail just pouts at being called a freak, glaring after another moment. "I am not a /freak/. You're just grumpy!" Though there's a tremor going through him, he just as defiantly turns his glare back on the egg. "I'm not afraid of the dark anymore, you know." ..Yes he is. Shh. Don't tell. Khaly gets a pout as he leaves the egg behind though for her to touch. "Not yet. Probably later." And off the boy shuffles, dropping a hand firmly on the Moon When Trees Pop egg.

Xayna saw: Welcome touches you, golden cascades of music singing to life again at your touch. Passion. Love. Hope. It is everything a woman is and could be: motherhood and lust and life and beauty and giving. It caresses you, kisses you, draws you in.

Khalylai twitches. "You don't scare me," she whispers to Minions, and her voice is perfectly straight-- not haunted or evinced of the fact that every egg is out to get her; simply straightforward. "You don't." And with that, she lifts her hands away from the egg and turns away. A deep bow for Cadgwith, and a crisp salute to Pyrene, and she moves towards the edges of the sands. No more eggs for her, she reckons.

Micail saw: Poised on the verge of happening, something teeters: something indefinable, wonderful or terrifying or both. It is the tension of a coiled spring, waiting to sproing.

Cheyanna is totally done. She moves back, towards the edges of the pile, back from the crush and the push and the energy throbbing below those eggshells. The depth there is too much for her, and she retreats back to the comfortable shallows.

Khalylai saw: A deep sensation of unseeable eyes following you accompany your journey to the edge...and then stops. No more eyes. No nothing.

"Yes, I am," Meerak agrees to Micail, "but -- you really are. Wrong, I mean. You're wrong." He watches the exchange between Micail and egg with a twitch of a very bland look. No dare to touch To Feed the Hunger from Cheyanna, who left to abandon him to it, but still -- he turns to eye this egg, and tentatively to lay light fingers on its curving side.

Xayna closes her eyes and enjoys the feeling, caressing the egg for a couple moments, before reluctantly pulling away again. Her expression is more serene and with more confidence as she stands up and bows to Cadgwith. "Thank you for letting us touch your precious eggs." A wide smile to Pyrene and she makes her way carefully out of the throng of eggs towards the edge of the sands, now feeling the heat and lifting her feet quickly.

Meerak saw: Colours blaze around you, vibrant and clashing. Loud it is, but peculiarly deceitful, smothering you with its blare, battering down defences while something else entirely laps greedily at your mind. Stay a little longer.....

Micail tilts his head just a little bit, and nods, pulling away after just a moment more of touching. "It'll be soon, I hope." Sooner than later, anyway. Hopefully. He does shake his head then, before he shuffles away from the eggs, the back of his arm wiping sweat from his forehead. He doesn't look too pleased though, despite the experience, locking an irritated look on Meerak. Hmph.

Pyrene sniffs at the general reaction. "I think you'd all better take a break. You're starting to unsettle the eggs," she snaps peevishly. Or rather, they're not prostrating themselves in adulation as Pyrene considers appropriate. "Come on, scoot! Let Cadge get some sleep." Because it's not like the clutchmother has ample opportunity for that...

Airam sighs sadly and lets his hand fall away from the egg and into the sand. He's done here, just wishes he could reassure the thing inside that he'll come back soon. He stands and turns to face Cadgwith and repeats the respectful nod he made when he first arrived. "Nice clutch," He comments politely and moves away to join the others on the edges of the mound of eggs.

Meerak pulls from this last as quickly as he did the first, startling away with a surprised yelp only half-bitten back behind his teeth. He more than moves away, he moves out! It's not quite a retreat, but it is certainly a withdrawal. "I gotta-- there's a thing," he explains, dipping his head to rider and dragon. "Right, a break!" Feet patter lightly over the hot sand, withdrawing to put Xayna and Cheyanna and others between him and the eggs.

Oh. /They're/ unsettling the /eggs/? Cheyanna just stares at Pyrene.

Cadgwith is less irritable, her head hangs low over the exit to the Sands as the candidates file out, tongue darting happily at the air above their heads. Thank-you! Come again!

Cheyanna also says to Meerak, "I /told/ you so!"

"I know! Sorry!" Meerak calls over his shoulder, still retre--/withdrawing/.

With no more kibbitzing to be done, Sao goes. Maybe to get Pyrene icewater, maybe not!

Xayna turns and laughs at Pyrene. Though she doesn't say anything, she makes her way off the sands as told, in happier spirits then when she first stepped onto the sands. It will make setting up the bowl for the games a lot easier.

Airam waves goodbye to Pyrene and follows Xayna off the sands. Now that he's away from the eggs, some concerns have popped back up. He's /hungry/.

Khalylai files out with the others, peeking a glance up at Cadge. She wonders aloud before leaving- "How'd -you- make -them-?" Cadge is too sweet for all this darkness.

Cadgwith blames Ghraith.

Cheyanna is in a dignified retreat. She is not fleeing. She is... moving hastily. Away. Coincidentally. She makes it to the exit and slips through.

Micail hurries off the sands with a quiet little giggle to himself. That's right. There's a giggle. Maybe for the way some of the others are fleeing. Or as they say, 'withdrawing'.

Still Searching

2006-11-02T02:11:45Z

Py runs into Nissa again, and this time she Searches her. Only she's really rather nasty to her first. A wee bit of newly arrived candidate Micail at the end.

I find I'm enjoying retired-Py far more than I should. *smirk*

Living Caverns

And on Pern ...
The time is 09:34.
It is midmorning of the thirty-second day of spring.
It is the first Turn of the Tenth Interval.
It is a spring midmorning.

Pyrene is sitting by the bowl entrance, enjoying the light draft blowing
through the canvas. Even more than this, she is enjoying a glass of
iced redfruit. There is a certain time of a woman's life where she does
not appreciate being stuck on hot sands day in, day out.

"Why do /I/ have to?" Nissa is whining to an older woman who looks much
like her as they come together from the inner caverns. "Because they're
short-handed, and you can't just stay in the laundry, Nissa," the other
woman replies wearily, and pushes the girl towards the kitchen. "You
do!" Nissa retorts, but goes where she's sent; reappearing a few moments
later with a heavy tray and a sulky expression.

Pyrene glances up at the minor commotion by the entrance to the lower
caverns. Spying Nissa with another tray, she smirks. "We /are/ getting
desperate, aren't we?" she opines, loud enough to be heard clear across
the cavern.

And heard she is - Nissa's face goes bright red, and she seems about to
retreat to the kitchen. But one of the regular kitchen workers gives her
a stern look, and Nissa makes her way - slowly - towards Pyrene,
stopping at each table to place a jumble of cutlery. She eventually
reaches the golrider's table, and sets the tray down without looking at
Pyrene; her blush has thankfully faded at this point.

Pyrene glances at the tray and then across the tables. "Are you setting
them out properly? Knives on the left, forks on the right, smallest on
the outside?" she asks helpfully. And then, by way of ostentatious
encouragement, she adds: "You're carrying that tray very nicely though."
[OOC:] Pyrene says "And, ironically, I've mixed the knives and forks up
in that pose..."

"No'm." Nissa doggedly doesn't look at Pyrene. "No-one said I had to do
that, just to put the cutlery on the table, that was all." The rest
might've been implied, but Nissa wouldn't know about that sort of thing.
She glances around to see if anyone can help her out, but the kitchen
staff are busy elsewhere.

Pyrene rolls her eyes (the girl's not looking at her, so why bother
keeping her expression neutral?). "Where were you brought up? I'll
have to speak to Marond about getting somebody to train you properly.
If you want to be a serving girl, you have to know these things." She
sips at her juice, studying the bundle of cutlery with an exaggerated
air of resignation.

"I /don't/ want to be a serving girl," Nissa replies irritably.
"Everyone keeps getting me to do it even though I don't want to. And we
never had more'n one fork each at home, so I don't know how to set lots
of them out!" She doesn't care who she's talking to any more - though
she still doesn't meet Pyrene's eye as she bangs the cutlery down into
place-settings as suggested.

Pyrene sniffs. "Watch your tone, young lady. You have to earn your
keep, and that means doing things we don't want to do. When /I/ was
your age, I was doing childcare. Serving tables is an easy ride, trust
me. And don't bang them down like that. You'll scratch the tables."
Although one would be hard put to notice it amidst all the other turns
of scratches.

"Sorry," Nissa mumbles, driven meek and mild again by Pyrene's scolding,
though her scowl doesn't completely disappear. She places the cutlery a
bit more neatly on the table, but still comments, "I'd rather stay in
the laundry. And I really don't want to look after smelly babies."

Pyrene furrows her brow. She understands the smelly babies sentiment,
as it matches hers. But the bit before that? "Why in the world would
you rather stay in the laundry?" she demands. "Getting rid of dodgy
stains in bedding. Having to handle everybody's underwear--great
Faranth, /Marond's/ underwear..." It just doesn't bear thinking about.
"The only thing laundry's got going for it is the gossip, and that
won't hold you out. Trust me, I've done just about every menial job
there is to do in this Weyr, and laundry is way down the list of
desirables." Listen to her voice of experience. The advice isn't
always good, but it keeps her happy.

"Well, I did all the mee... meni... housework at home, and I like
laundry. I like ironing, and I like everything smelling clean," Nissa
explains, straightening a last spoon in its place, and then picking up
her tray. Something Pyrene said strikes her and she tilts her head to
look at the woman: "You're a goldrider, why would you have done all the
menial jobs?"

Pyrene was watching Nissa speculatively, but when the girl finally turns
to look at her, she again rolls her eyes. She even shakes her head a
little. "We weren't /born/ Impressed, you know," she tells her, in a
duly withering tone. "I had to earn my keep before Cadgwith was
clutched, and candidates are expected to get to know the Weyr's workings
from the bottom up. Personally, I find that laundry lacks stimulation.
My mind's too active, you see," and her smile becomes saccharinely
sweet. "I get bored just doing something so repetitive. /I'm/," (oh,
the careful emphasis on that pronoun!) "far better suited to more
demanding tasks."

"Oh, I see." Nissa doesn't have much of a response for Pyrene on this;
she turns away without another word and starts to arrange the cutlery on
the nearest table instead.

Pyrene scowls at Nissa's back, suddenly looking very irked about
something. "And that's exactly why you'll never amount to anything,"
she calls after her, spitefully. "Get me some more juice, while you're
here."

"Why do I have to amount to anything?" Nissa asks, turning back to scowl
some more at the goldrider. "You people will always need someone to do
your laundry and to wait on you hand and foot. Might as well be someone
like me." And with that summation of the socio-economic state of Pernese
feudal society, she trots off across the cavern, banging her tray
rhythmically against one hip as she walks.

Pyrene smiles, just as swiftly self-satisfied. She likes getting a rise
out of people. "I'm treating you like dirt, and you're happy with
that?" she calls after her. "You make a fuss about having to do the
job, you're sulky--but you'd eat firestone ash if I slung it at you."

Nissa slogs her way back across the cavern, having lost the tray but
gained an expensive glass pitcher of redfruit juice. She bangs the
pitcher onto the table in front of Pyrene, sets both hands on her hips
and glares. "I'm here and I have to work so I can eat and have clothes
to wear and somewhere to sleep. I might not like this job, but I'll do
it anyway because I have to, else I don't eat. Doesn't mean I have to
enjoy it. Nobody's paying me to enjoy it." Although her usual accent is
neutral, hints of a rather uncultured Telgar plains accent is starting
to creep in.

"Stand," Pyrene tells her without expansion. And because she does
actually want the juice, she pours it herself instead of needling Nissa
about it.

"Stand? What do you mean, stand? I am standing." Nissa looks bewildered
now, and defiant - she's probably expecting a (further) scolding.

"For the eggs. It means be a candidate," Pyrene says calmly. "Look,
the other sevenday, you served me meek as a mouse, but as soon as that
wino tried it on, you slapped him down." Poor, slandered Pinvine.
"You've got a backbone, but you'd rather not use it. But I'll tell you
now, that after a few turns in the laundry you'll be unhappy with your
life but you won't be bothered to change it. At least as a candidate
you'll see what else the Weyr has to offer. Might even Impress, if
you're lucky."

Nissa is baffled and bewildered and other such words beginning with B.
(Bemused?) "Be a candidate for the eggs, for Cadgwith's eggs, me?" Her
hands drop from her hips and she clamps them defensively around her
elbows instead. "You think I could be a good candidate?"

Pyrene sips her drink again. "To be honest, I think you'll make a
terrible candidate. I doubt you'd be able to carry that jug across the
bowl without spilling half of it. But you might well make a good rider,
and you'll definitely benefit from being a candidate. And anybody with
a backbone and half a brain should Stand at least once."

The muscles in Nissa's face twitch and the tips of her ears flame
scarlet, but she manages to keep her expression relatively calm and
friendly and interested. "Then I accept."

Pyrene drains the rest of her juice. "Right, well I'll show you the
barracks before getting back to the eggs then. This way!" Standing and
grabbing her cane, she strides off.

You survived! Escaping through the heavy canvas curtain you arrive here...

Candidate Barracks
Serviceable, this low-ceiling'd room runs right and left from the heavy
canvas curtains that function as a door: relatively bare of
ornamentation, tidy glows light the few worn tapestries that adorn the
walls and depict a variety of dragons in flight or at rest. But it is
the cots, lots and lots of cots, that distinguish this room from the
others, their blue or black coverlets tucked neatly over relatively
fresh rushes.
Candidate's haven, this is their escape from the bustling world of
chores and Weyr; visitors are welcome if invited.
Perched on a few empty cots are two firelizards.
You see Name Board, Cheyanna's Cot, Xayna's Cot, Micail's Cot, and
Khalylai's Little Shop of Horrors here.
You notice Xayna and Khalylai asleep here.
Micail is here.
Obvious exits:
Caverns

Nissa escapes in from the bustling activity of caverns and Weyr.

Pyrene sends a drudge running for a cot. After a few minutes the drudge
returns dragging a big heavy cot for Nissa.

Nissa follows Pyrene meekly, but stops in the doorway to look curiously
around the barracks.

Pyrene waves cheerfully. "Here you are. Plenty of cots to choose from,
we aren't likely to fill the room this clutch." She gestures vaguely at
Micail, uncertain of which one he is having seen lists so far rather
than faces. "The lad here can probably give you a few tips."

"Aunty Vi's going to have kittens," Nissa remarks, mostly to herself, as
she advances into the room and claims a cot by sitting on it. "Do I
bring my belongings in here, then?" she asks Pyrene, standing back up to
face the goldrider boldly.

Pyrene nods at Nissa. "Bring anything you like in, as long as it fits
in or under your cot, or in the chest at the foot. And as long as it's
nothing against the rules. No alcohol, no sex and no animals other than
fire lizards." And the last only because nobody's figured out how to
stop them, most likely.

Micail can? Really? The baker-turned-candidate looks up quickly from
rummaging in his own things. He can't /find/ a shoe. "Uhm.." There isn't
anyone else that could be the 'lad' though! "Keep..your shoes where you
can see them?" All hail the master of /tips!/ He blushes a little bit at
his own lack of knowledge about things before ducking his head to look
under his cot.

"Yes'm," Nissa answers to Pyrene, and then gives Micail a nod, replying
in all seriousness, "I'll try and do that. Wouldn't want to lose my shoes."

Pyrene leaves these two bright young things to it, although it can be
noticed that she is shaking her head as she leaves.

Pyrene goes home.

Micail has apparantly been completely abandoned by the missing
shoe. Le sigh. He gets back up again in order to /flop/ on his cot, then
just peeks at Nissa once Pyrene leaves. "Oh..um..I'm Micail." Hurrah for
introductions. He sits up though after a moment so he can lean forward,
voice lowering. The walls have /ears/ you know. "So..um..who was that?"
Alas, he knows no names of people yet!

Searching Cheyanna and Xayna

2006-10-31T01:54:30Z

Log from today, as we kick off the candidate collecting. I brought Kadi into the scene to use, but Siannen logged on just then and agreed to emit her for the rest of it. Also featuring Mailli, on a visit to peek at the eggs.

Mailli
Mailli stands roughly five foot in height. What was once a flaming crown
of red hair has faded some over time. Emerald green eyes that sparkle
with curiousity sit in a roughly oval face. Mailli's complexion has
darkened considerably in the Turns she's been with the Dolphincraft.
She is dressed in a single midcalf length skirt, which is worn over her
wetsuit. Skirt and Wetsuit are in the Dolphinhall colors with silver
dolphins leaping about the hems and cuffs. A bronze firelizard is
perched on her shoulder.
Charms indicating Rank and Hall are worn around the ankle in place of a
knot. She is wearing a gold chain Dolphincraft bracelet with the
Cartography, Master, and Craftmaster charms.
She is an adult of about 38. She is awake, but seems rather distracted.

Cheyanna
All this young woman's efforts at beauty are doomed to end somewhere
around tolerable, but she clearly puts a great deal of effort into
achieving that personal high. Her dirty blond hair is cropped close to
her head in a pale covering of peach fuzz, which does a bit to make her
too-small blue eyes seem larger. They are set back a bit into her head,
lacking definition despite the kohl carefully applied each morning to
try and bring them out. An overlarge nose dominates her face, crooked
from a break somewhere in her past. Her thin lips disappear against
skin that would be pale if it weren't for the constant veneer of sunburn
that lends it color.
Standing just above average height, she has a body toned by exercise,
with broad shoulders and sturdy biceps. She has curves, but they are
blunted by the solidity of her frame, and a casual observer would be
forgiven for at first thinking her a young man instead of a woman. She
moves with a grace born of an intimate knowledge of her body's abilities.
Cheyanna's outfit clearly marks her as a guard to those in the know at
High Reaches. Her shirt short-sleeved linen, dyed royal blue, and fits
well despite its standard, untailored cut. She looks fairly imposing in
just it and her black pants, with a black and silver badge on her
shoulder that denotes her rank as guardsman.
Her knot is the simple knot of a High Reaches Weyr Guard.
She is a young adult of about 22. She is awake, but seems rather distracted.

Mailli chuckles softly as she shakes her head, more out of amusement
than in negation, "I'm not actually sure who I'm supposed to be talking
with. Casiys came up this way some time back, and I was just wanting to
touch base with him if he's round about?" and maybe Cheyanna doesn't
even know Casiys, still the question is out and Mailli can do nothing
but wait for an answer.

"Who?" Cheyanna says, settling the question of whether she knows him, at
least. She looks a bit lost. "Is he a rider?" Hints! With enough of
them, she can figure out the puzzle.

Pyrene is crossing the bowl from the northern end, the living caverns
her clear destination, but she pauses by Cheyanna and Mailli with
interest. Not for the guard, of course--she's a daily sight and one who
rates a mere nod--but Mailli gets an appraising glance, followed by
raised eyebrows when she spots the charms at the ankle. "Now we don't
normally see you detaining dolphincrafters," she observes to Cheyanna.
"Let alone ranking ones." She winks at Mailli and helpfully answers her
question. "No idea where Casiys is, although he's probably with Areiah
which /could/ mean just about anywhere on Pern if they took a mind to it."

Mailli laughs as she shakes her head, "Dolphineer, came up to teach
classes some time back. Guess he decided he liked it here because no one
back at the hall has seen him since," Mailli continues to chuckle softly
at the image of Casiys on a dragon. Somehow that is just not what she
would have ever pictured the master as being willing to try for. Mailli
nods at Pyrene's answer, "Thank you," and a pause as she stops to try
and remember the name that goes with the dragon, "Pyrene," yes, that's
it. She has it in her notes, alas her notes are not with her.

"What?" Cheyanna's response to Pyrene's arrival is so intelligent. Her
head whips around to stare at the goldrider, then back at Mailli,
blinking in confusion at her shoulder, which is still knotless. She
just lets it go, opting instead for the safety of an apology. "I'm
sorry, ma'am. I didn't realize, ma'am." Her cheeks are flushed again,
and her hands twine behind her back.

Pyrene inclines her head in blithe greeting. "You have the advantage of
me, dolphineer." Pyrene can't even remember which charms go for which
ranking, hence the safely generic title. "But I can tell you that the
ignorant guard here is Cheyanna." Never let it be said that Pyrene is
afraid of offending 'the staff'. "Is there anything we can help you with?"

Mailli chuckles softly as she winks at Cheyanna and points to her ankle,
"We wear charms, most dolphincrafters wear theirs round their wrists.
Mine just kept falling off, so I had to put it round my ankle," she
explains, though her hand does slip up to the charm worn round her neck
on a silver chain, "The charms mean different things according to what
the rank and specialty is," she then explains. Pyrene is given a smile
as Mailli inclines her head and declines to elaborate further on the
charms, "Well, I had hoped to speak with Cas, and I'd wanted to pay
respects to Cadgwith. I hear she's recently clutched," another broad
smile for the weyrwoman, and a nod to Cheyanna, "Well, tis to be
expected, I don't imagine many dolphincrafters make their way up to
these parts?"

Cheyanna flushes darker, but doesn't dare to protest this label. For an
instant, her chin ducks, but she wrestles back that urge, jerking it up
and unclasping her hands to stand at a hyper-formal attention. "Yes'm,"
she says to Mailli, and "No'm," to the last query. Her cheeks are still
burning, but her eyes focus on an invisible point in the air between the
two older women.

Pyrene smiles even more broadly back. She's not at the
sick-to-death-of-sand stage yet. "Do go and look at the clutch while
you're here," she tells the woman, waving north. "Cadgwith always loves
to see her brood being admired, and she's finally got them all arranged
to her satisfaction. And feel free to put a good word for your hall in
to one of the wingleaders if you see them. They're all vying for
candidates now--well, most of them." She wrinkles her nose as a brown
descends to the bowl, letting a woman dismount.

Mailli shakes her head as she looks at Cheyanna, "I'm just Mailli of
Dolphincraft," ah, more reason for her reluctance to be in the ranking
catagory of her craft. A nod is given to Pyrene as Mailli looks towards
the sands, "Most mothers are like that," she comments softly, "Well,
could I get you to walk with me, Cheyanna?" might as well ask, after all
she doesn't get up this way too often herself, "I can think of at least
one apprentice that wouldn't mind the chance to stand," is given to
Pyrene before Mailli heads off in the general direction of the sands. Of
course after a step or two she pauses and looks back to the guard. She
can find her way of course, but it's just never seemed polite to trapse
round a Weyr without someone that lives there at least pretending to
play guide.

"Of course, ma'am," Cheyanna answers, giving a brief glance to the
descending brown and then moving after Mailli towards the sands. She
relaxes a little (it is necessary for motion, really), but is still
sticking to her 'ma'ams'.

"Why don't I join you?" Pyrene decides abruptly. This is odd, as she
was clearly heading towards the living caverns, but one might notice
that going in that direction would take her past the brownrider. Of
course, things are never that easy, and as the weyrwoman follows the
others to the Sands, the brownrider follows /them/.

Northern Bowl

Mailli nods at Pyrene's offer to accompany them, "Cameron is hoping very
much to see dragons a bit closer," she comments, no, she isn't hinting
at anything. She's rather fond of the apprentices of her craft and would
rather not see them Searched. Still, she's seen enough of the boy to
know that he'll come to the weyr himself if needs be. Mailli pauses as
she looks round and smiles as she shakes her head, "My sister once
thought I should try for Impressing. Never thought much of it really,
rather enjoy working with dolphins."

Sand's Edge

Cheyanna just follows along in stoic silence. Just what she needed:
third wheel in a conversation between a weyrwoman and someone highly
ranked in a furriner craft. She trudges dutifully, trying to keep her
overwhelming desire to be Anywhere Else off her face. With... marginal
success.

Pyrene casts a look behind her and winces as the brownrider is clearly
catching up with them. She increases her own pace as much as she dares,
but smiles politely enough at Mailli. "Well, obviously the bond with a
dragon is unique. Any rider, once Impressed, can't imagine life without
their dragon. But it is good to hear that young people are still
interested in riding--the interval has meant a change in priorities for
some of the career-minded ones." Cheyanna, incidentally, is in no way
dismissed. Pyrene might need protection when the brownrider catches them.

Mailli nods, "That's one place I can certainly agree with you," she
comments as she makes her way towards the galleries. The brown rider is
not mentioned as clearly, Pyrene is trying to avoid said rider, "I only
hope that coming generations remember all that dragonkind and their
riders have done for us," and up the stairs she goes. Sorry, she's too
short and slender to be a good shield for anyone to hide behind. Well,
maybe really young children?

Galleries

Cheyanna is the muscle, alas. At least she's used to it. She takes up
an attentive stance as they climb into the galleries, letting her eyes
flicker out over the eggs again.

Mailli leans on the rail as she looks out over the sands and sighs.
Never a sight Mailli gets tired of, one would almost think she were a
rider herself if not for the charms hung round her ankle, "Splendid
clutch," she calls out to Cadgwith, not certain the gold can hear her.
Still it is something she does when she comes to gawk at a gold's eggs,
"Really, it is a splendid clutch," she then says to Pyrene as she turns
to face goldrider and guard. The cold outside is contrasted by the heat
inside the hatching cavern, which makes Mailli very glad she isn't in
the colder areas of Pern. For a Bitran, this crafter is most unBitran
like in much of her attitudes.

Pyrene seats herself with due care that Cheyanna is between her and the
stairs. "Hello, love," she calls to Cadge, who is proudly curled around
her brood and all but salivating over Come Reap Harvest Moon which has
its own special sandbank. Ghraith hovers behind her, both possessive
and posturing. "Thanks," the rider tells Mailli. "Twelve's a wonderful
number in interval." It's then that brownrider comes up the stairs and
stands glowering on the tier above them. "Pyrene, I understand that you
have a bias towards your own clutch, but surely you see that it's insane
to Search outside the Weyr for a mere dozen eggs!"

Cheyanna stifles a sigh and settles into firm attention again. This
conversation is one she really could have done without. Bland,
invisible -- she is the good guard today, right?

Mailli does her best to blend into the background, unfortunately,
Pyrene's thank-you requires an answer, "You're welcome," the brownrider
is given a look, though not of disdain, "And why is that?" she finally
decides to ask. Well, if she's going to play good crafter she probably
shouldn't have asked. However, she has at least one apprentice that she
knows of that would love to have a chance to Impress. Probably more if
she were to ask outright.

Pyrene grimaces. "Kadi, I agree with you, really I do, but I can't
repeal the decision. It's been voted on already. Now," desperately
trying to change the conversation. "This is Mailli, from dolphincraft."
Hint hint. Diplomacy, please?

Cheyanna blends in with the background. Blend blend blend. Kadi
frightens her. For that matter, so does Pyrene. Silence is the best
option. Invisibility would be better, but Cheyanna hasn't mastered that
trick yet.

Unfortunately for Pyrene, Kadi is either dense, or simply does not care.
Rather than defend her answer (or acknowledge Mailli), she chooses
another tactic: narrow-eyed, she turns and snaps at Cheyanna. "You,
weyrguard -- would /you/ have them Search outside the weyr for a paltry
twelve eggs?" She also does not care to flatter Pyrene.

Mailli remains silent, perhaps that is the best thing just now. Mailli
turns back to look at the eggs and let Pyrene deal with the rider.
Cheyanna freezes. "Uh." Intelligent start. She rallies moderately
well, however. "With all due respect, Wingleader, I'm just a guard. I
don't really understand things like politics. I couldn't really give a
real answer based on... uh, reality."

Pyrene winces. The one wingleader who does not see the point in
buttering up the crafts and holds who tithe to them. Hastily, she
reverts to damage control. "My apologies," she murmurs to Mailli. "Her
opinions do not reflect those of the majority of the Weyr--the rest of
us are only too delighted to work as closely as we can with the crafts
and holds beholden to us." It's all in the phrasing. "Kadi, why not
turn the situation to your advantage? While the other riders are out
hunting high and low for riders, your wing can pick from our young
weyrbred. Eligible weyrfolk are practically crawling out the walls....
How old are you again, Cheyanna?"

"Uh, 22, ma'am?" Cheyanna answers that. "But just by a few sevendays."
Aw. Someone had a birthday! He eyes flick back and forth between
Kadi and Pyrene, hunted.

Mailli nods, "Nothing to forgive," she's actually seen this kind of
attitude within her own craft, and far too recently to be sure, "And
that really is a splendid idea, Kadi," though what does a mere crafter
know of weyr politics anyway? Except that hopefully the support of
someone from outside said weyr will help to difuse the situation? Though
with Mailli's luck, that isn't likely to be the case.

Xayna comes up the stairs.

'Advantage' has a certain satisfying ring to it, and Kadi folds her arms
across her chest and continues to eye Cheyanna. "Twenty two is still
within Searchable age," she muses rather pointedly.

Cheyanna says absolutely nothing. Statue of a guard. A guard at
attention. That is Cheyanna.

Pyrene doesn't actually like Cheyanna that much, but anything to get
Kadi off her back. "Ista Searched her before too--she's in demand," she
adds. Happy turnday, Cheyanna. You've been promoted to sacrificial
lamb. Spying Xayna, she waves the journeyman over. "This is Xayna,
Mailli," she tells the dolphineer. "One of our herders in residence."
See, the weyr /loves/ crafters. Just ignore the sulky brownrider behind
them.

Xayna comes up the stairs to get a good look at the new eggs. Upon
seeing a group of people already in the galleries, she hangs back and
leans against the wall nearest the stairs. Not able to stay there long,
having apparently been called into the group, moves slowly towards
Pyrene. Giving the others a smile and a nod, her hands clasped in front
of her. For now, she'll stay silent until she know what is going on.

Kadi takes a step toward Cheyanna, looming over the guard as she nears.
"Is that /so/, Pyrene?" she asks over her shoulder before turning back
to Chey. "How would you feel, standing for this," she ephasizes the last
word with a sweep of her hand toward the eggs, "hmm?"

Cheyanna just flinches briefly, tensely. "Yes'm," is her only response,
however. Her eyes flick to Xayna. Distract them! Set fire to
something! I'll come back for you! (...probably.)
Cheyanna tries for safety. "Uh. Very proud, ma'am?"

Mailli eyes Xayna warily, nothing personal really. Mailli just has a
thing about herders is all. Probably, Mailli would have chatted quite
happily with said herder if her craft had never been mentioned. However
there is no polite way of edging away from Xayna, "Well met," is
grudgingly offered instead. Fortunately, Mailli is rescued from saying
more by the appearance of the rider that had dropped her off earlier,
"Craftmaster, have you spoken with Master Casiys?" the rider is shot a
look as Mailli shakes her head, "No, and I doubt I will today, time to
leave already?" was that a hint of relief?

Pyrene grimaces as Mailli leaves. That didn't look good. Not wanting
to get involved with the Cheyanna-Kadi interaction (Cheyanna can flatter
the clutch all she likes; Pyrene ain't rescuing her), she nudges over to
Xayna. "Just keep your head down. Kadi's off on one again," she
murmurs. "But I think I've distracted her for now."

Xayna doesn't seem surprised at Mailli's look at her. "Good day." She
replies and gives a respectful nod before giving a smile to Cheyanna,
but doesn't seem to get what the look is for. A wave to Mailli as she
heads out and her eyes return to the others. As Pyrene comes closer,
and the soft comment, a nod is given. "So she's off on her opinions
again?" Meaning she could be making trouble, probably. "What is it
this time?" She's pretending to know more then she really does.

"Good," Kadi decides finally, relaxing her stance somewhat. "In form
your captain," she says with the surety of someone who doesn't care if
she actually has the rank right or not, "that you are Standing for
Cadgwith's clutch."

"Oh, the decision to Search outside the Weyr for the clutch--she's got a
point. Weyrfolk would make an ample candidate pool for a dozen eggs,
but, on the other hand, it is traditional to Search Pern over when
there's a gold egg on the Sands." Pyrene gives a hasty summary and her
own opinion in a whisper. "I've suggested that she focus on asking
weyrfolk to Stand instead. Wingleaders always get a bit precious about
whose wing brings in the most candidates." Dealing with wingleaders,
rule 1: appeal to their sense of competition. "Oh, congratulations,
Cheyanna!" she tacks on with the brightest of false smiles.

Cheyanna weeps on the inside. On the outside, she just salutes.
"Yes'm," she says. She clings to desperate home. "Uh... does that mean
I'm dismissed, ma'am?"

"Yes," Kadi decides, then changes her mind. "No. Follow me." The
wingleader turns on her heel, and makes her way down the gallery stairs.

"Ah." Is all Xayna says for the moment. "Good luck Cheyanna!" She
calls out to the guard she's met a couple of times and then returns her
attention to Pyrene. "Well, if riders hadn't Searched outside the weyr
two turns ago I probably wouldn't be living here." A wink and then a
clearing of the throat. "I heard rumors but there is definately gold
egg?" A slight look of interest but her expression is more of
contemplation. "That changes my color ratio theory.." She mutters softly.

"Yes'm," Chey says, trying to beat down her dejection. She follows
behind obediently.

Pyrene breathes a sigh of relief, and pantomimes wiping sweat from her
brow to Xayna. At the herder's question she nods proudly, leaning
forward to point out Come Reap Harvest Moon Egg. "The one on the mound
nearest Cadge--see it's quite a bright gold colour compared to the
others." Smiling, she looks at Xayna, suddenly contemplative. "It was
one of Nissionath's clutches that you stood for, wasn't it?"

Cheyanna goes out.

Xayna can't help but give a little chuckle at Pyrene's relief that Kadi
is gone, for the moment at least. Her eyes follow Pyrene's finger to
look over Come Reap Harvest Moon Egg. "I see, it is definately more
golden." A hum and she thinks a moment before turning her eyes back to
the older woman and nods. "Yes, I believe it was. At least I remember
Vaeli on the sands the day of the hatching." A slight look of
disappointment crosses her face as she remembers that day, then shakes
her head to get rid of it. "It was a good experience and since then I
have loved living here. This past winter I actually got used to all the
snow."

Pyrene nods, and surveys the sands speculatively. Cadgwith raises her
head and gives her rider a knowing croon, prompting Pyrene to chuckle.
"Xayna... did you ever figure out what you wanted to do now that you've
made journeywoman," Pyrene asks casually. For, no particular reason.
Just smalltalk. Yeah, right.

Xayna looks back over the sands again, counting out something on her
fingers. She even ignores Cadgwith's croon but shrugs at Pyrene's
question. "Not really." A moment more of counting before she stops
looking at the eggs. "I am taking up drawing as a hobby, though I
rather like working in the garden as well. I figured I still keep up
with the hall as to what is going on with the hunting felines, but other
than that I'm still exploring my options." In more ways than one,
obvious from the blush appearing across her cheeks.

"There's twelve," Pyrene reminds her helpfully. She takes note of the
blush, and frowns slightly before shrugging her shoulders. "Would you
be interested in Standing again? Candidacy would be a bit like a return
to apprenticehood, so I'll understand if you'd rather not, but it's only
for a few months. And I like to think the potential rewards are worth
it." This time, there's a snort from ClutchMum.

Xayna shakes her head. "I was refiguring my theory of how of which
colors there are." Commented with a smile. Her smiles fades with the
next question, her expression mixed with interest and her conflicting
emotions. "Well..." She bites her lip and looks back over the eggs for
a moment. "I would love the chance to stand again..." The thought of
being unable to be with a guy again or not have a drink for possibly a
long while weighs heavily.

Pyrene makes a mental note that people are not as enthusiastic as they
should be about the honour of standing for /Cadge's/ clutch. "You don't
/have/ to," she notes, trying to sound like she won't be at all
offended. "It's just another option." And one that not everybody gets,
not that Pyrene would dream of pressuring her.

Xayna lets out a long sigh and hangs her head. Closing her eyes, she
takes her time to gather herself and figure out what she is feeling.
Only a few moments later she looks up and smiles. "It doesn't hurt to
stand, right? Though I can't promise I /won't/ have a drink here or
there. Especially if everyone else is having a party of some sort."

Pyrene shakes her head. "You can promise and you will. The rules are
there for a reason--you don't want your sense to be befuddled during the
Hatching, it'll confuse the dragonets. And you can't drink during
weyrlinghood for the same reason, so candidacy's the perfect time to
practice." She gets up briskly, not giving Xayna chance to change her
mind. "Come on, let's get you a cot in the barracks."

Candidate Barracks
Serviceable, this low-ceiling'd room runs right and left from the heavy
canvas curtains that function as a door: relatively bare of
ornamentation, tidy glows light the few worn tapestries that adorn the
walls and depict a variety of dragons in flight or at rest. But it is
the cots, lots and lots of cots, that distinguish this room from the
others, their blue or black coverlets tucked neatly over relatively
fresh rushes.
Candidate's haven, this is their escape from the bustling world of
chores and Weyr; visitors are welcome if invited.

Xayna escapes in from the bustling activity of caverns and Weyr.

Pyrene sends a drudge running for a cot. After a few minutes the drudge
returns dragging a big heavy cot for Xayna.

Pyrene waves to Cheyanna. "Brought you some company. Figured Kadi
could cope with a crafter who already lives at the Weyr." She nudges
Xayna forward. "You know the ropes, of course, Xayna."

Xayna follows Pyrene into the candidate barracks. A slight smile and
nod is given to Cheyanna before she finds a cot to sit on. "Yes
Pyrene." She can't say much else due to the mixture of emotions,
evident by her furrowed eyebrows.

Pyrene nods. "Well, I'll leave you to it, then!" And she withdraws
discreetly so they may grieve for their lost freedom in private.

cadge @ 2006-10-30T15:09:00

2006-10-30T20:12:48Z

Cadgwith has her 3rd PC clutch. Since these events are no longer on-camera (huzzah!) the RP consisted of a feast in the LC. I arrived late because Vaeli and I were wrestling with the egg-object, which wasn't working the way it was supposed to. No, really. Ahem. Anyway, a quick sleepy bit of RP with Iliad and Xayna.

And on Pern ...
The time is 19:39.
It is evening of the twentieth day of spring.
It is the first Turn of the Tenth Interval.
It is a spring evening.

Living Caverns

Xayna nods as she listens, her foot off the floor idly kicking back and forth. Her expression is one of understanding. "Yes, I know about that, what little there was back at the hall. It is a good idea if it can be worked out. You might get into problems if you two have different ideas on rules and discipline." Another sip. "I'm sorry, I'm starting to sound like a mother. Feel free to tell me to shut up." Soft chuckle and another drink. A look up at a passing drudge gives her a glimpse of the fresh food being placed out on the food table. "Ah, the feast has begun. You hungry?" Her eyes now back on Iliad and a happier look on her face.

Pyrene enters, wrinkling her nose appreciatively at the smells wafting from the platters being laid out. "Oh, feed me now, please!" she half-croons. Generally speaking, she's looking rather glowy and contented with life, and she settles in at an available spot by Iliad and Xayna with the happy rudeness of somebody who believes in the kindess and tolerance of their fellow man.

"Not really," Iliad shakes his head, grimacing at the mention of food. "I had this--shardit, I don't even /know/ what. Something. Whatever it was, it made my stomach a little topsy turvy. I think it was undercooked." Shrugging it off, Iliad slouches on his seat as he takes another long sip from his mug. "You haven't seen like, Shazi or Tian or--an--Hi Pyrene." Makeshift mommy. Whee. "Congrats, by the way. Good clutch." From what Iliad's heard, anyway.

Xayna furrows her eyebrows and looks worried, but then brightens up as Pyrene sits down. "Well, I'm sorry you aren't hungry. Would you like me to see if I get some of the broth from some stew? You need to eat to keep your strength up, unless you want to be sick again." She rolls her eyes and shakes her head again, muttering something about mothering again, and turns her attention to Pyrene. "Evening Pyrene. Yes, it sounds like it will be a good clutch." A sip of her beer before she sets it down and pushes her chair out, then stands. "I'm going to go get some of that delicious looking food. Would you like anything in particular?" The server with the drinks comes back to this section of tables to refill drinks or give out new ones.

"A good clutch for an interval," Pyrene agrees, smugness impinging on her affected nonchalance. "12 eggs including a gold, of all things. I told Cadge she must be having her own mid-life crisis. She's happy though. So're Ghraith and J'lal, but this is all new to them." She has yet to be convinced that she really wants to spend the next few weeks in hot sweaty company with the bronzerider.
Pyrene also puts in an order for "a plate of anything so long as it's filling."

"Naw, I'm alright. I'm not actually returning to work for a couple more days, so I'm good till then," Iliad grins, patting his stomach twice. "Thanks though." Iliad's mug is then eyed and pulled back towards him for another long sip. Pyrene's words cause a crooked grin to form on the young man's face, a snort through his nose to follow. "Didn't think I ever remembered J'lal on the sands, ever. Is it really his first?"

Pyrene's brow furrows. "Come to think of it, I never did look back through the Hatching records to check that." She could, of course, have just asked him... "I certainly don't recall him siring one before. And I'd have remembered if Ghraith caught Cadge..." An obscene smirk flickers across her face, but it is quickly stifled. "Not like Nylanth who has sired his fair share of clutches and then some. Good rider, good dragon. Usually how it works. You should be proud of your father."

"'course I am," Iliad says smugly, puffing out his chest some. Or maybe he's just stretching. "Good ol' dad." Like father, like dragon. "Dad's sired a few good ones himself, too," he can't help but add with a smirk. "Speaking of which, you haven't heard anything from Pidgery lately, have you? Regarding his orals? He hardly ever writes me back." Of course, it does help to actually write him in the first place.

Xayna nods and heads off towards the food table, putting plenty of the roast wherry, small bread loaves, fruit, and cheese on the two plates. After a few minutes, she returns to the table and sets one plate down in front of Pyrene and one down in front of her seat. She moves her sketches to the side as she sits down. One hand reaches out of a piece of the wherry and the other for a piece of redfruit.

Pyrene waves her hand vaguely. "He's worried about them, whatever they are, but apparently everything's going fine. I just hope he gets his knot soon. Apprentices are kept under too much discipline for too long, if you ask me." She breaks off with a pleased 'ooh!' as her plate is set in front of her. "Mmm... lovely. I'm starved!" Cutting a piece of wherry free she pauses long enough to ask "How's Lilly?" before taking a bite. It is, of course, merely a cover-question to give herself time to eat.

"Which is reason in itself for why I never apprenticed. I enjoy what little freedom I have." The food on either plate is eyed for a moment before Iliad diverts his attention fully to his mug, and then Pyrene, finally. "She's good. At her mother's right now. She was watching her while I was sick." And other than that? Iliad pauses, seemingly lost in thought for a moment before a shrug is had. "Talking up a storm and getting herself into a lot of time-outs, as if those even work."

Xayna can't help but comment on apprentices, but wipes the redfruit juice from her lips first. "I can definately say that I didn't know how much freedom I didn't have until I made Journeyman." No comment on the discipline part, partly because the piece of wherry is stuffed into her mouth. Her attention remains on Iliad as he talks about Lilly, but just nods and continues eating more bits of wherry. A reach for her mug, a sip of beer, and then more eating to be had.

Pyrene sniffs a little at other people's views on child-raising. "I know it's considered old-fashioned nowadays, but a good smack will teach a child like nothing else." She waves her cane briskly as emphasis. Or maybe she's volunteering? She nods at Xayna. "Exactly. I'll bet half these journeyman spend their first week legless because they don't know how to handle their wine. They're probably easy prey for heartbreakers as well." Her brow furrows as she suddenly envisions her hapless son at the mercy of sexual predators.

"At least Pidge has prior experience," Iliad can't help but chirp, grinning wickedly as he pushes himself up to stand. "Well ladies, it's been great, but I need to go find a few people before I call it a night. Still a bit exhausted." Like the pseudo-son that he is, Iliad reaches over in attempt to give Pyrene's temple a quick peck. "Nice seeing you, as always." And Xayna? She gets a chin-nod towards her sketches. "Remember what I told you. I can help you out tomorrow with them, if you'd like."

Xayna swallows and nods at Iliad. "Thank you and I'll see if I can catch you tomorrow." Her voice almost cracks, and her cheeks are bright red. They started reddening after Pyrene's comment about Journeymen being legless and easy prey. To keep from saying anything else, another piece of wherry is put in her mouth, the juice rolling down her chin.

Pyrene gives Iliad a wary look at that. Prior experience in what exactly? Fortunately, she's not about to admit that there are things her son may not have told her, so she merely nods and gets on with her food. The meal is polished off rather quickly and she gets up, smiling an apology at Xayna. "Cadge is always a bit more protective when the eggs are new-laid. I don't want to leave her too long."

Breaking in the Staff

2006-10-24T22:56:07Z

A tiny and completely trivial scene, but very satisfying nonetheless. Unusually for RP, it feels like it's got a beginning, middle and end. Pyrene, Siannen and Pinvine have lunch while the newly-arrived Nissa waits on them.

Logfile from HT Pyrene.

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 in the bowl.

Nissa
A jaw-length crop of mousy curls frames Nissa's oval face, with its long
nose, flat cheeks and pointed chin. Her brown eyes are too close-set for
prettiness, but her skin is milk-pale and without a single blemish.
She's of average height, and the growth spurts of adolescence have left
her scrawny rather than rounded with puppy fat, although there's a
promise of curves to come.
Plain straight-cut trousers of hard-wearing, if faded, blue cloth are
teamed with a thin jumper of natural wool, and a pair of hefty brown boots.
She is a teenager of about 15. She is awake and looks alert.

Pyrene
Slight and spindly, her frame is held as stubbornly tall as possible
against encroaching age. Her curves are starting to wear away, the
angles of her frame becoming pronounced again, but turns of riderhood
have left her wiry rather than frail, despite the cane in her right
hand. As ever, her hair hangs in a skimpy plait from which lank tendrils
escape, but now the dark brown is shot through with steel-grey. Lines
pucker the corners of her pale face, tightening the pointed nose and
drooping the thin lips. Her eyes, too, bear tell-tale creases, but time
has yet to dull the bright storms within them.
Cords of black, blue and sea-washed gold tangle their way through an
elaborate configuration of loops, marking her as a weyrwoman for High
Reaches Weyr.
She is an adult of about 48. She is awake and looks alert.

The time is 13:00.
It is afternoon of the eighty-fourth day of winter.
It is the first Turn of the Tenth Interval.
It is a winter noon.

Pyrene gets very regular about her mealtimes during the winter. The
Reaches climate is a good reminder when it comes to hot food, and she
arrives promptly for the first serving, taking a seat and allowing
others to wait on her.

Nissa has only just come into the living cavern, and seems about to head
for a seat herself, when her elbow is grabbed by an older woman. "Hey,
Niss, make yourself useful - carry this tray over to Weyrwoman Pyrene,
could you?" Nissa pauses uncertainly for a moment, but then takes the
tray and heads towards Pyrene; the other woman snickers with another
serving woman behind Nissa's back. The girl arrives next to the
goldrider and mumbles something brief but unintelligible as she
carefully sets a bowl of soup (and nothing else) in front of Pyrene.

Pyrene starts to make a pleased noise at the appearance of soup, but
then she realises what's missing. She's cold and heat is being denied
her. This calls for frayed nerves. "And /how/ am I supposed to eat
this?" she demands, glaring up at Nissa with requisite frost. "I'll
thank you for a spoon, bread and my usual drink. If you're choosing to
wait on me, you should at least let me have some benefit out of it!"

"Sorry, Weyrwoman," Nissa mumbles, her fair skin showing the effects of
her embarrassment as she steps backwards away from Pyrene. "Bread,
fork... erm, spoon, usual drink..." There's a slightly panicked look in
her eye as she trots back towards the woman who set her on the errand in
the first place, only to find her gone. Grabbing arms at random, it
takes her a couple of people before she finds out what Pyrene's usual
drink might be.

Siannen walks in from the Central Bowl.

Siannen
Height, or lack thereof is now a given; stinted growth leaving Siannen a
mere inch or so over four-and-a-half feet. Figure is still perhaps a
shade too gaunt for true comfort, age sapping away somewhat illusionary
health. Dark copper hair is cropped short, chin-length or just a shade
beyond. Often obscured, the occasional glimpse of crystal-blue eyes is
afforded: near-colorless, the right is evenly hued, the left
gold-flecked. These are set in a delicate and mobile, if stubborn, face;
freckle-dusted pallor little-changed, freckles remain most evident
'cross now well-defined nose and cheeks.
Black, blacker, blackest. The nanny is completely cloaked in darkness,
from slightly overlarge shirt -- tucked into trousers of the same shade
-- down to her boots, traditional copper exchanged for something more
sombre.
Much-abused blue and black coils and loops into the knot of High
Reaches' head nanny.
She is an adult of about 42. She is awake, but seems rather distracted.

Pyrene is trying not to be too obvious as she tracks Nissa's progress,
and thus she glances away occasionally. On one of these glances, she
spies Siannen entering and waves the nanny over to her own table. "Come
and sit down!" Let's give Nissa /more/ work to do! Nissa who is,
incidentally, taking entirely too much time over this.

Pinvine arrives from deeper in the Weyr.

Pinvine
Features have defined themselves with age, until the thin body of a lad
has become a charming creation of adulthood. Dark hair has curled
towards the tips of his ears and the nape of his neck; habitually
trimmed and groomed prior to any public appearance. Dark eyes retain the
flat reflection they held in youth, though the pimples that surrounded
them have since faded into a clear complexion and defined chin.
Dark browns flow from shoulder to toe in a collection of leathers and
wools. A heavy coat of dyed wool is nearly always in attendance, though
on this occasion his wrinkled shirt and worn pants do not project his
usual aristocracy. Boots are a newly purchased addition, their laces
still stiff with craft and the smell of leather pungent upon his step.
He is a young adult of about 21. He is awake, but seems rather distracted.

Nissa finally scuttles back to Pyrene, plate of bread and cutlery in one
hand, a glass of juice that she's trying not to slop everywhere in the
other. "Sorry, weyrwoman," she apologises breathlessly, setting the
items down for Pyrene before glancing anxiously at Siannen.

Siannen is, fortunately, unaccompanied -- and Pyrene's call and wave
happen before anything small and dirty can claim her attention. She
seats herself in time to find herself being anxiously eyed, and her
response is less than articulate. "Er," the head nanny declares, then
turns to the ex-nanny. "She is looking at me like I am about to eat
her. What did you /do/?"

Pyrene sniffs, checking the cutlery for spots and the glass for drips
before nodding to Nissa. "Thank-you. Ask Siannen here what she
wants--she'll have had a trying day, no doubt." Nannies have Pyrene's
sympathy. Untrained serving girls do not. To Siannen she explains, "I
did nothing but remind her what she was forgetting." It's not her fault
if they can't get the staff these days.

Nissa swallows hard at Pyrene's comments, then looks expectantly - and
mutely - at Siannen. She doesn't seem capable of more right at that moment.

It is not an uncommon occurrence to find Pinvine arriving with a ledger
of notes tucked under one arm, and a glass of something red in the
other. And fortunately for the sake of everyone's equilibrium, the same
is true today. Wine is idly sucked as papers shuffle in their waxy home
and the scent of newly purchased leather flushes the young man's wake.
Crowded though the caverns are, Pinvine takes note of a table containing
the vague acquaintances of his first night, and he elects to sit among
the earnestly somber crowd in the midst of heated debate. It is with
little preamble, that Pinvine nabs a two of the companys wine bottles.
While standing he sinks a rousing statement into the spit-crested broil
which sets off another round of heightened aggravation before taking his
newly swindled items and finding his usual nook by the hearth.

Siannen rolls her eyes in mute sympathy -- to Nissa, that is. Py gets a
spectacular view of the back (and, given height differences, top) of her
head. "Hot cider," she finally decides, "and whatever's warm and ready
to be served -- you don't look but just old enough to not be in the
'brat caves anymore, but I don't know you." The nanny surveys the
girl's face for a long moment, searching for any familiarity of features
or coloration that might give her some clue as to the girl's relations.
Failing this, she finally asks, "Got a name, kid?"

"Hot cider, yes'm. And there's soup..." Nissa replies, finding her voice
at last, even daring to address Pyrene again: "Can I get you anything
else, Weyrwoman?" One can practically hear the capital letters on that
word. "And I'm Nissa," she finally replies to Siannen with a sudden
half-smile.

Pyrene rolls her eyes, not in any kind of sympathy and certainly in no
way hidden. Still, if Siannen wants to give the girl an easy ride,
that's her lookout. Pyrene likes to think that the next time Nissa
serves her, the service will be flawless. The outburst in the debate
draws her interest briefly, and she raises her brows at the sight of
Pinvine with two bottles. "And only lunchtime..." she begins before
Nissa's question distracts her. "The title is correct, but I /am/
retired," she replies peevishly. "So don't think you need to prostrate
yourself. I have all I require."

"Old and busted," Sian pipes up with the sly edge of a smile, and a
thumb jerked Pyrene-ward.

Well, Sian's hardly the new hotness herself.

Pinvine looks up briefly as he's thumbing through pages. Pinvine's eyes
catch Pyrene's biefly, but they both turn back to tasks at hand without
pause.

Nissa blinks in astonishment, but trots off to fetch some hot cider and
soup for Siannen. And once again, it takes her a while - she seems very
unfamiliar with the serving setup, plus she keeps casting longing looks
towards a table of people her own age.

"Nissa," Siannen repeats, rolling the name around as she mulls it over.
It doesn't help her place the girl any better than before, but as the
time between departure and arrival stretches longer, she turns back to
Pyrene. "How are you doing, anyway -- weather giving you any trouble?"

"What do you want me to say?" Pyrene demands, apparently resolved to be
sniffy now. "That I can feel the break in my back everytime the wind
blows from the north? I'm not quite decrepit yet! I'm fine." Despite
the slow service. And despite the alcoholic making eye contact with
her. "Who's Nissa, anyway? Name mean anything to you?" Maybe Pyrene
can find somebody else to yell at for the girl's behaviour.

Unfortunately for Nissa, it looks like the alcoholic is attempting to
make eye contact with her, and when that falls short, Pinvine raises a
hand and... snaps. Looks like Pyrene and Siannen are not the only two in
need of service.

Nissa finally arrives back, sensibly with a tray this time, which she
sets next to Siannen. She doesn't do more than nod to the nanny before
wandering over - with a bit less enthusiasm than she showed previously
(being slow didn't mean she didn't care!) - towards Pinvine. "Yep?" she
asks, looking him up and down.

Siannen is served, and the first thing she does is snatch up the mug of
hot cider, wrapping thin (and still slightly too bony) hands around it
tighly and curling it toward her. She doesn't drink first, but revels
in the heat of it, and the slight curl of steam rising up from its
surface. "Mm, no. No idea. Might belong to one of the 'riders, though
-- raised elseweyr?" It is not /gossip/. It is /speculation/.
Pinvine's snap gets a narrow-eyed look, followed by a sniff.

Pyrene's brows raise even further at the snap, and she looks in
Pinvine's direction with both interest and disdain (it's a complicated
expression). "She doesn't /look/ like a rider's byblow," she notes.
"She must be lacking in any skills if she's got nowhere better to go
than a Weyr in Interval." Oh, all smiles and sunshine she is today.

Pinvine eyes Nissa as well, moving top to bottom and bottom to top and
concluding quickly, that this will not be a member of staff he will be
pursuing outside of soup. "Allow me to be frank, child. I need a bowl of
stew, a suitable serving of bread, and a bottle of red; any red. But I
doubt your skinny claws are capable of holding all those things at once,
so I'll tell you what; just bring me the stew and the bread, and when I
have finished the remainder of this bottle, you may fetch me another.
Can you accomplish that?"

Nissa cocks her head and looks Pinvine over again. "And exactly who are
you that I should be waiting on you?" she demands, though fairly
quietly. "This isn't my job, you know, I was only serving weyrwoman
Pyrene as a favour to someone."

"Some of us resemble that remark," Sian tells her cider, the words meant
for Pyrene's ears while her attention is directed elsewhere. She
finally takes the first sip, and sighs happily as it warms as well from
inside out as it does from outside in. Keen ears pick out bits of Nissa
and Pinvine's conversation, and she raises an eyebrow as she watches
them over the rim of her mug. "Wonder what she did to owe someone
waiting on you, Py?" she sasses her elder.

Pyrene coughs quietly over her soup. "No skills maybe, but she does
have a backbone," she comments dryly to Siannen, suddenly looking
perversely amused. "I'm sure I'm part of the initiation rites around
here." She likes to think so, anyway. "Who's the lad, do you know?"
It's so hard to keep track of youngsters these days.

"Oh?" Pinvine looks passed Niss towards Pyrene and Siannen, eyes
surveying each from his short distance before attention is returned to
the girl at hand. "Consider it practice."

Nissa gives Pinvine a contemptuous look. "No." she answers flatly, and
starts to move away, though it's a push to get through the nearby
clustered chairs.

Pyrene raises her hands in brief applause. "Bravo!" she calls over the
hubbub, carelessly bringing the attention of the entire cavern onto the
scene.

Amusement colors the thin smile that follows Nissa's retreat and meet's
Pyrene's burst. One groomed brow gently moves upwards but the smile
remains, even when he turns back to his papers and begins to edit anew.

Squeezed between two filled chairs, Nissa turns at Pyrene's call. Who?
Her? Whether the goldrider is referring to her or not, a blush creeps up
her face until even her ears are scarlet with embarrassment.

Pyrene chuckles at Nissa's embarrassment and nods to Pinvine's display
of good sportsmanship. Perhaps the next generation won't be a complete
loss after all. At any rate, her soup is finished, and she's going to
leave them to it.

Dining with the next generation

2006-10-22T14:23:50Z

I post this with all the pride of a ledge vulture who has RPed twice in two days! I am old and pathetic. Humour me. Also, it's pretty likely that Pyrene wrote something about these events to Pidge, so he may want to assume he knows what happened in a confused sort of way....

Starts with Iliad, Cailyn and Ryan, with Shazi and Lanti dropping in later.

Iliad
Golden locks that once donned Iliad's head as a youth have since darkened with age, cropped short against his scalp until nothing but fuzz remains. However, the 'do has been allowed to grow out above half a finger tip's length on top, gradually tapering off on the sides for about an inch or so. Enigmatic honey reflects from his eyes, portraying the mystery of a youth but alluring innocence all the same. The creamy skin upon his face is virtual flawless... unless you want to consider the patch of fuzz beneath his chin, and the barely noticable line of fuzz that follows his jaw line on most days. Speaking of age (but not really), manhood is definitely setting in. A few, probably final inches have been added to his frame, making him just above six feet by a fingertip or two. He even has tone, thanks to the industrious training as a guardsman. Shoulders have broadened out some, while arms actually have what one might call definition. Lastly, his legs possess the wiry image of his father's.
A sweater of unbleached wool, knitted finely clings comfortably to his frame, it's scooped neck and baggy sleeves perfect for revealing under tunics of sturdy cotton in earthy tones. The loose hem of the woolen sweater falls to the hips, lazily revealing the upper line of dark trousers. Straight lines fall from hip to boots of dark wherhide, flexible and soft to the touch, if a bit worn. Straped around Iliad's waist is a belt with an attached knife and holster. A gold firelizard is perched on his shoulder.
He is a young adult of about 20. He is awake and looks alert.

Cailyn
Honey blonde hair falls to just below this woman's shoulders, curling lightly at the ends. Longer bangs sweep across her forehead, usually resting off to one side or the other, occasionally falling into her eyes. One of her more unusual features is the fact that her left eye is blue, while the other is hazel. Moving downward, her nose is proportional to her face, as are her lips, completing her angelic look with continually rosy cheeks. Standing neither too tall nor too short, her height is average for a woman her age, her weight equally matching. On her right forearm is a perfectly shaped star birthmark, just a few shades lighter than her normal skin tone.
Underneath the thick, black leather jacket, lined on the inside with fur, is a white tunic, clinging nicely to her upper torso. The tunic is only hinted at, however, since the jacket is zipped up most of the way. Tan pants hug down her hips and thighs before flaring out slightly at the bottom, covering the tops of the black boots that clad her feet.
She is a teenager of about 17. She is awake and looks alert.

Ryan
Eyes of amber-gold often lie distant, below evenly spaced, arched brows, which more often then not are partially hidden from view by his hair. Falling to below the ear in a shaggy mass of dark brown, his hair lay slightly wavy. A square, angular face contains lips almost always curving into some type of grin or smile. Wide shoulders lead down to an expanse of lean muscle; his frame athletic, not bulky but still remaining well defined. Long arms match lean, agile legs that go along with the rest of his frame bringing him up to a total of six feet and some odd inches, while a light golden-brown tan washes over his body from much time spent in the sun.
Royal blue in color is his shirt, unwrinkled with polished buttons done all the way up to the last three out of which peeks a white tank. Sleeves are rolled up to the elbows buttons at the wrist undone as well it fits snugly about him outlining his hard-worked for build. Black belt clinches about his waist, securing form fitting black trousers, perhaps a bit more on the tighter side yet still remaining comfortable. Polished black boots are about ankle high, folded down to mid-calve keeping pants tucked in. A gold firelizard is perched on his shoulder.
He wears the simple knot of black and blue that denotes him as a High Reaches Guard recruit.
He is a teenager of about 19. He is awake and looks alert.

La de da de da. "I just told him how you were my friend." Were? Is that present or past tense now? "And how you were like, looking for someone. And that you were a nice girl. That kind of stuff." There, Ryan need not answer now, thanks to Iliad the Great.

Silent and non-visible applause for the Great one. Ryan just nods at what is answered for him and of course adds his own part in towards the end. "Yeah, pretty much that." See the honest smile. Really, it's the truth. Right.

"Were?" Cailyn picks up on the verb tense, eyeing Iliad for a long moment before those eyes flick to Ryan. "Oh, that's right. We /were/ friends. Because, you know, ever since I told Iliad I had this giant crush on him, he hates me. I forgot we weren't friends. How silly of me." The book which Iliad did have in his possession? Yeah, Cate rips it out of his hands, if only to set it down on he other side of her. Buuurn.

"Are." There, better? "I don't hate you. I never said that. Can I have the book back now?" That's like giving a doggie a chew toy and taking it back after he's slobbered on it. Cruel! "Please? I don't hate you, Cailyn."

Ryan will just sit and chew on his lip rather than his food as he follows the coversation with the flick of eyes from Cailyn to Iliad. "Umn..." is started but quickly left off as food is remembered. La de da.

Pyrene wanders in, cane clacking indiscreetly against the stone. Her eyes drift over the young people arguing with a supercilious interest for potential gossip, as she approaches the hearth. Her intent may be for broth, but it's always nice to have a floorshow accompanying the meal.

Iliad is the center of Cailyn's glaring for a few moments before the book is shoved back at him. "I still think you hate me," she declares, but seems to let him off of the hook. "So, Ryan," and now the attention is back on the guard. "Tell me. You up for havin' some fun later?" Might as well jump to the chase, right?

Oh look, it's Pidge's mom. She gets a little stare, a little lingering one that follows her form towards the hearth, that is, before attention redirects itself back towards the others around him, in particular, Cailyn. "I dooooon't hate you, Faranth. Really."

"F-fun?" A slight break in his voice and Ryan considers the offer unsure of how it's meant. "Sounds fine, I have nothing going on anyhow...so yeah, okay."

Pyrene returns from the hearth, now carrying a tray in one hand. She pauses briefly at Iliad's table, intentionally giving them the opportunity to invite her to join them. "Hello, Iliad, Ryan..." Ryan's name is said mostly to show off that she remembered it. She doesn't know Cailyn, however, so that young lady simply gets a smile and an appraising look.

"Good." Pleased with his answer, Cailyn decides to start poking at her now cold food. "Iliad, maybe you can tag along. Three is always better than two, you know. It'll be fun." Smirking, she nudges him with her knee, winking. As Pyrene approaches the table, the woman gets a long look from Cailyn, mentally trying to see if she can place her with anyone that she's met before. Nope. So instead, she just returns her smile.

"Hi." Like the pseudo-son that he is, Iliad kicks out a chair in invitation towards the older woman, grinning up at her. "Join us?" Well, there you go. "Pyrene, this is Cailyn. She's new to the Weyr." As for Cailyn's invitation, it's seemingly ignored. Safer that way.

Ryan gives a wave towards Pyrene smiling. "Evening Pyrene." Perking up at the extended offer towards Iliad from Cailyn, he casts the older man a look. "Yeah why don't you join us?" Clueless, yes.

Shazi walks in from the Central Bowl.

Pyrene sits down with all the smugness of 'mission accomplished'. "Welcome to High Reaches, then, Cailyn," she greets the girl smoothly. "Where were you before now?" She keeps one eye on Iliad, pseudo-son, substitute-son--and useful letter fodder when she gets writers block in correspondence with Pidgery.

"Hi," replies Cailyn, replacing her mischevious demeaner back with her shy and oh so polite one. "Oh, here, there, everywhere. I like to travel a lot." With that question sucessfully answered, Cate turns her attention back to Iliad, giving him a slap on the knee. "See! Ryan wants to come along with us and have some fun. Don't disappoint us, Iliad."

"Nooo, that's okay. You two kids have fun tonight. You definitely don't need me to chaperone." Just trust him on that one. For now, Iliad leans back in his seat, fingers pulling apart another roll without so much as chewing on the pieces.

"Yeah, alright. We don't need you anyway." A wink is sent in the direction of Cailyn as Ryan settles on another bite of food. Leaning back a bit idly in his chair, chewing, a sip from the mug is taken.

Pyrene looks with interest at Iliad's apparently slappable knee and then at Ryan's wink before again appraising Cailyn. "A drifter then," she replies. "Get thrown out of places a lot or do you just like to run away? Iliad, don't scatter crumbs all over the floor, unless you're going to take the time to clear them up."

Lanti strides in from the Central Bowl.

Shazi stomps into the living caverns, electing to slough any excess snow from her boots in the entryway rather than across the relatively clean floor. "Iliad! Iliad!" she calls out as she spots the guard, mid-stomp. "You'll never guess what happened!"

As Iliad rejects the offer, Cate just shrugs it off, her attention turning to Pyrene as the woman continues her questioning. "Oh, a bit of everything, really," she says with a shrug, not about to divulge too much information. "I get bored of a place, so I'll leave. I just know when it's time to move on, that's all." Something like that.

"I was feeding the rodents," Iliad quips towards Pyrene, but not without a cheesy grin. He does, nonetheless, reach down to scoop up the fallen pieces, putting them into a small pile just in time to hear his name being called out. "Did you get a client?" he calls back over his shoulder. It's a good guess, anyway, worthy of excitement on the bluerider's behalf. She's beckoned over with a quick outstretch of his arm.

Ryan turns his attention towards Shazi and casts a wave in the 'rider's direction. "Heya Shazi!" is called out in greeting as a question is asked of Iliad. "Client? For..er..what?"

One moment in the entrance, the next at Iliad's side. "Yesyesyes!" Shazi bounces in her excitement. She gives her sweetheart a big fat smooch on the cheek then grins at Ryan, one arm draped loosely across Iliad's shoulders. "I shipped a big something from Nabol to Crom, today, me'n Ol'dath."

Lanti enters from the bowl like any other, winter coat buttoned up tight. She kicks the snow from her boots and begins unbuttoning jacket but remains where she is for the moment, caught up by the scene. Or scenery. Or actors. Dawdling, she hangs up her coat and wraps her shawl more tightly around her shoulders before finally making her way towards the group with mostly familiar faces.

Pyrene stretches her legs out. "Well, do give us fair warning when you decide to leave," she urges Cailyn demurely. Behind the sweet look on her face, she's filing a mental note to bring Cailyn to Marond's attention. She's been around long enough to know that a weyr can be seen as an easy refuge for troublemakers. She also shoots Ryan a sharp look but judges he's old enough to take care of himself. "Congratulations, Shazi," she calls instead. "A credit to the Weyr." Even if she does ride--oh, look there's Lanti! An appropriate wave follows.

Breathing a sigh of relief that attention of that nature is no longer on her, Cailyn's gaze joins everyone else's on Shazi, however hers is of a sour nature. The rider receives a second or two long look before Cailyn finds her cold food more interesting to look at.

"Congrats! See? I toooold you," Iliad teases, turning a grin towards Ryan next. "Shazi has her own parcel delivery service thing." Easiest way to explain it. "Well, she and Dath do. For all those big things that messengers or caravans can't deliver," he explains on Shazi's behalf, beckoning her further by giving her a tug towards his lap. But then Lanti's familiar face is recognized, getting merely a stare. Maybe it's out of shock. But there's definitely a crooked grin on his face for the -other- woman in his life.

"Ah, well congratulations! Good job." A grin is sent back towards Shazi as he manages to clap her back in further congratulations. Smiling towards Pyrene in acknowledgment to the look given him, a wave is then thrown in the direction of Lanti, if only out of friendly greeting.

Shazi beams acknowledgement at the congratulations. "Thanks, guys, it means a lot to me." She hops down and settled into a seat beside Iliad. "It's only one assignment, though, and I carry stuff that's too big for messengers and is too urgent for caravan, Iliad. I'm so excited, though. My customer and the person I delivered to said they'd hire me again in an instant, if they need anything like my services again. Hey, Lanti!" she calls out to Ista's newest goldrider, offering a wave to her sweetheart's twin. "They finally give you your wings?"

Lanti returns Pyrene's wave quickly as she draws near enough to be appropriately social. "Sorry it took so long," she tells them generally before leaning down to give Iliad a smooch on one temple, a grinning sort of wave towards Shazi, and nods towards the others she knows less well or not at all. "What, Iliad. I haven't been gone /that/ long." She goes so far as to give the guard a light punch in the shoulder. The weyrling laughs quickly and shrugs one shoulder at Shazi. "Sort of. With escorts, still. It's good enough to visit, right?"

"Escorts? What are they afraid you'll do?" Pyrene asks. "How is Dedanseth anyway? Likely to rise soon?" There's amusement in her eyes as she resorts to the age-old tease of a new rider. "Anyway, have some broth. You'll have forgotten how cold a Reaches' winter is."

And then there's more people that Cailyn doesn't know. Talk about feeling awkward and out of place, considering that everyone else seems to know each other. Glances are tossed around to the familiar and non-familiar faces, hoping to fit into the conversation somehow. But as of now? It's almost better to stay silent.

"You're not getting away with just that," Iliad grins even wider, pushing back his seat to offer his arms for an embrace. "/That/ long? I sharding feel like I haven't seen you in TURNS." It really has been a while, afterall. "It's so great to see you." How about a return smooch? She'll get one anyway, wherever it might land as Iliad turns to resettle on his seat. "Oh, Lanti, you--uh, yeah, you know everyone, except Cailyn. She's a friend of mine." See? Friend. Is is present tense. "Cate, this is my sister, Lanti, the one who impressed down at Ista?"

Shazi
The life of a rider keeps Shazi's shorter-than-average frame well-toned, slimming her full curves and adding muscle where none had been evident before. The occasional mole spots golden brown skin, while highlights cast an auburn tint on dark brown hair that, close-cut, curls wispy tendrils about her face and neck. A long, crooked nose sets an awkward line in a round face, broad planes emphasizing a firm chin and strongly prominent cheeks. Pale green-hazel eyes, almost overlarge, are framed by brown lashes and outlined in black, slender brows forming an imperfect arc above them. A touch of rose is added to the pout of her small mouth.
Shazi wears a sleeveless tunic of rich crimson, the scooped neckline cut to modest proportions. While the fit does not hug her curves, it certainly conforms to the line of them, the split hem loosely brushing the thigh of loose brown trousers. She wears black boots, light enough for warm weather, but heavy enough for wandering beyond established boundaries. An amber pendant hangs in the hollow of her throat, secured about her neck by a black cord. A small, heart-shaped charm dangles from her neck, hanging just below the collar. 4 firelizards are draped about her head and shoulders.
She is a teenager of about 18. She is awake, but seems rather distracted.

Lanti
The softer elements of childhood have all but disappeared as Lanti nears the end of her teen years. She's grown taller, though her skinny frame remains the same and serves to make her look just a bit taller than she really is, finally stopping at a couple inches over five and a half feet. Lanti sports the same red-gold hair of her mother, but due to her current status as a weyrling, she has had the locks trimmed level with her chin. They curl about her face when left free, so she can often be found sporting a black bandana in an effort to keep stray hair from getting in her way. Her eyes are a clear, sky blue with darker flecks of navy, and her pale lips form a generous mouth. The growing rigors and demands of the closely approaching adulthood have given the girl a muted but harder edge, only intensified by her new position in life.
Conforming to weyrling codes of conduct, Lanti's outfit matches the uniforms of her clutchmates. Her cargo-style trousers are black, her knee-high boots are black, and her wide leather belt is black, save for a few metal-studded rings for added strength. The blouse, however, is of the Istan orange, accented only by the black-painted buttons of carved horn. Both the trousers and top are heavier than the normal Istan fare to offer added durability and safety. They also add warmth, however, which would explain why the sleeves are as short as possible while still protecting the shoulders, and why at least a couple buttons are usually undone for the chance at increased ventilation.
A single looped knot and short tail of black and orange hang from Lanti's shoulder, indicating she is a senior weyrling. Woven around and between the two cords is a fine, gold thread.
She is a young adult of about 20. She is awake, but seems rather distracted.

"Well that's good Shazi. I bet you'll have more clients in no time, too." Ryan says, opting to stay on that particular subject with her, with not knowing the Istan rider particularly too well. "So Cailyn...." he starts, noticing her lack of words while trying to figure something to keep her up in the conversation on his own part.

"Broth? How about something to drink? Do they let you drink, yet, Lanti? Here, have a seat," Shazi's mouth runs as she hops to her feet and gestures towards the chair next to Iliad. "Your brother hasn't stopped talking about you since you left us. Let's go visit Lanti! I miss Lanti! Why, oh, why...." She grins, bites her lower lip, realizing that her excitement has her running at full throttle. "I'll be right back." She trots off towards the kitchens, shouting as she enters, "Lanti's home! Where's the cider?"

"Oh, between into rocks. That sort of thing," Lanti drawls, grinning at Pyrene while returning the generous hug from her brother. The return smooch is tolerated. She nods again to Ryan, asks him how the guard training is going, then peers at Cailyn for a moment. "Pleasure, Cailyn," she says to the teen. "I'm Iliad's more intelligent sibling. Dedanseth is outside studying ice crystals." At which point she can't /quite/ keep a love-struck smile from appearing, if crookedly. "So Shazi, you're making my poor messengers obsolete?" she continues, winking at the blue rider, who is suddenly announcing her return. She does take a seat at least.

Pyrene watches the reaction to Lanti's homecoming with great amusement. "Save some time for your father," she admonishes the girl firmly, well into pseudo-mother (or just ex-nanny) mode. "And visit Pidge, now you're allowed. He'll probably appreciate seeing you more than he does me. Which reminds me that I have to finish that letter to him." Her broth is finished, handed off to some passing kitchen-hand, and Pyrene extricates herself from the crowd.

cadge @ 2006-10-21T10:29:00

2006-10-21T14:31:49Z

After two weeks of saying I'm going to, I actually do drag Pyrene out of her weyr to RP with somebody. I need to do more of this, because right now Py doesn't have a lot of material for conversation.

Friday 20th October 2006

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 winter noon. The sun finally rises above the haze, dissipating it. The wind from the north continues blows quietly, but steadily throughout the region, lowering temperatures and causing frostbite.

Winter it may be, but dragons still need to be bathed. Cadgwith sniffs rather dubiously at the water and gives her rider a reproachful look. "There's still ice to play with," Pyrene points out. As the dragon sighs and enters the water, Pyrene throws a self-conscious grin at Xayna. "She likes to come here first thing in the morning to break the ice, but today I wanted to wait until the air had warmed up a bit. At least... as much as it is going to."

Xayna is sitting in the sand with a couple of scrap hides on her lap. Writing furiously across a scrap of hide, her face relaxed in concentration, she doesn't look up immediately when another voice is heard. After finishing writing her thought on hide, a look up and a smile is given to Pyrene. "It was a bit cold this morning, but at least the wind has died down some. You aren't planning on climbing in as well, are you?" A look at the water and a shiver from the thought of trying to swim in that water.

Pyrene shudders at the thought. "Good Faranth, no. No deeper than the height of my boots anyway." And at that, she still shows no inclination to leave the shore. As it is, Cadgwith has struck out for the centre of the lake, playing with various ice floes. While she plays, Pyrene wanders across to the young woman. "Enjoying being a journeywoman?"

A nod and Xayna's pats the sand next to her in case Pyrene would like to sit down, she is welcome to sit next to her. "I'm loving it! I'm learning what I like and don't like, especially in things that were once forbidden. I'm fond of red wine over other alcohol, since I don't get such a bad headache the next morning." A wink towards the older woman, then a glance back over the lake for a moment, then eyes back towards the other. "How are you liking the winter? Are you keeping busy?"

Pyrene gestures to her dragon. "Oiling her belly takes most of her time, and it's stretching fast with the eggs. Fortunately, we have smaller clutches these days. I don't think I'd have the energy to take care of a dragon with fifty eggs in her belly anymore." She pulls another face and accepts the invitation to sit down. "Freedom's good. My daughter's a journeywoman herder--says that the Interval makes for more options iwth livestock."

Xayna looks over Cadgwith from the distance she is at. "Well, I can imagine it would take more time." She can't seem to think of anything else to say about the gold without seeming like an idiot. So instead, she turns her attention back to Pyrene. "I would assume the Interval helps with runners and livestock, but since I don't know much about livestock, I can't really say much about them. I'm just glad we can get out more and enjoy the sunshine then having to be inside every sevenday or so." That comment must have sparked an idea because she picks up her stylus and writes down a short note on the top hide.

Pyrene is plainly confused at the revelation that not all herders deal with livestock. She looks out over the lake, debating how to seem more enlightened than she is. "Ahh," she agrees vaguely. "So how will you be spending the Interval?"

Xayna gives a slight shrug and looks up. "I'm not sure. It really depends on if I decide I want to go for a Master rank or not. Right now I just want to enjoy myself. I still need to keep up the breeding and training with my felines, or at least keep those back at the hall notified of my wishes." She stretches out her legs and grimaces, muttering something about her rear end going to sleep.

Pyrene hmms. "Sephne hasn't talked about going for her master-rank. She's busy raising kids and herdbeasts from what I can tell. She got married almost right out of apprenticehood, which I thought was moving a bit fast. I'd take advantage of my personal life being my own for a bit--I know I did once out of weyrlinghood."

Xayna chuckles. "My sister did that, from what I've heard. She was at least living with her husband turns before they actually got married. I only had one guy I liked back at the hall, but I want to know what it is like to have some freedoms. As for kids, I'm not looking forward to having any anytime soon. That's why I've been on the green stuff ever since that one gold flight." A look crosses her face that is kind of happy but kind of worried at the same time. "At least this last time it wasn't so bad. Well..." She decides not to go into that. "Anyways, I am rambling again. What do you like to do now that you have more freedom?"

Pyrene raises her cane. "I'm retired. I'm sitting around trying to preserve what's left of my health," she remarks facetiously. "Otherwise, I do what I've always done. Try to keep an eye on what's going on in the Weyr and make sure everybody else doesn't screw it up." That part's less facetious. "You're wise to take precautions against children--too many opportunities for mistakes without encouraging conception." But that's not what interests her, and she leans back a little to look at Xayna. "So what happened at the goldflight? Not Cadge's, was it?"

Xayna can't help but smile, then her smiles fades a bit. "Well, my first time I ended up with a greenrider and don't remember much of anything. I think that was Nissionath's flight, but I can't remember. I sometimes have trouble keeping dragon names straight." A soft chuckle and another shuffle to keep her legs from going to sleep. "By the time Cadge rose, I had acquired enough experience that I knew what I was doing. How I ended up with a woman, I'll never know, but at least it isn't all a blur." A slight roll her eyes and a look back over the lake. "I will be honest, it was a shock at first that flights affect more than riders."

Pyrene chuckles dryly. "At least it was a greenrider. One of the unsuccessful bronze or brownriders would have been rougher--and let me tell you that the first time really isn't worth remembering anyway. Well, I'm glad you were more prepared for Cadge's flight. Some people like to take the option of shutting themselves up alone, but a lot of weyrfolk embrace the opportunity--particularly around your age. Just remember that you can control yourself and try to avoid being taken advantage of, by man or woman." Somewhat regretfully, she refrains from asking for names.

Xayna smiles a bit more. "I will remember that, thank you. Now I am just trying to find something else to keep my mind busy. I don't want to be seen as a woman that will take anyone." A shudder at the thought of being with someone she doesn't know already. "Can I ask you a personal question?" Her eyes look at Pyrene intently.

Pyrene raises her brows. "Depends what it is. There's a fair bit of my personal life that's public knowledge. Whatever's managed to stay private, I usually like to keep that way."

Xayna takes a moment to phrase the question in her mind. "How do you deal with the fact that during the next flight you might end up with someone you don't like?" The look on her face is hopeful for an answer with the bunched eyebrows in worry.

Pyrene bursts out laughing. "My first flight, I ended up with somebody I didn't like." She grins at the memory. "Although the worst part was that I had to put up with him on the Sands." Her eyes roll, but then she shrugs one shoulder at Xayna. "To live in a Weyr, particularly as a rider, you have to disassociate sex and sentiment to a large extent. When there's a flight, enjoy the heightened passion and all that, but it doesn't reflect what's in your heart." She half-chants the last words, having evidently given this advice out many times. "Most people here will understand that."

Xayna hms and looks down at her hands for a little bit before looking back up with a weak smile. "Ok." Though her face is still one of worry. "I love it here but that thought has stuck in my head for a while. I guess some of my values from being raised in a craft have continued to hang on." A soft chuckle and her smile gets wider. "At least more people here are willing to talk about these issues instead of telling you to go talk to your mother." A wink and a look around the lake again. "Are you going to pick up a craft hobby or something, or do you have too much fun watching the rest of the weyr run around like wherries?"

"I am far too old to start learning new skills now," Pyrene trots out her favourite excuse. "As far as I'm concerned, I'm in retirement and am entirely free to spend the rest of my days doing nothing." There's a snort from out in the lake, and she chuckles. "Cadge says that I haven't retired except in knot. Well, I'm sure Vaeli's eager for me to retire altogether, but I've spent the better part of my life following the political currents in this Weyr, and I'm not about to stop now."

Xayna laughs. "I tend to stay away from politics of the craft or weyr most of the time. Though I suppose I would never be able to fully stop working on my felines, even if it is from afar. I could always teach you how to make halter or leads, then you could annoy anyone you want by using the stinking oil we use to soften the leather for braiding." Another wink and a look of mischief.

Pyrene shivers slightly. "It's nice enough not to have to worry about firestone stink anymore. Even when your dragon doesn't chew it, you come back from a Fall stinking of the stuff. I have my own ways of annoying people anyway, and the interval is for young people like you. I lived the Pass, you'll live something entirely different--and hopefully you'll be interesting to watch." Her words are half-challenging.

Xayna chuckles. "Well, hopefully we'll make it an interesting start to the Interval for you." Realizing that her legs have gone to sleep, she starts banging her heels on the sand to try and wake them back up. "I think I sat too long." It takes a moment to stand up, but she finally makes it. "I'm sorry, but I guess I lost track of time. I promised the weyrherder I'd meet him in the stables before dinner because he wants some help with a couple of runners. Maybe I'll see you at dinner?"

Pyrene stretches, getting stiffly to her own feet. "I expect you will. I'll want something piping hot with the day so cold. Anyway, I'd best start washing Cadge. See you later." And she shuffles reluctantly to the water.

"Don't catch a cough!" Xayna sends towards Pyrene as the older woman heads towards her dragon. A little reluctantly, and walking with a limp due to pain of waking legs, the journeywoman heads towards the stables.

A flight!

2006-10-10T19:02:09Z

Cadgwith's latest flight, and for her third PC clutch.

I'd had a rotten day RL and the last thing I wanted to do was RP, let alone flight RP which I always find difficult to get into. Many thanks to the chasers who allowed me to keep it short and sweet.

8th October 2006

Cadgwith is glowing in a way that's not solely attributible to the dramatic sunset. Pyrene, on the other hand, can barely be seen beneath the immense fur coat she's wrapped herself up in. However, the faint sound of teeth chattering can be heard. "Should... be grateful... you didn't... choose a blizzard..." she mutters indistinct, the bright flash of her eyes taking in the gathering crowd. Cadgwith barely listens to her rider, shrieking at the dragons before heading to the pens.

G'deon slides from Nylanth's neck and lands gently on the ground.

Cadgwith crashes resplendently to the Pens.

Cadgwith> Cadgwith's normally green-gold hide has been turned red by the sun, and her eyes are only too happy to follow suit. She screams a warning to the bronzes as they get close, warning them off her chosen area of the pens. Her scream is echoed by the herd, but the stampede is swiftly scattered as she pounces on her first kill.

Cadgwith> He clasps the crag with crooked hands; Close to the sun in lonely lands. Aboleoth hunches above in the Weyr peaks. He's a little blown off course shall we say - Ista's a long league south. Cadgwith, one of the many creatures mingling below, is a little more concentrated on than most. Finally, some movement. He watches from these mountain walls, and like a thunderbolt... he falls.

One of the local bronzes, and an awfully dark brown bronze at that, blinks from ::Between:: high above the Weyr before making a steady, breakneck spiral to the bowl. There, his rider all but escapes with his life and parcels before being quite abandoned near the odd pile of rocks near the bowl's center. G'deon hikes a large bag up to his shoulder and watches Nylanth glide off towards the pens, riding straps still intact, before slowly looking about. At last, he begins to make his way towards the caverns, though in a wandering sort of way.

J'lal emerges from the living caverns, impeccable as always, tugging on leather gloves as the soles of his gleaming boots crunch against the chill covering of snow. His eyes study Pyrene's shivering figure, the flash of a smirk in his dark gaze as he turns a pleasant smile on the goldrider. "A more pleasant evening I couldn't have asked for myself, my dear lady. So crisp and clear." All the more to snuggle up with you, my dear.

Cadgwith> Nylanth is nearly desperate in the pace he takes to the pens, but finding he is not too late, he returns Cadgwith's warning with a bark of his own and feints towards a fatty buck, but only to make it run. Details. Nothing but details. The dark bronze rears his head slightly then crouches, put off by the timing, put off by the straps suddenly uncomfortable around his neck. The males nearby receive baleful glares, but he makes no further noise.

B'ane is found mostly in a few memories in Reaches and today he's flesh and blood. Not terribly early on the scene, the bronzerider trots over from the south where a small knot of people gather. He knows the reason. Not normally loquacious anyway, a couple shallow nods are the greetings he gives.

Pyrene was bouncing on her toes, hugging herself, visibly trying to keep warm. But as Cadgwith makes her first kill, she changes slightly, glaring at the pens through the blowing fur of her hood. "Blood!" she yells into the wind. "Shardit, blood!" That command given, she snaps her gaze to the riders present, appraising them. After careful consideration, she grimaces. Apparently they've been found wanting, today.

Cadgwith> Cadgwith screams at her rider this time, but she's old enough to know better than to waste her energies fighting the bond. She snaps her prey's neck, drinking deep from the wound and adding further scarlet to the already ruddy proceedings. Her feeding doesn't take long, and in moments, she takes her second beast.

Cadgwith> Aboleoth stoops low and finally descends upon the herd in a rush, a rouse. He doesn't strike. A second loop and he charges after the remaining beasts separated from the premiere charge. His wings pedal in place to make a cleaner landing and it takes only a leap to bag whatever was in the way of his wayward claws. This he chews, a quick burst of blood, but eventually spits out the solid.

Cadgwith> Without preliminary, Ghraith settles on a large buck, his shadow dusty purple in the fading light the only warning the beast has before the bronze pounces. He drinks deeply, the warmth seeping from the beast's shoulder to add fury to the flame that burns in his veins.

G'deon adjusts a dark, knit hat on his head, a fluffy mitten obscuring his face for a moment as he nears the group gathered near Pyrene. Here, his wandering slows to a stop, and his attention shifts to the pens for a pensive moment before he slowly lets his bundle down to the icy ground. One by one, he searches the faces, known or not, before coming to Pyrene's. A nod, a look of consideration, then he picks up the duffel again and heads towards the caverns, but with more purpose this time. Moments later, he returns, having exchanged the bundle for a skin of wine. To share? Perhaps.

J'lal, too, casts an appraising look over his adversaries for the evening, G'deon earning a respectful nod, B'ane distrust. He eases up to Pyrene's side. "You know, my dear, in my day, outsiders were never allowed to fly our queens unless invited."

Cadgwith> Nylanth only watches, stalking closer in spurts, though at a certain distance he changes his tactic to one of fitful circling. A low warning of his own is broadcast to the nearby males, but it is nearly subliminal in nature. Still, he waits.

Dressed for the short bouts of cold from Between, B'ane finds he is much displaced to court a winter evening in the mountains. If his gloved hands were shoved any deeper down his pockets they'd rupture right through. The jaw of the Istan is set clenched to permit no teeth-chattering. Having not seen Pyrene for a long time, B'ane refreshes his mind of her features to update the past image in his head.

Pyrene never does take well to being called 'my dear'. "Well, in /our/ day," she snarls, not above pulling the age card herself, even if she is younger than he is, "Thread was falling. If we can't adapt to changes, we may as well leap between." She also tends to be a wee bit short-tempered when she's cold. Just as well her temperature is rising....

Cadgwith> Cadgwith takes a third kill, and a fourth--but no more. Her nose still dripping gore from the last, she gives one foghorned siren call, and she's aloft!
Cadgwith> So you go up, up, and up some more, spiralling past ledges and Star Stones and up past the very Spindles themselves.

G'deon carefully releases the stop to the wineskin as he joins the group of riders. He offers the wine first to Pyrene if she so desires before nodding slightly to the others, little other expression or gesture forthcoming except to tug a fur-lined hood over the knit cap.

Cadgwith> Aboleoth snuffs his nostrils loudly at the amount of fur clinging to the area. The action is repeated, less loudly, and the hook of his snout whittled against the ground back and forth. Finally the blood-painted gold is the catalyst to start the mottley of brown and bronze to motion. His part of the chain reaction has wings quick to pursue her height.

Cadgwith> Nylanth is not far behind at the beginning. At a winged gallop, he rises as quickly as he can, though only to keep pace with the glowing queen. A trumpeting bugle, and that is all. Except for the glowing eyes, he could all but blend into the growing evening.

Cadgwith> Ghraith, his thirst abated, his appearance impeccable, waits patiently for that siren call. Echoing it with a soft bugle of his own, he powers aloft, the light of the sunset flashing against his coppery hide like the scales of a fish in water as it moves to strike.

Pyrene plucks the wine carelessly from G'deon's fingers, taking a swig only to gasp as Cadgwith leaps to the air. She splutters briefly on the wine, staining her chin and hood, but she doesn't linger. Still choking, she makes for the ground weyrs.

Open sky is exchanged for protecting stone.

Cadgwith> The air is seems as frozen as the land below. Even the oldest dragons will be hard pressed to find a thermal to aid them on this night. Cadgwith will make her suitors work for her, her broader wings continuing to drive her upwards into ever colder air. She doesn't look back, and the fainter-hearted dragons may be disturbed to note that her gaze is fixed steadily on Timor.

Now indoors, B'ane stares at J'lal without much identity of facial expression and then blinks over to Pyrene for her prior comment of supporting change, and in a round-about way, his right to be present. "Consider me just an observer to make sure the job gets done." A third party.

G'deon begins to say something as Pyrene chokes on the wine. His protest at its quality dies off quickly, however, as their lifemates take flight. Lost for a moment, he lags behind the group a few steps before trotting a moment to catch up, perhaps even going so far as to jostle. The nerve. He opens his winter riding coat long enough to find a folded handkerchief. "There's still a bit," Gid begins, gesturing towards his own chin before offering the bit of cloth towards Pyrene. "Sorry about the wine." It's all so nice, but a little on the intense side of things. The others he ignores for the time being.

J'lal follows the former leaders, flashing a look of contempt at B'ane while their backs are turned. "Ever the gentleman, sir," he lauds G'deon, cordial smile in place, as he steps into the ground weyr.

Pyrene clings possessively to the wine until she stops coughing and then she takes a second, more successful swig before passing it back to Gid. She foregoes the handkerchief however, hastily shedding her fur coat. Already, the woollen dress she's wearing underneath is marked with perspiration, and she wipes wine and sweat from her face as she hobbles to the low couch. For now she's just going to sit on it, face turned upwards as she breathes deeply and ignores the men in the room.

Cadgwith> Once aloft, Ghraith spares neither glance nor thought to his rivals, the need to procreate narrowing his focus to that single pinpoint of gold arrowing through the sky. He dances desire through the frigid air, a burst of speed navigating him from current to invisible current.

Cadgwith> Aboleoth similarly has suitable surface area to his sterling-flecked wings as their tips especially struggle to assert his right not only to be airborn, but worthy of chase as well. Nylanth's bugle is threatened by a rumble from the average-sized bronze. It's characteristic is felt, not so much heard as the low-pitched vibration is felt through flesh.

G'deon watches Pyrene after he receives the wine and slowly lifts the wineskin to his lips before tucking away the unnecessary handkerchief. He turns away to regard J'lal, spares a look that might almost appear disdainful on the Istan among them, and gives a final, sweeping look to any others assembled nearby. He closes the wineskin. Or he would with less fumbling fingers.

Cadgwith> Cadgwith seems to be struggling as the air thins. It's almost imperceptible, but she's definitely slowing down. It's just enough to let the fore-runners of the pack put on a burst of speed, hopes going wild. And then she dives. Downward, yet banking into a wide spiral away from the pursuit, waiting until the nearest bronzers turn to dive with her.... and at that moment she swoops out of her dive and levels out again, her speed undiminished.

B'ane grazes the wall with his fingertips to expect an innate geothermic warmth, but is disappointed to find that winter's chill is a fair adversary to rock closer to the ground's surface. Bad idea. Shoulders hunch higher up to his neck - a spot where a scarf would be most welcome at the moment. Prepared to be the outcast of the troop, he had no false sense of illusion to begin with, B'ane suffers no disappointment. But he still has his brown eyes on Pyrene's closet shoulder.

Pyrene finally looks again at the men of the room, and this time her gaze is more welcoming, although there's a hectic flush on her cheeks and her breathing has quickened. Quietly, she sets the cane at the foot of the couch. Her bones have felt this winter more than any other, but now bloodrush has made her feel young for this moment at least. She stands, fingers just lightly touching the wall to know that the support is there should she need it. Her eyes find each of the men in turn and challenge them silently.

With a regal sweep of his gaze over the room, J'lal eases himself into a chair, legs and arms composed with relaxed patience. He hardly looks at Pyrene as she rises, his eyes focused in the distance, the mind behind them following the flight.

Cadgwith> Aboleoth's shoulder muscles bunch with the greater range of motion he allows his long pinions to exceed. This method naturally gains him acceleration, but at the precious cost of energy. The plummet to follow Cadgwith is like all the blades of a propeller, wings fixed and spinning as his body revolves, advancing on the cycling gold.

Cadgwith> Like the feral beast, understanding patience in the face of hunger, Ghraith allows himself to fall behind, awaiting the moment that Cadgwith evens out before putting in a burst of speed straight for the golden prize.

Cadgwith> Cadgwith is sprinting for it, sinking all her speed into this one burst. At the last, as her shoulders start feeling the strain, she again goes upwards, pumping slowly and steadily. There are dragons left in the pack who will still have the strength to catch her now--the question is which one will be there first.

B'ane rubs his forehead against a heat that's being stoked from within. It's very much akin to the glow of alcohol one's innards experiences Although it's too premature to abandon his jacket altogether, the throat of the piece is unbuttoned and stretched for ventilation. Increasingly motile B'ane becomes when the flight gets into full-swing. His feet can't seem to linger in one place for long.

Pyrene takes a long breath as she feels Cadgwith prepare to cede the flight and herself. Once more, she looks around the men, but this time her gaze skips over those whose dragons are spent--G'deon among them. She stands straight as the remaining riders seem to close around her, waiting for the one whose dragon will claim victory.

Cadgwith> Ghraith throws his last strength into this final surge of speed, an all-or-nothing bid to quench the searing flame. A burning brand of light as Rukhbat's dying rays are spent, he tucks limbs and wings and plummets arrow-straight to strike at the heart of Cadgwith's desire.

Cadgwith> Aboleoth senses the second stages of body failure from fatigue, his tendons increasingly sluggish to stretch even when the will to is there. A glimpse of darkness under and to his left is one paramour who couldn't go the distance. Short tail beats hard, anything that will offer momentum even when it is too insignificant to count. Violet-colored eyes surrender to the orange of frustration with the bronze renting the thin atmosphere with every arsenal available to him, claw and limb. There isn't even a roar when Ghraith is quite near.

J'lal straightens, fingers clenching the curve of the armrests. His weight shifts, muscles tense, ready to spring should they win or lose. "Are you mad?" he whispers beneath his breath, a feverish glance thrown Pyrene's way as if to say: is she really worth it?

Desire burns behind the questing gaze: oh hell, yes.

Cadgwith> Cadgwith doesn't even look to see who claims her, instead losing herself with one final roar into his embrace. In the end, courage does pay off, and Ghraith's reckless gamble with his strength wins him the queen for this flight.

Cadgwith> Nylanth winks *between*.

It seems J'lal will get to keep the flight within Reaches after all. Pyrene's eyes fix upon him, but she lets him come to her while she busies herself with the fastenings of her dress. She's never been a time-waster, and certainly not when it comes to the bliss of a flight.

The apex is spare moments away and B'ane suddenly grows still. He swallows thickly and closes his eyes in exaggerated blinks, struggling to separate the rider within from the dragon above. Suddenly he believes he'd be boiling even if the flight was hosted on a glacier itself. Aboleoth winds up unsuccessful and a loud sigh is released from the man as it is all over. The exit is an insubstantial one. Simply a blending with the backdrop.

Cadgwith> Aboleoth allows himself the luxury of gravity's embrace when Ghraith clutches victory in his talons. He is somewhere on one of the steppes of Reachian territory and will likely be a little while in rendezvousing with B'ane.

Cadgwith> Yes! There is a God! Or something. Ghraith folds Cadgwith into his embrace, tail and neck entwining with hers while his wings unfurl to ease their descent and extend the moment.

Message 2 of 2 on *Announcements (#2050):
Date: Sun Oct 8 21:53:07 2006 CDT
From: Pyrene (#11964)
To: *Announcements (#2050)
Subject: An IC flight and an OOC Search!

Cadge took to the skies in a mating flight this evening, chased by B'ane's Aboleoth, G'deon's Nylanth and J'lal's Ghraith (NPC'ed by Shazi). In the end it was Ghraith who caught her, and come spring there'll be a PC Clutch on Reaches' sands.

And a PC clutch means PC candidates! So HRW is opening for Search! If you're interested, please read 'help Search' and 'help search policies' to be sure you're eligible. Then @send Pyrene with your email address to request an application and infopack (if you just wish to Stand without Impressing, please request a Stand_Only application).

There will be a Search Q&A happening soon to answer any questions you may have. Keep an eye on *ann for further details about this and Search in general.
--------------------------

cadge @ 2006-09-18T16:25:00

2006-09-18T20:32:28Z

Forgot to post this. Py catches up with Ike while A'rai stands by.

Logfile from HT Pyrene: Friday 15th September

Central Bowl
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.
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.
It is an autumn afternoon. The wind rakes the land with its chilling touch, and the sun seems pale, offering little warmth.
Sii'kyn is here.

Whenever there is insanity in the spires, there /has/ to be a Mudslide brownrider scuffling in the background, laughing hard. In this case? Most certainly. One of the more infamous sots matching said description is lounging against a dark brown forepaw, musing over the skies above. Waiting on someone? Looks like it. Sii'kyn slouches more, eyes twinkling with mirth; apparently, Ram is in a rare mood. A humorous one.

Cadgwith settles as heavily as always to the ground, permitting Pyrene to dismount. The weyrwoman relies on her hands more than of old as she scrambles down, but her smile is lighter than it was five turns ago. She has started to see the advantages of retirement. "Afternoon, Ike," she greets, all too familiar with said infamous sot. "Meeting a girl or a wine-dealer?" Cadge flicks her tail at Ram, showing off its shimmer. She's still got it, y'know.

Sii'kyn
Standing just short of average height, Sii'kyn nonetheless carries the heft of a man a head taller. Broad shoulders have gained mass, arms and back toned under sleek, tanned skin. His waist hasn't suffered inches throughout the turns, still as trim and taut and an admirable counterpart to narrow hips and well-proportioned legs. Balance is the key factor of the man, throughout body and features, color and proportion. His skin, deeply tanned, offers a contrast to his eyes, a light burnished-grey in color. Balance follows through to his features, smooth yet edged with subtle hints of his Fortian blood: high cheekbones and forehead, counterbalanced with a strong nose and jaw, and a forever-stubborn chin. Rounding the picture out is his close-cut black hair, the once shaggy mass tamed into a short-cropped crew.
Thread has seen and marked this man, along with associated peril as seen through scars: among the most noticeable would be the featherlight score which curls around his right eyebrow, and a long, slender white line running diagonal from right temple to the corner of his mouth.
Back to black leather once more, Sii'kyn's a score of black leather. Soft suede trous are snug but not tight, bootcut over Keroon-style footwear; his shirt is a simple linen cream. Over all of this goes his trademark black cloak, silver-hemmed and soft from many turns of overuse.
He is an adult of about 39. He is awake, but seems rather distracted.

Nyokath meanders in from the north.
A'rai slides from Nyokath's neck and lands gently on the ground.

Sii'kyn happens to enjoy retirement immensely. His last campaign at Igen was bloody, before returning up to the Reaches. It now becomes the "golden era"-- right? Ahem. "G'day, Py," he greets with lazy baritone; "Neither. My son's supposed to be hitching a ride from Southern, and I'm to be here to meet him, or he'll kill me." It's very scary to think of 'children' as, say, actual individuals. Sidramuntalath, meanwhile, shifts his neck just /so/ to express the heavy muscling of his shoulders. She ain't the only one!

A'rai wanders - quietly - across the bowl, eyeing the two older riders with thinly veiled curiosity. After all, one learns much when one is quiet and listens. A lot.

Pyrene smacks Cadgwith's foreleg as the gold bares her teeth coyly at Ram. "Behave, dear. Else gossip will have you about to rise again." She casts a suspicious look at A'rai, ever-alert for potential eavesdroppers. Cadge arches her neck--she has bigger muscles than Ram does--not noticeably squashed by the reprimand. "When did you have a son?" Pyrene wonders of Ike. It certainly wasn't with her!

A'rai ain't misbehaving; he's fiddling with Nyokath's straps. Said green seems to be watching Cadgwith and Sidramuntalath with every evidence of superior amusement - ah, they look silly. A'rai even manages a one-off nod to the pair, attempting innocuous unconcern.

Sii'kyn smirks, from Ram to Cadge. The brown coils himself further. She may have bigger muscles, but his are, uh, more proportionate. That whole 'strive for perfection' clause in his life contract, you know. Ike rolls his eyes at some mental comment, and then shifts Py a look best known as the "blink". "I have seven, y'know," he coughs. "The oldest is S'ke-- he rides at Ista. The one I'm waiting on is a hellion from Southen Hold." His voice is full of pride; "Just like me, he is." In other words: rut roh. A'rai is given a nod of greeting; Ram ignores Nyokath with callous disregard. His first love was always Cadgwith! (Or he'd have Cadge believe, at the very least.)

Cadgwith senses Nyokath thinks << A bit undignified, isn't he? >>

Cadgwith won't pretend that Ram was her first love or her last. She's as generous with her heart as Lis ever was. But it /is/ nice to be loved in return, even if her muscles /are/ so woefully disproportionate. She shuffles a wee bit closer to the brown, while her eyes whirl a blue greeting to Nyokath. Pyrene just wrinkles her nose in dismissal of Ike's paternal claims. "Oh, S'ke... I never could keep track of who was fathering Siannen's kids. Who's the mother of the hellion then? And if he's just like you, we'll have to put him to work immediately."

Sidramuntalath manages to move without -looking- like he's moving. Gravitation towards Cadgwith. Aww. So cute. Like young teenaged sweethear--wait. Like highschool sweethearts at their twentieth reunion, maybe. "Yeah, S'ke's the only one I sired off of Siannen," Sii'kyn acknowledges with a slight smile. To answer that second question, he shakes his head slightly; "You wouldn't know her. She's a brownrider from Southern. Impressed there." A low, rumbly laugh; "Yeah, you might want to put him to work. He's only thirteen, and already challenging my height." Ike was always on the short side, alas.

Nyokath snorts, yawns, flicks her tail. Boys will be boys; they never grow up, yah. A'rai leans against her shoulder, eyelids drooping. Oh, boy - yet more brats to escape. "How about being a messenger?" He asks, ironic as ever. Brats are best when one uses their energy as often as possible.

Small wonder Ike had a past with the diminutive Siannen then. Pyrene, of course, always liked her men tall, but Ike's at least her second-favourite ex-Weyrleader. "Only thirteen? I have a grandson who's... oh, five or something. I don't keep track." She glances across at A'rai's interruption. "A messenger? I'm beginning to think we should reserve those positions for idle riders. What on Pern brings a thirteen turn old to a Weyr in an Interval, I suppose we should be asking now."

A'rai grins wickedly. "But I'm not idle, Weyrwoman; I'm welcoming back a fellow High Reachian." As if that will work for long - he has no idea who Sii'kyn is. "Besides, I just hunted herself." Her being his dragon, who always seems to remain nameless.

Sii'kyn used to be the favorite. Alas, G'deon's height pwns him yet again. Sii'kyn contemplates A'rai, then, with half-lifted eyebrow. "He'd never take to that," he contemplates. "He'd be a stablehand, I figure, if he were to stay." Eyes crinkle about the corners, laughing at an unsaid joke. To Pyrene, "Well-- the stories of glory and fame brought by Thread are still alive and kicking, my dear." Fortian accent rollicks past typical precise enunication; "There are those who still glorify the dragonriders, just because of their age." Just because Thread stopped falling doesn't make the lifestyle any less appealing. Perhaps the contrary, come to think... He lifts a vague eyebrow at A'rai. Oh, the youngsters.

"We're /all/ idle, A'rai," Pyrene corrects him, waving one hand vaguely at the sky. "Clear skies for the rest of our lives now." She nods to Ike. "The bookmakers are already laying odds on how long those stories of glory will last--I don't give it many turns, myself. So, how do you two intend to spend this golden age we've entered?" She, being nigh on fifty and retired with cane no less, does not have to account for her future.

Youngsters? What youngsters? A'rai don't see no youngsters. Nyokath snorts into his hair and is poked in the chin for her efforts. "Stop that, you. And yes, I do know you have a name. Too bad for you that I'm not feeling like using it, you oversized firelizard." Ah, the affectionate insult: it's what they do. Pyrene gets a shrug. "I don't know, honestly." Nykath gives another, more powerful snort. "Look, I'm not going to go fighting fires just becaus eyou like the idea." Huff.

A'rai has disconnected.

Sii'kyn gives a roll of the shoulders, a fluid shrug. "To be honest, I myself have not a clue. I figure I'm a bit too old to be scampering among the crafts like most have want to do, these days-- but there's a certain excess of dragonhealers here, especially given the fact that we won't be dealing with the same injuries." A shake of the head. "I have a feeling High Reaches will be overhauled before long, and the structure of the Pass will fade with time." A very, very slight smirk, then; "I, myself, am financially independent, so I'm not too worried." All those runners from his youth paid off in a major way.

"Dragons fighting fires," Pyrene murmurs curiously. Cadgwith turns from making snoogly faces at Ram and blinks at her rider. "It's called irony, dearest," Pyrene assures her futilely, before smirking at Ike's prophecy. "Have you tried telling that to Kadi?" she asks. "I don't envy Vaeli dealing with all the Wingleaders. M'nty was difficult, but at least there was only one of him!"

Sii'kyn shakes his head. "I was a bit surprised to not see G'deon stepping back up to the plate, at least as interim. But I suppose past precedent is more important than what's actually important for the weyr, hmmm?" Cadge, that's called sarcasm. Duck. He chuckles vaguely, then; "M'nty wasn't that bad," he feebly protests. "It could have been worse." It could have been X'ian. "I'm just glad to hear Wyn has a voice in all of this. I know you don't truly..." Gaze seeks out Pyrene's face, thoughtful for a moment; "...get along too well, but both of you were always deeply involved in your causes. I don't know enough of Vaeli to say if she holds your convictions." And he Searched her, even, so long ago.

Pyrene has long since forgotten that Ike was to blame for Vaeli, and her expression is kept carefully non-committal at the mention of Wyn. "Vaeli doesn't have the same.... /spark/ that Ashli has--a little too self-aware, but she's settling into the role." Such is Py's opinion, although she does grimace as she moves onto the next person to be debated. "As for Gid, he seemed... I don't know... almost relieved that Nylanth didn't win. I think--well, Cadge thinks," she amends honestly, "that he was ready to step down. Didn't want to ask to, but he didn't want to be Weyrleader anymore either. We couldn't ask him back again." Ah, and there the 'we' slips out. Pyrene hasn't taken her fingers out of the pies yet. "I didn't see you volunteering either," she observes.

Sii'kyn ayes. "Ashli will be a fine Weyrwoman someday," he notes with a nod of his head. She loves Ram. Of course she'll be a good Weyrwoman. "Yes, Gid was very relieved," Ike quietly comments to himself. He knows a bit about his coworker's feelings of the matter. "He was stressing hard at the end. Did you see how Nylanth was getting grey for a bit, there?" That was one of the first things Ike noticed, when he returned. "Why would I, Py?" he honestly questions. "I served a term at Southern in the same role, and I raised the next generation at Igen-- I've been away from High Reaches for many turns, Py. It's not my right." Oh, don't think he didn't notice that 'we'. He was expecting it, come to truth.

Pyrene shakes her head, flushing as he mentions Nylanth going grey. Truth was, she was too busy fretting about Wyn and Vaeli to notice the state of G'deon. It is not her habit to admit oversights, of course. "You were as good a Weyrleader as any we've had, Ike, but my point was that you can't expect another to volunteer if you won't." It's not her habit to admit hypocrisy either. She tweaks the subject. "I forgot how much time you've spent away from Reaches. Are you back for good, or will Southern claim your old bones yet? It's certainly attracted mine periodically."

Sii'kyn tilts his head. "I understand," he states, slowly. "But I still feel it a different situation." He shrugs, ever so lightly. "Who knows. Maybe High Reaches will become governed by a Council." That's accompanied by a roll of the eyes, and he idly focuses on Cadge for the next few moments, giving thought to her last question. "Southern is..." He searches for a word. "Tiring," he finally states. "Because they would want me back as -something-, not as a retired old H'well looking to jump into whomever's pants. They would want me to do something. To constantly be proactive. It's what they expect of me." He shakes his head, again. His eyeballs are gonna fall out, at this rate! "If I were to retire anywhere other than here, it would most likely be Ista. Be closer to my kin. I have a host of cousins and children and even my sister's there now." A pause. "But I think I will stay here." Beat. "Hopefully."

Pyrene gives him a smile that's both warm and genuine. "Hopefully," she agrees. "It's good to have you around." She's watching the next generation gradually secure their hold on the Weyr, and while Ike may be almost a decade younger than her, he represents the good old days, back when things were where they should be: under her control. "It's nice to see a fellow of the 'old guard'." She winks.

---------

Log ended because I had to go.

cadge @ 2006-09-10T08:14:00

2006-09-10T12:27:43Z

And last night on Harper's Tale, the end of the Pass was announced. When I started playing 8 years ago (!), I figured out how long it would be in RL years and how old Pyrene would be and came to the conclusion that it was not impossible we'd still be around for it. But I didn't really believe it....

Here's how the RP went down. Starting with Pyrene and Iliad, and then comes the gathering for the big announcement.

Saturday 9/9/06

Star Stones
With Thread in full swing and fall charts so common, this old sentinel is a bit of a charming antiquity, a monument to history: lichens eat at the stone in crevices not latey scrubbed, and firelizards perch in the unblinking socket of the Eye Rock. Only snow lands often on the broad, lower ledge, and only wind climbs the short stair to the top, but the view for the curious is worth it and more, as all the mountains of the Reaches' range spear the sky above, and the Weyr itself lays below, its ring of spires like some great titan's discarded crown.
It is a summer afternoon.
Balanced in the Eye Rock is a brown firelizard.
Bronze Minoyath and gold Cadgwith are here.
You see Message Drum here.
Obvious exits:
Spires' Sky Stairs

Iliad slips out of a small alcove, breathless.

Cadgwith's brackish hide glows eerily red in the sunset, and even her pale rider has a rosy glow as she lounges on one of the queens forepaws. The pair are gazing at the sky: perhaps admiring the startlingly pink clouds, or perhaps pondering one faint red spark--now smaller than either of them have ever known it.

Oh look, a MILF! The -other- Gids-spawn makes his way up the stairs, hesitating at the top of the steps before pursing his lips into a brief grin, aimed towards the woman. "'evening," he greets, edging his way over towards the pair, if only to follow Pyrene's gaze towards the sky. "Amazing, isn't it?"

Pyrene starts slightly, and even Cadge flicks her head round. The two have courtesy enough to drag themselves out of their reverie and greet Iliad, the one with a rumbly foghorn, and the other with a response to his question: "It is, isn't it? Two red stars in the sky--something my grandchildren and your daughter won't remember."

"This is true. Though I highly doubt /Pidge/ will ever give you grandchildren, so you don't have to worry about that," Iliad snickers to himself, giving his chin a little rub before giving Cadgwith a bow in a more formal greeting. "Speaking of him, I can't we're twenty already. Time flies, huh?" Which just means that their parents are getting /old/.

"Things happened in the Weyr before you were born, Iliad," Pyrene reminds him. "Pidge has a nephew and two nieces thanks to his older sister at Herder. In fact, little Sophy's fostered here. And I wouldn't assume Pidge will never have children, just because he's been smart enough to decide what he wants to do in life first." Even Pyrene is maternal enough to defend her young--and she's not above a below-the-belt blow either. "You're twenty; I'm forty-seven--we always knew this time would come, but that doesn't mean you believe it, does it?"

"I know. But Pid--" Iliad grins, shaking his head to dismiss the defense the smith's mother gives. "Wait, you're forty seven? I thought you were like, the same age as my dad." Which means Pyrene's just /ancient/. Aiee. "Weird."

"I am /like/ the same age as your dad. There's barely two turns between us," Pyrene points out, rather aggrieved. "Far too young for this, anyway." She shakes her cane--not quite hitting him. "Have some respect for your elders, young man. Your generation will have their turn at the Weyr soon enough." She grimaces. "IF a bit later than I'anex expected...."

And for whatever reason, Iliad just laughs--lightly, barely audible. He at least tries to stifle it by biting down on his tongue. "Sorry." See? He's respectful! But, as soon as I'anex is mentioned, lips purse together before being licked, his head nodding once. "Yeah. I suppose so. And I'm sure when I'm your age, I'll be looking back thinking that I was just twenty the other day."

"I was just twenty when I Impressed Cadge," Pyrene observes softly, tipping her face back to smile gently at the gold. For her part, Cadgwith gently touches her nose to her rider's, lovingly huffing warm breath all over her. The moment is shared, and then the two look forwards again, Pyrene smiling foolishly. "Before then, I felt that I'd had every experience I ever would have. It's funny how wrong you can be. I feel like that now--but at the same time, I've no idea what's before us, so maybe I'm wrong again." Ahh... it's late enough for philosophy apparently.

"That's kind of how I feel. I mean, I've definitely had ups and downs. I've found a career, a great girl that I could definitely see myself spending the rest of my life with. I've got a wonderful daughter who I love more than anything in life... a great family. A goldriding sister. Friends. I've been a candidate. And I've juggled it all. And yet, I feel as if I haven't experienced life by a longshot."

"Well, we're about to experience what it's like to go into an Interval with no Weyrleader," Pyrene points out, frowning. "I've looked through the records, and believe me, we're pioneers as far as High Reaches goes." She glares balefully at the retreating sun. Coward. "I suppose that's what worries me. That all the experiences left are unpleasant ones." Cadge croons deep in her throat, the sound seeming to resonate through the very stones standing around them."

"I suppose all the experiences left are what we make them out to be, really. We just need to think more optimistically--wait, that's a word, right?" Iliad dwells over that for a moment before nodding his head once. "We'll cope without Eit. You'll all figure something out. I mean, it could be worse--it could be the beginning of the /Pass/. I think that'd be a bit more dramatic."

Pyrene is being a little hypocritical, since she was prophesying doom and gloom if I'anex led them into the Interval. Now he isn't, but it seems there's no pleasing her. "That's true," she admits. "I suppose the weyrfolk at the beginning of the pass were envying those of us who only had to deal with the end of it." She gives Iliad a sidelong look. "I /am/ too young to remember the beginning of the Pass."

"But barely," Iliad teases, tossing Pyrene a wicked grin. "You -are- forty seven, afterall. That's /like/ fifty. Almost." Okay, Iliad's done, really. "And you know, a Pass--fifty." Okay really, he's done now. "You look good for your age, anyway. You're not all like, wrinkly 'n stuff." But surely, once she hits fifty? Doomsday.

Pyrene preens at the compliment. She's always been susceptible to flattery, but she gets less chance to be so these days. "They say dragonriders stay looking younger than holdfolk, although I've never been quite convinced." She grins at him. "You don't look bad yourself. For twenty. Your complexion's pretty good."

"I believe it. I mean, if some of those older riders can still mount their lifemates, they must be in tiptop shape, at least. If they're not breaking their hips in the process," Iliad grins, using one hand to scratch at the back of his neck. "Thanks. I never did get plagued with acne. No scars," he says, his grin widening as he feels his face now. "Still debating about this though." The fuzz that he rubs underneath his chin, of course.

G'deon slips out of a small alcove, breathless.

Xayna slips out of a small alcove, breathless.

Dale slips out of a small alcove, breathless.

Valedath drops in from Spires' height.
An accommodating incline of foreleg from Valedath allows Tye to disembark with the assistance from this cavalier.

Xayna comes up onto the star stones from the cavern, a bubblie still in one hand. Her curiosity of why so many were headed up here, made her come herself. Now she finds a place out of the way of traffic to eat her bubblie and find out what is going on.

Pyrene grins lightly at Iliad, and then starts round a veritable crowd seems to materialise. "What's going on?" she murmurs. Good thing she and Iliad aren't conducting a secret love affair, because their little tryst is no longer private.

G'deon arrives the old-fashioned way, carrying a large wooden crate. And on top of the crate is another, though smaller. Both make glass-like tinkling sounds, and for good reason. G'deon is bringing his most special stash to share some Big News. Oh yes. It will be big. "Keep coming!" he calls down the stairs. "We'll make room! Come on people, move back. You can mingle afterwards. Good evening," he adds to Pyrene and Iliad, giving them a wide smile that is nearly placid, but too happy to be quite so.

And this just means no making out with Pidgery's mother. Dang. As if. At Pyrene's question, Iliad's brows lift in confusion before he half-pivots on his heels, lifting brows even further (if that's humanly possible) at the crowd commencing, in particular, at his father. "Hey dad. Uh---what's up?" is asks, fingers flicking towards the crate with variable interest. Maybe it's a late turnday celebration. Who knows.

Pyrene was starting to look a little peeved at losing the peace and quiet, but that crate Gid is bearing changes her whole outlook on life. "Good evening indeed!" she trills back, swinging around on Cadge's leg to face the congregation. Whether by age or by ladyhood, she wants first dibs on the wine. Cadge rumbles in amiable bemusement at all, dragons and sundry, scooting her sizeable backside as out of the way as she can manage.

Tye stays near Valedath for a moment, leaning against his foreleg. "Well, guess I should at least join the crowd. The blue rumbles softly as Tye moves away from his side and disappears into the crowd only to elbow her way to the front. Nodding to some of the members of her wing, she crosses her arms as she gets a good spot to stand. "This is gonna get really crowded, really fast." She mutters to no one in particular.

Dale is standing along the side watching the riders as they make their way in. For this event he has put on a new suit and even took out the old knot. He offers a slight wave to G'deon before he cast his glance out to the various people. One of the miner masters make their way over to Dale and this engage themselves in a quick conversation before the group separates, with the miner moving on the meet other crafters while Dale remains where he was standing. He fastens up his jacket a little tighter, bucking one a buttons in the middle of his chest for a little bit of extra warmth.

Xayna moves further out of the way, finding herself near Iliad. "Hey Iliad." Is commented towards the friend but the eyes watch the others. "Any idea what is going on?" The question is posed to no one in particular, and her eyes fall on G'deon and the crates he is carrying. Bubblie now finished, fingers are licked clean.

G'deon sends a lazy, almost boyish sort of smile Pyrene's way before he carefully sets down the crates and crouches down next to them. He lifts the cover from the first, revealing about two dozen small wine glasses. Perfect for toasting. He holds out glasses for Pyrene and Iliad, takes one for himself, then enlists one of the nearer weyrfolk to finish passing around the tray. Next, Gid pries the cover off the second, revealing... wine, of course. And good, Benden stock at that. "Been saving up for this," he tells those nearby with nearly, dare we say, giddy pleasure. He goes to town with a corkscrew and four of the bottles, two red, two white, then starts to pass those around as well. The news takes preparation, it seems.

"Hey. I don't know. One second I'm talking to Pyrene, and the next?" Iliad waves a hand to indicate the crowd in general. "That." And then attention refocuses on his father, in particular the glass being offered, which is accepted with a small "Thanks. So uh, what's the occasion?" He can't help to ask, likely for the benefit of everyone.

Pyrene just seems to get perkier and perkier as the wine appears. She wastes no time in getting a bottle of the red tipped towards her glass--and she takes a sip (to test, naturally), before holding the rest ready to toast. "When the wine's free, I ask no questions," she adds to Xayna, having overheard her question.

Tye happily takes a glass, grabbing for one of the bottles as it is passed her way. She gives a small smile, pouring the red wine into her glass before handing it to a resident next to her. Already having an idea as to what this shindig is all about, Tye swirls the wine around, her focus completely on G'deon. "Come on! Enough with the waiting." She lets out, a bunch of others shouting their agreement. Smiles all around! Her hand is poised, ready to toast, her fingers shaking slightly with excitement.

Xayna takes an offered glass, even though the weyrherder isn't far away. When asked, the response is red wine. Thanking those passing it out, she takes a tempting sniff. Not seeing anyone else taking sips right now, Xay forces herself to just hold the glass. Eyes turn to Pyrene and a smile given. "I second that. Free wine, always good." Now her eyes return to G'deon and readjusts the glass so to do a proper toast. If this is what she thinks it is, why her ride wanted to be back by sunset, this is going to be a good night.

G'deon pours himself a glass of deep red wine and straightens, waiting for everyone to finish. He winks at Iliad and whispers, "You'll see," before clearing his through surreptitiously. "May I have your attention!" he then barks up, projecting his voice with practiced capability. "I have just spoken with Vaeli, our current senior weyrwoman. She arrived moments ago from a meeting between the weyrleaders and some of our crafts' leaders. It is my great pleasure to announce to all of you that the Red Star has moved on, and with it, Thread." He lifts his glass and smiles wide. "Here's to the Interval! May it be prosperous and peaceful for us all." Eh. Not a speech writer.

Pyrene lets out a choked cry and almost drops her glass. She would have guessed had she let herself speculate, but to actually hear the words.... If her rider can't articulate her emotions, Cadgwith can, and the queen bugles at the sky, at the diminishing star. The fight is over for another few generations. Their battle has been won.

"--what? Seriously?" Though words are spoken to G'deon, they're mostly to himself, given the quiet tone which is quickly muffled by a sip from his glass. And then eyes widen in surprise as the words really hit him. "Wow." Well, there you go. Iliad's astonished. Go him.

Tye clenches her eyes shut, trying to keep the tears that have started to well up suppressed. "Shards," she gasps out, shaking her head in wonder and raising her glass. With her eyes bright and shimmering, she lets out a loud cheer. "To the Interval!!" Behind her, Valedath raises to his haunches, echoing the roar of the other dragons. "By Faranth, I can't believe we made it." And with that, Tye takes a deep drink from her glass and promptly breaks down and allows the tears to flow down her face.

Xayna is startled more by the queen bugling than the announcement. She had suspected as much on her trip to the herderhall. "To the Interval!" A toast, now for that long sip of the wine. Oh yes, this is the good stuff. With everyone in shock around her, and the dragon bugling, she doesn't know where to look or who to look for. "It is here. Today is the best day of my life."

Dale takes a poured glass from one of his fellow smiths and raise it in unison with the others, "To the Interval!" He smiles and nods a little towards G'deon as his glass is raised before lowering it to take a sip. He moves forward into the group taking yet another sip after a step or two. He continues to take many small sips, allowing himself to enjoy the flavor which the Benden wine afflicts upon his pallet.

"To the Interval," Pyrene repeats blankly, gulping dazedly at the wine. The drink seems to restore some of her composure, and she gives a broken little laugh as she lowers her glass. Sliding down from Cadge's leg, she impulsively throws her arms (cane and all) around the first person she sees--young baker apprentice Burkon from the lower caverns, who returns the hug warmly never noticing who she is.

G'deon sips from his glass with eyes closed but jumps slightly at Cadgwith's bugle, which is soon echoed by several dragons from the weyr below. The volley of sounds is rather impressive, really. G'deon straightens again and smiles softly to Pyrene, to whom he lifts his glass and sips again before turning to Iliad. "Seriously. We are... free. I guess." He glances up at the Red Star in the sky above and gives it a rather rude gesture with a cocky grin. Then back to the wine. He's all smiles tonight. They're only a little forced, but he's had practice with that, too.

"Congratulations," Iliad can't help but offer next to his father, opening up his own arms for a manly embrace. Or maybe a good thump on the back. "Bet you never thought you'd see the day, huh?" Figurative speaking, of course. "I can't believe it's here. I suppose that living through almost exactly twenty turns of thread's a good enough feat, even if I never had to face it myself. It's something I can look back on, though."

Tye runs back over by Valedath, the blue instantly lowering his head down to his 'rider's level. She wastes no time hugging the blue, blabbering incoherently as some random person pats her back soothingly. Waving her hand in the air, Tye looks up and wipes her face, her scowl returning to her face. Ahem. That never happened. Finishing up the rest of the wine, she once again raises the glass, letting out a whoop of joy. "Free, free, free! Shards, what the heck are we going to do with the rest of our lives?"

One more long sip and Xayna gives Iliad a big hug before making her way around the crowd, talking about the announcement. To those she knows, a hug is given, to those she doesn't, a handshake or a toast of wine. "It's here and we're free for a while. I'm so glad. That means I can travel more." She happens to be next to Pyrene when she says this, but it is to the weyrherder Corun. Even he gets a huge hug.

G'deon watches Pyrene with mild amusement but turns to grin at his son. "Been riding for half the Pass, so... yes, I suppose. I'm certainly happy I lasted this long. Now I can be pretty darn sure I'll live to see Lilly grow up, and that makes me happy," he continues, wrapping an arm around Iliad's shoulders. He even goes so far as to give the boy... no... young man a fatherly smooch on the side of his head. He then points with his empty glass towards skinny, pimply-faced girl near the stairs who's vacantly staring at nothing at all. "Messenger!" he calls out, having spotted her knot. "Get the others to start spreading the news to the lower caverns." She flashes a suddenly animated smile at him and scampers down the stairs. The beat goes on.

Pyrene shivers as she hears Xayna's comment, and not because the evening chill is setting in. "Freedom," she murmurs, glancing up to Cadgwith. The gold's eyes slow in their frenetic whirling as she looks down at her rider, but there's no dampening their joyous blue and Pyrene finds herself beaming back. Soon Cadge turns to extend her nose to Valedath while Pyrene reels in the general direction of Iliad and G'deon, her path strewn with several weyrfolk who, for once, want to hug her. And, for once, she wants to return the favour.

Okay, so a random hug from Xayna's definitely a bit unexpecting, causing Iliad to stumble slightly, eyes drifting towards the departing herder before returning to the bronzerider once the arm's tossed around his shoulders. "And I'm sure she'll love to see more of you. And Nylanth. She's /obsessed/ with Chanti and Ol'dath right now. And Izlasth. What's another, y'know?" Iliad smirks, rubbing at his mouth with his free hand before using the other to draw his glass back to his mouth.

Dale shakes the hands of a few of the Masters as they pass by. A few he hasn't seen in a while stop and talk for a few moments, exchanging contact information before they are back to mingling. Dale makes his way to G'deon, extending his hand slowly, "Well done my friend. I am proud of you and all of the riders. You have my appreciation for all you have done. Thank you very much." The Smith grins and nods looking around at some of the others present as well as they start to express emotions before turning back to G'deon, "We enter a new and fresh time now G'deon."

Xayna gives one last person a hug, after making her way around the crowd, downs what is left of her wine and leaves the glass with someone else so it gets back to G'deon. Now she makes her way back down the staircase, having seen a couple friends head back down.

G'deon holds out his glass towards a passing smith with a wine bottle. Good stuff. "To new life. And new understandings," he offers in Tye and Valedath's general direction, getting into the swing of things. And civilizations, Gid, don't forget new civilizations. The rider passes his glass to the hand draped over Iliad's shoulder so he can return Dale's handshake. "Thank you, sir. I'm sure we all appreciate the, uh... appreciation! Here's to appreciation!" he adds with a wild smile, lifting his now empty hand.

Xayna slips through a small, heavy door.

D'nik slips out of a small alcove, breathless.

Iliad will just contently sip from his own glass while his father converses, yes. The smith is regarded briefly, but only because of his near-presence as merely as a bystander. Perhaps his attention's drawn around to the crowd as a whole, in search of someone. It could explain the sudden shifting of his eyes elsewhere, anyway.

Dale bows slightly offering a little laugh, "Very well then! I hope you do consider joining me sometime to pick back up some smith skills! It would be a good way to pick back up your old skills my friend!" Dale grins and gives him one final nod, "I assume the news is being properly dispersed around Pern? I will ride back to my hall in a few days to make sure the news has been properly received."

Pyrene finally reaches G'deon and Iliad and throws her arms around them both--missing the fact that G'deon's engaged in conversation right now. "I wish Pidge were here," she babbles. She's lost her wine long ago, but she's euphoric enough without it. Catching Tye's eye, she even gives the bluerider a smile.

D'nik slips up from the crafting area, his dragon having gone to sunbath or...well, who knows what she went to do. But he heard tell there was a gathering here...and oh, loookit! There is!

G'deon tightens his arm around his son's shoulders and nods a happy reply to Dale before he is suddenly hugged by... Pyrene. Stunned? Oh yeah. But he's not going to pass this up. His free arm is soon wrapped around the gold rider's shoulders as well. In a weird... quasi-family group hug. "I do too," he says in a simple, quiet voice.

Tye tosses back a few more glasses of wine, stumbling back over by the others. "Aye, to new beginnings and all that!" She gets a stout pat on her back, causing her to falter in her already unbalanced steps. Giggling at almost falling flat on her face, she looks over to Pyrene and G'deon, grinning from ear to ear. "S'now what? We gonna still be a Weyr an' all right?" Oh yeah, her alcohol tolerance has really dropped over the turns. "D'nik!" Tye yells, waving at the greenrider. "How's tha' pretty li'l green of yours?"

Dale smiles and backs up a few feet, "Have a good night G'deon! I will be seeing you around the Weyr." With that the Smith slowly turns to head back to the Crafting Area. He turns one last time offering a wave to those still present before making his way down.

Dale slips through a small, heavy door.

Kanade slips out of a small alcove, breathless.

Pyrene is going to temporarily adopt Iliad. He kind of looks like Pidge, after all. She stands alongside the father and son, leaning on their arms rather than her cane. Spying D'nik entering, she blows him a kiss. "I think I threw something in my back with all that hugging," she murmurs to G'deon, her grin still broad regardless.

Well hey, if they're doing a group hug thing, Iliad might as well throw himself entirely into it, right? It's just too bad that his wine glass is in his once-free hand. Hopefully he won't spill any on Pyrene. "Yeah, it's definitely too bad Pidge isn't here. Lanti too. Maybe we could crash Ista later," he then suggests, grinning wickedly.

D'nik blushes at being caught, because he was kinda trying to sneak, but he recovers easily and drifts over towards Tye with a broad grin, "Zveit is good, luv. And how's Valedath doing?" he asks, his voice soft, even. As always. He comes to stand with in arms reach of Tye and just grins at Pyrene, "Hully, Lady Pyrene." he offers in her direction.

"Then I'll just have to carry you," G'deon tells Pyrene, still grinning from ear to ear. Tye's question brings out a laugh from the rider. "What else would we be? Don't worry. After a nice breather, we'll all be quite busy again with... well. A lot of things." Uh huh. See that smile? Hear the confidence. It's all 100% genuine. Really. "We should," he says when Iliad finishes. "Definitely. Unless they're all wrapped up in their own celebrations." Hence, "crash", Gid. Duh. "As long as Nylanth and I stay away from the Hold, right?"

Kanade doesn't really know why she's here on the star stones, but people have been coming up this direction from various locals and shells, perhaps she's just curious.

"Vally-poo is doing just great!" Tye states cheerfully. The blue snorts at the nickname. That's right, he heard! "More wine!" She bellows out, raising her empty glass. "Don't really know, I guess." is admitted, the bluerider tapping her chin thoughtfully. "Never been through an Interval before. Guess I'm jus' not sure what else to do other than burn Thread from the sky." But hey, a few turns of resting and relaxing sound good to her. She'll worry about what to do when that time comes.

D'nik grins faintly at Tye and just shakes his head, Everyone up here is drunk. Its so cute! "I never been through one either." he comments to her, grinning as he refuses the wine offered to him with just a grin. Someone hasta help the drunken women home. Right? Yes.

Pyrene has more than a few fresh wine-stains on her dress as it is. "You can carry me, but you might have more difficulty with Cadge," she points out to G'deon. She doesn't weigh in on "What is the Weyr doing next?" Avoiding questions is something she's good at, although people who dare to make plans without her might find they get her opinion anyway. Instead, she finds another glass pressed upon her, and she raises it in another toast. "To the Red Star's shrinking posterior! May it grow old and wrinkly before ours do!" It's too good an occasion to stand on dignity.

"Right," Iliad laughs, downing the rest of his wine from the glasss as best as he can, and hopefully again with minimal spillage. "I'm sure Lanti wouldn't mind us dropping in." Nevermind that it'll probably be after midnight by the time they actually get there. "And then we can just go barhopping." And Gids can buy. Great idea, right?

"True, true," G'deon muses as he glances over at Cadgwith. "I'm sure we can figure out something that might work." Which is luckily soon followed by Pyrene's toast. Which he drinks to after he has lifted his arm finally from Iliad's shoulders. "To think we'll never see that ugly mug again." The glass is emptied for a third time. "Shells. I haven't done a pub crawl in... Turns." No use trying to tally up the years. He finally spots his fellow wingrider and raises his empty glass to D'nik. Salute!

Kanade sidles up to the nearest dragonrider, "So Thread's really gone?" she asks curiously.

"So let's do it," Iliad replies, reaching over to give G'deon's shoulder a quick grope. "I don't think we've been truly intoxicated in each other's presence for a bit now." Is that really a bad thing? "You can fend all of the nice women away from me since I'm ta~aken," Iliad drawls out before chewing on his bottom lip to ease the smirk.

Pyrene smiles at Kanade, her benevolence even extending to adolescents tonight. "Thread's gone for another 200 turns or so," she assures her. "And before you gentleman get completely sloshed, may I have a boost up Cadge's side?" That last is directed to G'deon, because bronzeriders have certain duties. G'deon, fortunately, is ever conscientious, and assists her gallantly. One last wave at the revellers and Cadgwith drops off the side of the Starstones, diving to her rider's weyr.
________________

Message 5 of 5 on *High Reaches (#3155):
Date: Sat Sep 9 22:14:01 2006 CDT
From: G'deon (#19620)
To: *High Reaches (#3155)
Subject: The official announcement!

As evening fell across High Reaches, G'deon started calling people to the Star Stones while he carried a crate of wine and glasses to its lofty heights. There, he shared the news that Thread had officially been deemed Gone! There was much rejoicing.

Feel free to say your character was at that announcement, or maybe they heard it from one of the many weyr messengers sent out with the happy news.
__________________

One of those "Oh, crap is that the time I need to pose out!" endings for me. ;)

So... it looks like we need to re-desc the Star Stones....

Lil

2006-09-06T00:10:41Z

Intro log for a new resident at High Reaches. Not often a Search and Rescue actually gets RP'ed. This was just spur of the moment. I was setting Lil up as a resident, D'nik happened to be on and amenable, so we all went for the full RP. We used the Alpine Meadows for the setting, so pretend these are ones some way distant from the Weyr.

Logfile from HT Pyrene.

Above the Mountains
You are shocked by the increased winds that whip around you.

Pyrene is enjoying this far more than she should, considering their mission is likely to have a rather depressing outcome. She's relaxed aboard Cadgwith and flashes a smile to D'nik, while her dragon continues to survey the ground below them, looking for the cothold.

Cadgwith thinks to you, << I bespoke Zveitseith with: Cadgwith is lazy waves of summer. << Do you see the cothold yet? >> >>

On the Upper Alpine Meadows below, Lil hums to herself as she walks through the meadow, beaming with delight at each and every new flower variety she finds. She already has a haphazard crown-like thing upon her head, and stops to add another blue sprig to the mess. "Look Wendel! Another one! Blue's your favorite color I know."

From Zveitseith's neck, D'nik is scanning the ground, like any good rider type. Hey, what can you do, its his job and he likes it. Even if it usually is depressing. His eyes search the ground, and he occasionally cocks his head to the side as if listening.

Cadgwith senses Zveitseith is bubbly and sweet, like the freshest bubbly pie. >>Its a lovely day...oh, cothold, right. Yes, look! There it is!<<

On the Upper Alpine Meadows below, Wendel's pink nose gives a little twitch in Lil's direction as he shifts his weight on her shoulder, snuggling closer into the crook of her neck. He holds on for dear life as she bends yet again, grasping at a bunch of tiny yellow flowers.

Cadgwith thinks to you, << I bespoke Zveitseith with: Cadgwith gushes back, from some draconic blowhole of accomplishment. << And I see somebody down there! It will be good news after all! >> >>

Pyrene gives a little gasp as her dragon's movement catches her unprepared. But having seen somebody below, Cadge is going down and her rider has little choice but to follow.

You drop down through buffeting thermals.

Upper Alpine Meadows
You land on a rolling slope, dotted by volcanic rocks.

Cadgwith senses Zveitseith's voice changes, the soft humidity of the jungle and her general soaring crescendo touching her words. >>Happy days!<<

Zveitseith lands gently despite the buffeting winds above.

From Zveitseith's neck, D'nik is quite used to the green's movements, and he just hangs onto his straps as she soars sharply down, landing gently in the meadows.

D'nik slips from Zveitseith's neck to land on foreleg, and then bounce down to land gently on the ground.

Lil gasps at the sound of great wings beating the air above her, throwing her arms up over her head and falling back on her rear end amid the sea of flowers, Wendel following after.

Pyrene glances askance at the girl's get-up, but makes no comment as she dismounts a trifle awkwardly. Her cane is unclipped last, and she prods at Cadge's nose with it, forcing the gold to keep her toothsome head back. "Stop scaring the natives, dear." Lil is left to D'nik. It's his job after all. Pyrene only came along because she wanted a change of scenery and few people like to argue with her.

D'nik
Sparkling brown eyes awash with the glory of Nezdarvyth's bronze hide peek out from too long chocolate locks that obscure part of his face until they're tucked away. The lad's body is enhanced by sinewy muscles, quite strong especially for a lad only just full grown. Almost, but not quite, at six-feet (give or take an inch or two), he carries himself with confidence, yet that hint of boyishness is still quite present in the background. Tender features adorn his face; a small button nose, cheeks always a bit flushed with rose pink. Spun chocolate wisps curl about his forehead to frame the tanned skin of his features; a bit long, he wears it back, tossed over his shoulder in a hip length braid, his bangs long enough to fall just past his expressive brown orbs. His skin is copper from hours on end spent in the sun. Long of leg the lad is, for all that, they are strong legs, for all that they are rather slim when compared to others. Overall, his physique displays a slenderness about him with nary trace of weakness in his form. Round his neck is a slender pink studded black collar with an engraved tag on it sporting a single Word: X'ner's.
Misty, pale blue suede graces Dom's sweet form with it's soft touch in the form a tunic with long, supple sleeves, and a hemline that reaches a bit below his waist and is belted there with a slender cord of a deep doe color. The pastel tunic fades downwards into wherhide pants, cut loosely of a deep blue suede rather than one of the brighter shades. The blue shadows of the pants flow down over the tops of soft half-boots made of brushed wherhide in the same shade of a slightly darker sienna that the corded belt. Tucked into his belt is Rock, X'ner's blue and green stuffed llama and Dom and Ner's best friend. A gold firelizard is perched on his shoulder.
He is an adult of about 34. He is awake and looks alert.

Lil
Smudges of dirt upon a pale, moon shaped face is the first thing you notice about this little girl. Unlike most dirt smudges, these seem to be self-perpetuating, ever-present parts of this girl's features. Her hair is a wild and unkempt shock of RED, and Lil has done her best to decorate it with bits of shell, scraps of blue and black fabric, and other sparkly items. She's dressed just like a drudge, brown burlap sack like material sagging off her bony white shoulders, but the spark in her blue eyes says she's something more - or maybe she's just nuts. There is nary a shoe upon her dirty little feet. A rat sits upon her shoulder, apparently trained, and apparently her best friend the way she talks to it all the time.
She is a child of about 10. She is awake and looks alert.

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 a weyrwoman for High Reaches Weyr.
She is an adult of about 47. She is awake and looks alert.

D'nik slides quickly from his green, a med kit slung over his shoulder. He's been trained in search and rescue yes, so it is his job. Mentally, his dragon is told to wait there, and the tall rider slips forward, towards the girl. "Hallo there? We've come from High Reaches to aid Runar's cothold." He starts towards her, not to fast so he dosen't spook her, yet he's got a businesslike attitude in his step.

Lil recovers her composure relatively quickly, considering, and stands up, rat in tow slung quick-like back into his accustomed spot on her shoulder. (You can tell 'cause it's a little more dirty on that side - ew.) She eyes D'nik warily, then looks from to his green dragon and back. Smart kid. Visbily squaring her shoulders and raising her chin, she says, "About time." First her chin quavers. Then her lower lip trembles. Her eyes go all shimmery, and then she crumbles completely into into tears.

Pyrene grimaces and opts not to rush forward and clasp the child to her bosom--that's still D'nik's job, right? She does step forward a little, looking to the cothold ahead of them. It's still and quiet and there's no obvious sign of movement aside from this child and the vermin on her shoulder. "Oh, this doesn't look good after all..." she murmurs, and Cadgwith croons worriedly, her eyes fading to orange.

Zveitseith rumbles smoothly, taking a step forward. Her rider turns and holds his hand up in front of the dragon's nose even as her eyes go from green to orange-violet. She stops, and D'nik steps towards Lil. He has children, knows what calming children is all about. "Hey now...why don't you tell me what's going on here?" he asks, kneeling at the girls side, his med kit set in the grass just next to him, a hand moving to teh girl's shoulder.

Wendel is on Lil's shoulder. Wendel doesn't take kindly to strangers, but luckily he's in a good mood today. Or maybe just shaken up enough already. He moves aside as the hand comes toward him, grudgingly. Lil is ... well... oblivious. Bawling at the sky, she looks like she either wants to hug D'nik or kick him and hasn't decided on which just yet. "What's going *hic hic*. Wha-what's going on here?! They're dead! They're all dead and it's YOUR fault. You and your your your *hic* dragon!" Looks like she's decided on kicking. She takes a deep breath, face screwed up in fury and loss, and aims one shoeless foot right dead center at the family jewels. "Where WERE YOU?!"

At this, Pyrene does intervene. "Hold hard there, my girl!" she snaps, her cane abruptly thrusting between the child and the rider. "We were only told that Runar had not been in contact with anybody this morning. D'nik here is a trained search and rescue operative--one of the best--and he was sent out immediately. Now dry up, calm down and apologise! At least /you're/ safe now." She's not unsympathetic, but she's always been firm on discipline with children, no matter what the circumstances.

D'nik has gotten kicked by his own son and sees the foot coming, when children throw tantrums, that's what happens to the innocent folks. He goes to grab the foot only inches away from his poor jewels and looks up at the girl, a surprised look on his face as he groans faintly. Zveitseith hisses, looking as if she's about to come for the little child, But Nik holds his hand up again, at the green and she stays back, but obviously simmers. The rider, with a pale face, settles ther on his knees, just looking at the kid. "I don't think it was Zveitseith's fault, girl." Cough. He looks up at PYrene and manages to smile at her. "Ow."

Lil's face goes totally blank. It would be funny under other circumstances. She doesn't appear to have heard Pyrene at all, or at least she doesn't respond in any way. And she doesn't apologize. Instead she just gazes blankly at the hand holding her foot, and then into the smile. He's smiling at her? This does not compute. Apparently she's decided on plan B since plan A didn't work out - shifting her weight forward onto D'nik's foot holding hand, she moves to launch herself right at him, that blank look still on her face. Wendel clings for dear life - you can almost see the gears turning in his little rat brain, 'when is this going to end? Up, down, over...the things I put up with.'

Pyrene doesn't look like she'll be smiling anytime soon, although her frown's from worry rather than anger. "Are you OK?" she asks. That's to D'nik, not Lil. Even as she speaks, a small fair of lizards appear in the air, chirp briefly at her and then zip towards the cothold, a miniature reconnaissance party. There's not much to be misunderstood by "they're all dead" but they should probably observe the formalities.

D'nik looks up at Py and lets the foot go, stiffly standing to his full height. Although still pale, he breathes in slowly. "I'll be okay. I think. No...permanant damage." he murmurs faintly. He coughs softly and waves to the medkit, "Mind if I go check the cothold out, Lady Pyrene? I need to...walk it off." Gasp. Aw men, aren't they wonderful sissies? and playing it off all manly like too. Bwahaha! Ow.

There will be no launching on this day, nope. Nor blank faced hugging or anything of the sort. Lil comes up short as D'nik stands - abruptly in her part of the experience - and stands. "Where'd the guy go that was just right here?" she says to Wendel, turning her head to look at him. If rats could shrug, Wendel would. She nods to him, then looks back. "You're right, there is a couple of legs there..." Impulsively and with a huge rush of a sob, Lil jumps at D'nik's legs, the first adult ones she's seen in a while, and goes to wrap her arms around them.

Pyrene cocks her head, listening inward. "My lizards say there's nobody else around, but it's probably best if you look inside and check on her living conditions. She /seems/ strong enough, admittedly." A wry smile plays on her lips for his predicament, although she makes no move to pry Lil off him. "What's your name, child? Was Runar your father?"

D'nik is rushed at and hugged. He boggles at the girl, another surprised, but not pained!, expression on his face. Ah, children. He leans down and lifts the child up into his arms, balancing her easily on his hip. "Guess we'll all just have to go and look together, no?" "It'll be okay, little one. Come, tell us your name, would ye?"

Lil gasps, "Wendel, look, we're flying! I knew you could do it!" She absolutely beams, then looks around as the ride comes to an abrupt stop at D'nik's hip. She makes impatient rocking gestures with her body, feet flailing around just enough to be mildly dangerous to poor D'niks future posterity. Again. Seeing that the ride has indeed come to an end, she sighs and turns her attentiont o the people at hand. "Oh. Hello! I'm Lily. But daddy calls me Lil'...or, he did. Sometimes he still does when I'm asleep but Wendel says that's just my imagination." She looks at Pyrene at the name Runar. "How do you know daddy's name?"

"It's his cothold," Pyrene points out dryly, before softening a little. "That would make your mother Celinthia, right? I knew her when she was a girl at the Weyr." She gives D'nik a meaningful look. "We're going to have to take her back to the Weyr with us--I don't know anything of Runar's family, but Celinthia has numerous kin at High Reaches still. We can at least put her in the care of relatives until it's decided what to be done with her." No comment is made about the rat. She doesn't like the idea of bringing vermin the Weyr, but that might be something for the healers to handle.

D'nik nods faintly and looks up towards the sky a moment. Goody, a ten turn old on a dragon. Oh well, he can handle it, his boy rides with him all the time. He nods dutifully to the Weyrlady. "NO problem, I can even put her up with me for a little bit, until we locate her family. And get her some clean clothes and all, you know. he comments, glancing again towarsd teh little cothold. He dosen't know about the rat either, Zveitseith is of the mind that she should swallow it whole...then again, she's not sure wheer its been.

Lil blinks blankly at Pyrene, apparently not accustomed to dry humor, as smart as she may be. "No it's not. It's my cothold," she says point blankly. "I take care of it, even the llamas. Wendel helps, of course..." she says, looking to him as if he had just spoken up. Her eyes well up a bit at the mention of her mother's name. Wendel eyes the green dragon with an air of, 'come on, I could take you', and then disappears amid the dirty folds of Lil's hair and her makeshift crown.

--- Log ends at this point, as Lil's player had to go for dinner.

Message 3 of 3 on *High Reaches (#3155):
Date: Tue Sep 5 18:56:50 2006 CDT
From: Pyrene (#11964)
To: *High Reaches (#3155)
Subject: Lil!

It's not entirely uncommon for small mountain cotholds to suffer some fever or virus that wipes out their population. Nor for this to go un-noticed by the outside world for some months. It was, admittedly, a little remiss of the larger Holds to inform the Weyr /now/ that Runar's cothold had not made any contact since the snows set in the previous winter. When D'nik, accompanied by a bored Pyrene, went to investigate, they turned up one lone survivor in the form of 10 turn old Lil.

As Lil's mother, Celinthia, was weyrbred originally, Lil's been brought back to Reaches for the foreseeable future. The general hubbub of the Weyr just might be a little much for this small-hold child, but the riders seem to believe that she's tough enough to handle it (actually, Pyrene's saying "Just ask D'nik," and D'nik has yet to comment). So welcome Lil if you see her around, but be warned that she may need educating in a few social graces.
--------------------------

cadge @ 2006-08-09T15:01:00

2006-08-09T19:10:06Z

Oh, look! An update! Before and during Nissionath's leadership flight, Pyrene talks to G'deon and Pidgery. The Pidgery log was actually retconned the next day, but they kind of follow on from each other, so here we go:

8th & 9th August 2006

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 three dragons.
To the northwest, you see ten dragons.
Darting here and there are ten firelizards.
Green Phaodynth, gold Cadgwith, and bronze Nylanth are here.
G'deon is here.
Obvious exits:
Stables Feeding Pens Central Bowl Lake

Pyrene is wearing watertight boots to stand in the shallows, although Cadgwith is too far out in the lake for her to use the scrubbing brush she's twiddling in one hand. Instead, the woman watches the water lapping around her ankles, lost either in conversation with her dragon or in thought.

G'deon and Nylanth apparently had a similar idea, though the rider is bearing no cleaning instruments. After lumbering casually across the bowl, Nylanth wades slowly into the water. G'deon remains on the beach at first, though only for perhaps half a minute. Then he slips out of his boots and socks, leaves them side by side next to the water and wades towards Pyrene. Cold feet? Always? Rather than interrupting just yet with words, he seems content to stand there, arms crossed while he watches Nylanth do little more than wet his wings.

Pyrene does snap her head up as Gid joins her, but her startled expression fades into a smile as she recognises him. "Afternoon," she murmurs. "You'll catch your death if you stand there for long, you know." She nods to his bare feet.

"Could be," G'deon replies, tone perfectly conversational. He offers a brief smile towards the weyrwoman then nods towards the dragons. "If only we all had such thick hides." In many ways. "Just felt like standing out here a bit, I suppose." He lapses into a few more beats of silence, eyes focused on his lifemate. "It's good to see you out and about more often." Of course, his chances would be improved if he did likewise.

Pyrene laughs dryly. "Cadge finally got tired of me cooping myself up in my Weyr. And... she was right." There's a slightly spluttered grunt of acknowledgment from the middle of the lake, prompting a grin from Pyrene. "Doesn't she know it, too. But I need to start really taking an interest in the actual Weyr instead of just following reports on what Vaeli's been doing and hassling the poor girl--not that I'm saying she doesn't need guidance." Heaven forfend. "Anyway, while I am out and while you're out, I should congratulate you on Lanti's Search."

"A wise lifemate indeed," G'deon tells Pyrene before laughing softly after her Vaeli comments. "She's gotten better, you have to admit at least that." He gives up crossing his arms in favor of sticking his hands into his pockets instead. Much more dignified. "Not exactly piss and vinegar all the time, but Faranth forbid if /all/ our weyrwomen were like that." He winks once, then breathes. Slowly. "Thank you. I, uh. I should really head down there to visit her." It's his turn to watch the various waves hit against his shins. "Been avoiding it. Pidgery's doing really well, though. I'd be surprised if he isn't promoted to journeyman before autumn's here again."

Pyrene sighs a little wistfully as he mentions Pidgery. "I know. I should be proud. It's what he's chosen to do, and Faranth knows, I don't have any hard feelings against Sephy for making her life in the crafts. But Pidge... well." Pyrene always did have her favourite among her children. "I always saw him being a rider someday, and it just galls a little that he's never even been Searched."

G'deon grimaces slightly as Pyrene seems to be hitting all the right nerves. "We could have asked him, of course. Or at least asked if they wanted us to." His jaw clenches and he glances up as Nylanth comes back out, done with his rinse already. "I've been thinking of taking some time off soon to spend some time with him, and with Lanti." He straightens, remembers to smile, and nods once. "I'd better warm up these feet again. It was nice chatting with you, Pyrene." He hesitates on the verge of saying something more but closes his mouth, smiles again and turns. "The sooner the better, Nyls," he calls to his lifemate as he retrieves his boots and starts walking towards the bowl again.

Pyrene glances up at Cadge, a surprised expression on her face, and she grins cryptically. "Looks like I'm about to take the rest of the day off myself." She nods after Gid, before dropping her scrubbing brush and hurrying to the shore where Cadge's straps are piled.

- To the Smith Hall -

The Woodcraft Building bustles with activity as apprentices, journeymen, and master woodcrafters move about and ply their trade. The floor, freshly swept by one of the many apprentices working here, is a smooth gray stone. Along one wall, a variety of stacks of lumber lie on shelves lining the wall. One the other side of the room, are several tall cabinets containing the tools of the woodcrafters, as well as various dyes, stains and other finishes. The other two walls have pegs driven into the wall where hang a multitude of saws, chisels, and planes. Underneath these tools, are benchtops where the crafters sit and work on their various projects. In the center of this large room are two large tables with many drawers and vises attached.
The scent of fresh cut lumber permeates the room.
Pidgery is here.

Poldhu bounces in from ::between::!

Poldhu finds his target and swoops giddily around Pidgery, chirping his ecstasy. The small blue lizard may be happy, but there are some that would take his appearance as a warning.

Pidgery jumps at the blue's sudden appearance, upsetting an assortment of hand tools. "What the-- oh!" He ducks quickly, then holds out a cautious hand for the 'lizard to light upon until a closer look gives him pause. "Wait a minute, you're not carrying-- aw, shells." Pidgery glances around warily, then squats to scoop up the tools and hastily arrange them in some kind of order.

Pyrene is not long in following her lizard, although further advance warning is given in the sizeable whumpf of a dragon landing outside (and the assorted public reaction to the arrival of a dragon). Still divesting herself of riding cap, Py strides through the doors to find her son. "Glad to see I'm not disturbing anything," she calls over to him. "I was a little worried that this late in the evening you might already have company." There's that knowing edge to her voice that only parents can produce when they're proving to their offspring that they 'understand'.
Pyrene strides with the aid of a /cane/. Yeah.

Pidgery doesn't restrain the eyeroll but does turn his head slightly to make the expression less visible -- although it might be audible. "What is everyone's obsession with company?" he mutters, the tools banging slightly as he completes the arrangement. Taking a breath and squaring his shoulders, he schools his attitude into something more civil -- even pleasant -- before turning to actually greet his mother. "Hi, mum. What brings you here?" His gaze wanders to the cane, and he scowls briefly. "How's Cadge?" Yes, change the subject.

Poldhu at least picks up on Pidge's mood, and he opts to light on Pyrene's shoulder instead. The woman caresses him with brief indulgence, before giving her son an appraising look. "Cadge is fine," she tells him, perching herself on a stool with due care for any glue or other crafting gunk that might be about. "Nissionath has just risen, so we thought we'd take the opportunity to pay a visit."

Pidgery
Sandy brown curls that brighten to near-blonde in the summer months constantly appear to be in need of a trim and often obscure his storm-grey eyes. He stands just a few inches below six feet, but although he seems to have inherited his father's broad shoulders and wiry limbs, Pidgery has a gangly, unfinished look about him, as if he's still a bit rough around the edges and might not be quite full grown just yet.
A loose pullover blue shirt is tucked into a matching pair of trousers, both neatly kept, if a little mussed by smudges here and there. His ankle high boots are trailing laces.
He is a teenager of about 19. He is awake, but seems rather distracted.

As Pidgery is no longer accustomed to thinking about Weyr business on a day-to-day basis, this bit of information takes a minute or two to click through his brain. "Oh," he says at last. "Already?" He frowns. "Sorry, seasons kind of all look the same here, so I forget how much time has gone by." He sits down on a stool opposite, looking slightly uncomfortable and scratching at the back of his neck with one work-roughened hand. "So dad's, uh ... " He lets that one trail off. "Right."

"Otherwise occupied," Pyrene supplies, grinning. "A flight will probably do him good. I was talking to him just now, and he seemed a bit down in the dumps about something. Nylanth looked in fine fettle though, so I'm sure he won't have any problems." She studies her son for a silent moment. "I suppose I should tell you that we're both very proud of you."

Pidgery stops fidgeting to take a long look at his mother. "You could do that," he replies cautiously. "Would that mean that you are, or just that you should tell me that?" He flashes a grin that's utterly and unconsciously reminiscent of his father's, but the cheeky reply is a poor mask for the lad's discomfiture.

Pyrene is not daft enough to bring up her own disappointment in losing her son to the crafts. She smiles rather oddly at his grin. "Good Faranth, but you look like your father when you do that. He was always far too good-looking for safety. I had designs on him long before he ever Impressed bronze, you know." None of which worked, seeing as she eventually resorted to somewhat desperate measures. Sighing a little, she returns to the question. "You've established yourself, Pidgery. Staked out your own independence. Of course we're proud."

Pidgery actually blushes a little at Pyrene's revelation, ducking his head quickly to recover some semblance of composure before meeting her eyes again. "Thanks," he manages at last, leaving unspoken any other thoughts he might have on the matter. "I miss the Weyr, though," he admits, half turning to fidget with the small tools again. "Maybe I can manage to get posted back there if I ... well, someday."

There's hope in the twist at the corners of Pyrene's mouth. "That'd be nice. It'd be a shame to think that after my effort in getting to the Weyr, none of my bloodline showed any interest in lingering." Somebody's getting matriarchal in her old age. "Mind you, Sephy's asked me to get her daughter fostered at the Weyr. Apparently she's allergic to furred animals, or something. Sephy's also pregnant again--trying to squeeze one more out before the end of the Pass." Eyes roll heavenwards. "Gid said you were close to your journeyman's knot. Got any family designs yet?"

Pidgery eyes Pyrene sidelong, a half smile curving his lips. "How many's she got now?" He curls his fingers around a smooth, metal chisel and sits back against the workbench, hefting the small object absently without actually tossing it. "Anyhow, don't look at me. Talking about dragons didn't get me a cot in the candidate barracks. I don't talk about promotion, and I sure as shells won't be talking about girls either." He shrugs philosophically, and if his smile looks a little rueful it's certainly without any self-pity. "Whatever happens, eh?"

Pyrene laughs quietly. "This'll be Seph's third, I think. Tolphen, Sophy and... yes, third. I rather hope its twins or something, just to throw her. She was always far too into being in control of her life." Can't think where she gets that from. "You're probably wise just to let what happens happen, Pidge. But don't forget to look out for opportunities, either. You're still younger than your father and I were when we Impressed."

Pidgery frowns a little, then shrugs without further comment on the matter. He turns the chisel around in his hand, fingering the smooth metal. For some minutes he's quiet, then he shrugs again, shaking it off physically as well as metaphorically. "So. Staying for dinner then?" There's that Gid-smile again. "I'm sure we can find something in the main Hall if you're hungry. Or thirsty."

Pyrene stretches. "Well, why not? Cadge won't complain--" She breaks off, her eyes going wide at nothing. Perhaps Cadge has complained. Or... "Feitoveth caught Nissionath," she declares, her tone blank, her face incredulous.

A beat. The chisel drops to the floor with a hollow, ringing sound. Another beat. "/Feitoveth/?" Pidgery looks no less shocked than Pyrene at this news. "Eit." His voice is utterly flat. "Great Faranth." He takes a deep breath and lets it out very slowly. "Well."

"Great Faranth indeed," Pyrene agrees weakly. "Oh, shells. And right before the end of the Pass too. I'anex had better..." Know what he's doing? Be prepared to listen to his elders? Pyrene isn't able to articulate what she thinks and so it slides. "Well, if I didn't feel past it before, I do now... /Eitanex/."

Pidgery bends to pick up the dropped chisel, carefully replacing it with the other tools. Order can be so comforting. "Yeah," he says to the wall before turning back to Pyrene and scrubbing at the back of his neck with one hand. "I'm actually ... not all that hungry," he admits, without elaborating on the rather sudden lack of appetite. "I'll take you to the hall though, if you want..?"

Pyrene nods absently. "I'd better eat something. It'll probably be best for me to get used to this idea before going back." It will certainly be better for I'anex and Vaeli. She rises, nudging him with the cane. "Lead on!"

Pidgery chuckles humorlessly. "Yeah, I think a lot of folks will need to get used to it," he agrees, politely offering Pyrene his arm while manfully ignoring the cane-nudge. Aw, how cute.

There's decided approval in Pyrene's smile, as she takes his arm and lets her son escort her to dinner.

cadge @ 2006-02-23T09:11:00

2006-02-23T14:16:18Z

Very short log. Pyrene is now able to be moved and to sit up a little. So she goes visiting of her own accord--to see Uriala. Possibly not the best idea; it certainly doesn't resolve anything.

Wednesday 22 Feb 2006

Guards' Lock-up
The lock-up is a rather draughty enclosure, eight feet to a side, built into a corner of the ground weyrs so that two walls are rock and the other two are wood, about half-a-dragonlength high, with a wooden ceiling. The door has a open, barred window set about half-way up, and a slot at the bottom to pass things through. Inside can be seen a basic cot and a bucket. There are several bolts on the door, as well as a sturdy lock.
Uriala is in the Guards' Lock-up.

Uriala
Tall, slender, and elegant in motion, Uriala moves with a sublime self-possession, in control of her movements at all times. Her face has a sort of rounded softness to it; her brown eyes are large and liquid, with lashes gently curling above them. There is a quiet sort of androgyny to her face; she could almost be a pretty boy. A dark scar puckers in the corner of her left eye, dangerously close to it. Her brown hair is bound back in a braid that ends between her shoulderblades.
She is wearing rough clothing -- neutral beige linen slacks and a sweater in grey wool. Her boots are worn and comfortable-looking, and she wears a gold chain around her neck, from which is suspending a carefully crafted caduceus pendant.
She is a young adult of about 21. She is awake, but seems rather distracted.

Pyrene is carried in carefully by a couple of the stronger healer apprentices--not quite the buff young men she posited, but close enough. The litter arrangement is sturdy and comfortable. She's propped up just a little with pillows--enough to be able to see what's in front of her feet--and she's muffled against any chills with a blanket. Despite this, she most definitely does not look comfortable, but her lips are compressed into a thin line and her brow mirrors their resolve.

Inside the lock-up, Uriala is a quite force of nature, or of will, an immoveable object of emotionless nothingness, sitting crosslegged and silent on the floor of her cell. Three guards wait outside the cell, guarding in awkward silence. As Pyrene is carried out, Uriala's head turns, interested inquiry writ in the arch of her brows. The bruise on her temple is yellowing, and the swelling in her shoulder is finally going down, but she looks at ease and at peace. "Goldrider," she says in courteous greeting. "You are looking well."

For all the mental preparation Pyrene (along with Cadgwith) has been doing for this, there is a long moment when she makes no further sound than her own tense breathing. She makes no acknowledgment of Uriala's greeting, but she makes herself meet and hold the woman's gaze. Finally, she asks a question--one that she settled on during those preparations. "For what reason did you attempt the life of my dragon?"

Inside the lock-up, "There was no way to kill you without her," Uriala replies simply. "Regrettable, but the Pass is nearly over. Any eggs she lays now will mature too late to contribute to the fighting force. It is not so great a loss."

"You think the senior queen of High Reaches is nothing more than an egg-layer?" Pyrene's voice gains more strength than one might expect judging by her currently frail appearance. "How dare you /presume/...?" An odd question considering the crime, but she can't quite articulate what Uriala presumed. She chokes on her words for a moment before blurting out what she really wants to know. "Why? What did I ever to do you that was worth that?" No attempt at composure: angry tears are already coursing down her face, and her eyes are fire.

Inside the lock-up, Uriala watches, impassive. "It is not me, goldrider. You were a danger to Pern. I have neutralized that danger. You may live, but I have won."

"A danger to Pern...." Pyrene repeats bitterly. "You understand nothing of the world, neurotic little fool!" Spite gets the better of her. Uriala will score another victory yet.

Inside the lock-up, Uriala is unfazed. "If it makes you feel better to believe that," she says simply. Her eyes are calm, still, and now she is rocking very slightly back and forth in a vaguely hypnotic rhythm, still cross-legged. "It no longer matters what you believe. You are declawed, Pyrene." She uses the woman's name deliberately. "You are neutralized."

Pyrene spits at the woman. Gesture only, since what strength her rage lent her has abruply ebbed. Turning her head away, she murmurs something to the litter bearers who are all too relieved to bear her from the room.

-------------

Victory to Uriala, who is after all beyond redemption and thus can't conceive she's in the wrong. Pyrene on the other hand is a mess of insecurity right now. She'll just have to learn to get over it without an apology.

Transfer of Power

2006-02-23T00:22:42Z

Vaeli finally comes to see her predecessor. And some sort of cooperative balance is struck. Log also in Vaeli's LJ.

Tuesday 21 Feb 2006

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 ax, 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?"

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.

cadge @ 2006-02-22T19:05:00

2006-02-23T00:08:21Z

Ashli and Falada visit Pyrene - same log as on Ashli's LJ. Many thanks to Falada for logging.

18 Feb 2006
Infirmary

It is afternoon of the sixteenth day of spring in the forty-eighth Turn of the Tenth Pass.

Falada slips in quietly, looking around to check that there's no one else there, wary of interrupting Pyrene's visitors.

Pyrene is alone for the moment, eyes half-closed, although they open fully as she becomes aware that the latest entrant isn't a healer. Not recognising the woman straightaway, there's a flash of tension across her face before she pauses, studying those familiar hazel eyes uncertainly. "Hello?"

Falada smiles comfortingly as her old friend acknowledges her. "You are awake... I was afraid you might not be." She moves over to the bedside and hovers there uncertainly.

Pyrene was never going to recognise her from her voice, but the way she moves and something in that thin face finally triggers her memory. "Falada?" she asks. "Is that really you?" Forgive her not breaking into a smile of welcome, but she's here because of another face from her past.

Falada nods gently. "The same. I heard about your... accident." Something in her tone suggests that she also heard the rumor that it was no accident at all. "It has been far too long since I came home. Now seemed a better opportunity than most. I made them give me the time." /How are you?/ the worry in her eyes asks silently, but knowing the question is probably a little tired right now, she doesn't give it voice.

Pyrene grins weakly. "I'm glad you came--surprised, but glad. It's been a long time since we've seen each other and I hope you haven't torn yourself away from anything on my account? But it's good to see new faces. Talk about different things. It's been rough," she smiles wryly but humourlessly at the inevitable understatement, "but they've caught who did it and I will recover.... So I need to get over it." Easier said than done, and her expression is still a little guarded.

Falada shakes her head and shifts one foot to the other. "I left them without an artist for a couple of sevendays, but there isn't anything they can't handle without me." She catches on to the not talking about the accident.

Ashli ducks in from the inner caverns.

Pyrene smiles weakly. "Well, I'm sorry this couldn't have happened in summertime." Literally couldn't have happened in summertime, she remembers and there's a brief grimace. "Still, I expect you remembered enough of a Reaches' winter to bring your warm clothes. Did you come alone?"

A small, shadowy form creeps by the entrance to the infirmary, casting a shadow across the floor within...then creeps by again...before resting outside the infirmary, apparently contemplating whether to actually go inside or whether she will lose her nerve and make a break for it before anyone notices Ashli, said shadowy form, hiding outside the door...

Falada shivers at the reminder of the chill temperatures and rubs her woolen-clad arms. "Not enough clothes, unfortunately, but I brought what I had. Even so, I feel as if I will never be warm again." She looks around as another visitor enters and a brief smile flashes shallow dimples in her cheeks. "I had to come alone. My daughter is up to her neck in her apprenticeship, my boys no longer live with me and... well, you shall have to get them to let you recuperate at Ista. That way you can meet my newest best friend."

"Can't get on a dragon for another two months, let alone go between," Pyrene sighs, regretfully. She follows Falada's gaze a little awkwardly as her back is still immobile, but she spots Ashli. There's a faint smile, although she doesn't address the junior weyrwoman just yet, continuing her conversation with Falada. "Who's your friend?"

Ashli seems to suspect the inevitable, and creeps into the infirmary proper, though she merely hovers at the door, vascillating for the moment about whether to impunge on the conversation or whether there's still a chance that she could simply have...run in on an errand...to get...bandages. For...someone.

Falada wears for a moment that special smile that only graces the face of someone who is newly in love. "She doesn't wish to be known yet, so I'm afraid I must keep her confidence for now, but I promise I will introduce you to her." She glances around at the furtive young woman again and recognizes that she, too, is a weyrwoman. "Give the sun time to warm up the beaches, Py," she says. "The nights are still too cool for a good baking. When summer gets here you make them send you down for a vacation. I will make sure you don't lack for entertainment."

Pyrene gives Falada a measuring look, having seen that smile often enough to know what it means. However, as Ashli is present, she doesn't probe further. "Ashli, do you want to sit down and join in properly? This is Journeyman Falada--she was at Reaches a long time ago, back when I first came in fact. I don't think you'd remember her, but she was Aife's fosterling and apprenticed to Harper."

Blast, her cover is blown. And so Ashli offers a friendly grin to Falada, and spies around for a moment before claiming a stool and dragging it closer to the group at hand. "Why...surely, Pyrene. I...err...came to...visit." Obvious? Perhaps. But, look, someone new to greet! "Hello, Falada - it's certainly a pleasure to meet you. Harper?" Ash flicks a glance to the woman's shoulder to investigate the knot, and nods, "A journeyman? My goodness, that's brilliant. Well, welcome back to Reaches!" Ah, small talk. One of Ash's specialties in times like these.

Falada sighs. "It is good to be back, thank you," she says to Ashli, "Even if it is just for a few days. I really must catch up with Momma while I'm up here. I have not seen her any more frequently than I have you, I'm afraid. I've sent her pictures of my children... did you see them? My boys look like their mother. Falana looks like me, but they all have their father's eyes. Blue."

Pyrene gives a wry grin. "I believe most of the lower caverns saw those pictures." Her friends' sundry offspring still don't hold any great interest for Pyrene. "And I'm glad you came, Ashli. I've been expecting Vaeli at least to pay me a visit, but you're the first of our wing that I've seen."

Another smile is offered to Falada, and then Ashli seems to scramble to explain Vaeli's actions. Wingmate defense and whatnot. "Well, you know, in these times...and you know Nissionath, protective; even Isa's been worried to let me out, even though she won't rise for a while yet so we were never really in the line of fire or whatever you'd like to call it anyways." Ash finishes, finally sucking in a breath at the end of her monologue. And then, a pause, and, "Well, I'm glad to come visit, Pyrene. I've been so worried about you, but all I heard was what the healers were saying, and the rumors going around that it was Vae or I, and I didn't want to stir up trouble, so that's another reason you probably haven't seen much of us. And now with Uriala behind bars they're saying that I could have had a hand in it, because you know she was the one who told me a while back that the guards needed to be changed, and I listened and took it on as a pet project, and, well..." And there she goes again, off and running on some sort of topic. She brings herself to a halt, though, and there is another pause before she notes, "Well, Pyrene, I am delighted to see you're doing better, though." And a genuine smile alights upon her face at that.

Falada laughs. "I can imagine they did." She falls silent, deferring conversation for a moment to the two weyrwomen. She looks around and, finding a stool used by the healers to sit on during an examination, pulls it over and sits down, folding her thin hands in her lap.

Pyrene groans. "One of the most ridiculous things about the whole investigation is that dragonriders are suspected. Even if anybody was mad enough to do it and somehow able to hide their intent from their dragon until it was too late, Cadge, Nissi, Isa--/any/ queen would have known that another dragon knew something." She shudders and almost immediately grimaces with pain. "I'm sorry. I think I'm going to need to take a nap again. Please... feel free to come back. I just can't seem to cope with long conversations right now."

Falada reaches over to pat her friend's hand, but draws back, aware of the pain that touching her might cause. As Pyrene drops off to sleep, her pleasantly conversational demeanor fades into the more honest mask of worry. "She will be okay, won't she?" she asks quietly, almost as if to no one.

"I hope so." Ash responds softly, staying a moment in silence before relating the heartening fact, "I'm sure if she weren't, Cadgwith would be tearing apart the entire weyr by now to try and help. It's a good thing the queen isn't too agitated." Ash slowly slips herself off the stool she'd been on, and with a graceful curtsey to Falada, she pads out carefully...

Falada nods. "Yes, Cadgwith would know, and Cadgwith is not worried, so why should I be?" A cautious smile crept across her face and she settled into a comfortable silence, as if her presence there could help the healing process in her friend.

---------

Random trivia: Falada was in the first scene I ever RPed, shortly after creating Pyrene. She was about six at the time; Py poured her some milk.

Visiting Time

2006-02-18T02:22:46Z

To be honest, the logs I'm likely to put up in the near future will be pretty repetitive. Character X visits an emotional Pyrene in the infirmary. But I'm putting them up anyway. You only have to read the visits from your favourite characters. Both of these happen after Uriala's been arrested for attempted murder of Pyrene and Zethlen.

Thursday 16 Feb 2006

Pyrene turns her head as somebody enters, and cracks a smile when she sees who it is. "Zai, nice to see a different face. You're in luck too. I've just been bathed and my bedpan's freshly changed so I don't stink." The humour is somewhat forced.

"Oh, I know," Zai replies breezily as she enters. "I timed my visit this way on purpose." Her humor is less forced, or at least better faked. She pauses by the foot of the bed to look around for a chair, and seeing one hooks it with her foot and drags it to a suitable sitting place before plopping down. "So, I hear you have an insane stalker." A little light chit-chat and such. Right.

A flicker of something passes across Pyrene's face and she looks away. "Don't." She takes a deep breath--she's been taking a lot of those lately. "It's almost worse now they've caught her. Because I /still/ don't understand." She appears to be addressing the ceiling and her tone's tight enough to squeeze juice from a stone.

Zai's brow wrinkles briefly and she leans forward in her chair to rest her elbows on her knees. "She's a nutter, that's all you need to understand." She gives her clutchmate a long look and then leans back again, arms and legs splayed starfish-style. "You should be busy thinking about how you're going to spend your glorious retirement. I'm jealous, personally. Think you could tap me as some sort of special retirement-aide type person?" Wry humor, apparently, is Zai's only avaliable form of comfort. But she's trying, at least.

Pyrene is as happy to get off the subject. She's a nagging feeling that Uriala will be haunting her dreams for awhile. "I understand that I shall be spending a good turn of my glorious retirement getting back up to speed," she observes. "And we're not as young as we used to be, Zai--I'd be careful what you volunteer for, else you'll find yourself a permanent sedan-bearer. Although I'm thinking more along the lines of attractive young men for those." Wry humour appears to be something Pyrene is willing to take refuge in, although her delivery is a little lacking.

"Can any of that sedan-bearing be done in, say, Southern?" Zai queries straight-faced. "If so, sign me right up. My not so young as they used to be bones aren't overly fond of the sharding Reaches weather." She tilts her head with a slight grimace. "Anyway, I'm looking to be rather unemployed in the next few Turns. I could use a new job."

Pyrene eyes her. "Told Puizuth that? Well, technically it's not my concern anymore, is it?" She's tried not to be openly bitter about affairs but sometimes it sneaks through. At the moment, she's using all her energy to keep on top of her emotions. "If you want to go to Southern, talk to Marond. He got himself well set up there for the winter--I'm touched he came back when he heard of my accident. Haven't seen him yet--I rather wonder if the healers have a hand in that."

Zai almost blushes at the goldrider's question. "We've been avoiding the subject," she replies. "He's politely ignoring my thoughts on the matter." She pauses to examine Pyrene with curious eyes. "The offer only stood as Pyrene's Official Sedan-Bearer," she clarifies. "Otherwise I'd just be sunburned and lonely."

Pyrene snorts. "I would hate to think of you as being sunburned and lonely. Are you so stuck for company that you have to come and see me, then? What's up? Tell me your problems, because I'm sick to death of mine."

Zai gives Pyrene an overly-sunny beam. "That's pretty much it, yes," she agrees, relaxing in the chair once more. "Problems, problems," she muses. "My life is gloriously problem-free, most of the time, except for the looming trouble of unemployment, as already discussed." She flushes slightly again, and glances around to ensure that no nosey Healers are evesdropping. "Though, there /is/ a thing. With a guy. In Ista." This is exciting news, in Zai-life.

Pyrene doesn't sound sincerely interested, but she's willing to go through the motions of gossip. "A guy in Ista? Rider? Or are you seeking somebody with better long term employment to sustain you in your old age?"

Zai quirks up a grin. "The second, clearly," she says in reply. "What would be the point, otherwise?" She seems willing to expand on the wonders of being supported by handsome men in her old-age, but it's interrupted by the arrival of a Healer who gives her a shooing motion. "Well," Zai says as she gets to her feet. "Aparently my visitng hours are over." She walks to the end of the bed. "I'll come again, with some really bad romance novels. Tatia keeps some hidden in her Weyr, swear by the first egg." Lies, blatent lies. With a grin and a wave, she's gone.

Friday 17 Feb 2006

Pyrene has her eyes closed, but she's not actually sleeping as the ever-present background of healers are well aware. Her lower body is still restrained, but her arms are free and she's shifting their position irritably in the hopes of finding one that's comfortable.

Marond is looking hassled, and when Marond is actually showing additional signs of stress, you know the Weyr is struggling. The heels of pale, skinny hands dig into the man's eyes as he readies himself for the meeting with his Weyrwoman. Slicking his already greasy hair back behind his ears and quietly tugging his coat into place, Marond moves towards the bed and clears his throat with an ear-piercing hack followed by a slight shuffle as he nears the bed and takes a moment to observe High Reaches' most notorious icon. "If it turns out to be that measly slip of a child they have in custody, I'll kill her myself, really."

Pyrene's eyes fly open--she's already trained herself out of involuntary jumps that would hurt her back. "Marond... I was beginning to think the healers were keeping you from me," she greets him dryly, ignoring his opinion of the culprit.

"Well they were at first, apparently you were too critical to be seen for a while and then I knew your immediate family had the right to be here first." Though he wont mention that he clearly argued against this point and was escorted from the premise more then once by a cadre of irritable healers. "I'm gone for a few months and look what happens. Pyrene, this may, in some wound about way, be my fault. Uriala is a member of my Caverns, perhaps if I had been here in person and less through my subordinates, this sort of slip wouldn't have been possible." The words are quiet but intense, one gaunt hand seeking Pyrene's as grit-infested nails click together in apologetic cacaphony. "Have the healers been acceptable? Say the word and I'll ship them out and bring in their betters." This is said as dark eyes drill into a few of the fussing members of operations, especially those who had a hand in barring him from visiting Pyrene.

Pyrene lets out an odd sound that might have been a laugh, might have been a sob, might have been a cough and judging from her expression might have been none of the above. "The healers have been wonderful," she assures him. "As for Uriala, I told her myself that she was welcome to return here for a bit--and for the extent of her stay, you've been warming it up in Southern. So I've nobody but myself to blame." She appears to recognise if not appreciate the irony. "I am touched that you came back from Southern's beaches to see me, of course. I was beginning to think I'd have to drop a few hints."

Marond picks up Pyrene's hand in-between his own and gives it a tiny squeeze. "Hey, you and I both know I don't go out of my way for many people. Matter of fact, I've gone out of my way precisely once, and that's to come back here and see /you/." A ghastly tightening of skin and exposing of slightly yellowing teeth passes for a comforting smile. "Do you have any idea what the girl's motive could have possibly been?"

Pyrene gives him a skeptical look but doesn't pursue it. She doesn't really believe that Marond came back solely out of concern for her, but she does appreciate the visit so she'll leave it at that. His question makes her face tighten. "No. It's all I've been thinking about since I heard who they'd arrested and... no. I don't understand it." She's very clipped in her response--she may trust Marond more than most, but that doesn't mean she likes the idea of crying in front of him.

Marond frowns, expression contemplative as he calculates and gives Pyrene's fingers a few caresses. "I'm going to see about talking to her when I leave here, not that she'll open up much to me but I need to gauge her myself." Sighing in an exhausted way, Marond gives what may be his first genuine smile in a long, long time. "I'm glad you woke up."

Pyrene cautiously withdraws her fingers. She's never sure where Marond's hands may have been. "You can flay her alive for all I care," she says, intending a weary tone, but there's a vindictive quiver to her voice that's hard to miss. "I'm glad you came back. Vaeli will need assistance." Again her words are clipped, although possibly not to avoid tears this time. "Don't go back to Southern too soon--the weather's warming up now anyway."

At the mention of Vaeli the last vestiges of Pyrene's fingers are squeezed tightly before they're released. Marond's opinion of the other goldriders in this Weyr is exceptionally low, but Vaeli in particular goes with Marond like oil and water. "She wont be half the Weyrwoman you are, she's just a bloody child." Grimacing, Marond runs his fingers through lanky clumps of hair. "You can bet I wont be going back until things are sorted out and I see exactly what Vaeli plans to do in your place. I've worked to hard to see that-- to see an over turn that would recess this Weyr. As for Uriala, I wont give her any breaks. What she did to that guard and what she may have done to you warrants nothing but the strictest adherent to extreme punishment."

Pyrene swallows. "If Uriala isn't executed, I'll have something to say about it." It's the first time she's actually registered an opinion on the former healer's fate and she grimaces, before changing the subject. "Well, I'd rather Ashli than Vaeli since I think Ashli's got considerable potential, but unfortunately I was in no position to make the decision. Apparently, Gid wanted to take advantage of the fact that Nissionath would rise right away, so we wouldn't be without a senior queen for long."

"I understand /why/ it happened, but it doesn't mean I agree. I think you're spot on with your opinion of Ashli, she's young enough to be my daughter's daughter however but I think she's got a lot more room to learn this Weyr and what it entails. Vaeli is a very strong-headed person and extremely... opinionated. She's going to make my job twice as hard, you realize." Calling over a newly arrived drudge who had previously been on errand for needlethorn recovery, Marond inquires about some klah. "For almost killing the Weyrwoman? She's going to be getting off light with execution."

Pyrene snorts. "Look who's complaining. If you feel that bad about it, Marond, you can always retire to Southern. You know the gossips expect you to announce plans to do that any day now." She had been wondering how she was going to bring that up.

Marond pffts, sending away the thought with a flutter of skinny fingers. "And leave the fast-paced life of a Weyr in the throes of internal chaos? Come on, Pyrene, this is what I thrive on. How did I get my position in the first place? By quelling the fleas and sending you that ba--" Oh, um.. dark eyes lock on to Pyrene's left foot where they stay a moment as he gains some composure. As he plans to change the subject a thought catches him and nearly black eyes seek Pyrene with quiet intensity. "You don't actually think I'm throwing in with Southern and leaving this Weyr, do you? You know I was there because it made sense. The relationship we hold with Southern right now is peaking, and productivity is incredibly high. Suatha's going to be out of a job by the end of the turn and Constice is already hearing rumors at his bid for Headman, with him in place High Reaches will reap the benefits." Scouring Pyrene's gaze with his own, Marond attempts to leech some sort of understanding out of her. "Are you sure -you- don't want me to retire to Southern?"

Fortunately for Marond, Pyrene is not at her most perceptive right now, and she doesn't catch the reference to the basket. She's more intent on pursuing her own line with him. "Marond, I have no issues with what you're doing with Southern--I admit, from what I've seen of Constice, I'm not entirely sure he's got the backbone to run Southern's lower caverns, but I've got more pressing concerns than interfering in your business. What has bothered me is the amount of time you've been in Southern without visiting High Reaches. People don't like being cooped up all winter and they enjoy something to gripe about. I don't suppose it's my concern now, but I didn't like being in a position where the headman was alienating the weyrfolk." Not that she chose him for his charisma anyway, but there is a limit.

Marond snorts, leaning into the bed as fingers curl around themselves. "Pyrene, I'm not alienating anyone, I should have been here more, I agree, if anything these last few events have told me that. But I've never been a champion of the people and we /both/ know that. I'm good at my job because I'm efficient, I'm creative, and I know how to get people to do things. None of this is dependent on me fostering good relations. Those who need my respect have it, and those who work hard for this Weyr get the benefits they deserve, but it seemed as if my assistants were far more the shoulder-to-cry-on women then I was ever going to be." Tilting his head he reviews Pyrene with a sort of defensive irritation. "They will /always/ grip, Pyrene. The gossip of the masses has very little flow on the politics of a Weyr, despite the whole 'one man can make a difference' crap we hear as kids. The talk never bothered you before, don't let it get to you now."

Pyrene sighs. "I don't have the energy to debate with you, Marond--I don't have the energy to hold my bladder at the moment, so I suggest you leave pretty quickly and save yourself the smell until my bedpan's changed. But while you may have got the position because you were efficient rather than a figurehead, you can still make a token nod to appearances." She closes her eyes at that, and it soon becomes evident that she held good to her word about the smell.

Marond sighs, movign off with the billow of his coat and a nod to his Weyrwoman. "We'll speak soon."

Bearer of bad tidings

2006-02-16T18:06:48Z

Because Vaeli made me put it up right away. Gid visits Pyrene and breaks the news to her that she's no longer Sr WW. Any edit-mistakes are due to the great speed with which I had to do this and are All Vaeli's Fault.

Logfile from HT Pyrene.

Pyrene is lying still as she has done for nearly a sevenday now. The difference this time is that her eyes are open--if unfocused. It's not like she's got anything to do but talk to her dragon after all.

G'deon, fresh out of the baths, steps in quietly from the inner cavern entrance. He stops the first Healer-knotted apprentice he sees and ask something in a low voice. The boy nods, glances over towards where Pyrene is lying, then murmurs something to the rider before going about his business. Gid continues to stand there for a moment, riding jacket nodded in his hands. Finally, he makes the trek through the hushed infirmary and takes a seat in the chair he'd become all too accustomed to in recent days. "I'd heard you woke up," he comments, the baritone voice barely above a rumble. A brief smile appears before he continues. "I'm glad it wasn't just another rumor."

Pyrene blinks up at him and grins weakly. "I'm beginning to wish I hadn't... Apparently I've got another two sevendays of lying like this and I'm already sick of it. I can't get comfortable, I'm stiff and sore all over but I don't dare move anything and there's nothing to /do/. Thank Faranth I've got Cadge with me always. I can't imagine how non-riders cope with this sort of thing."

"I know what you mean," G'deon replies with sincerity. "I can't even remember what it was like before Nylanth." He turns for a moment to drop his jacket onto the chair beside him. "Pidgery is here. Reiko flew to Ista soon after the... accident." The pause is small, but likely still noticeable. Gid leans forward, elbows on knees and hands folded loosely.

Pyrene's face lights up. "Pidgery's here? He came? Cadge, you didn't tell me... oh, thank Reiko for fetching him for me." That last appears to be addressed to her dragon. "I never thought he'd come..." She's plainly surprised at how touched she is by the gesture, and there's a moment's pause before she changes the subject. "Morallen told me it wasn't an accident. That's about all I've been able to think of." She smiles again, but this time there's no truth in the expression, and she swallows nervously before asking: "I'm guarded, aren't I? Is Cadge being protected as well?"

"Within the hour," G'deon answers, regarding Pidgery. The same light in Pyrene's face is reflected in Gid's, though there is no surprise. Of course, he's had days to get used to things, not hours. "Sorry, I didn't know how much you've been told," he continues a moment later. The light fades along with the smile. "And absolutely. They're even watching /me/, I think, though no one's said so directly." As in, to make sure he doesn't do anything, or no one does anything to him? He doesn't specify. "Nylanth has stayed with Cadge as much as he can. We were both pretty worried..." He trails off, hugely engrossed in an old scratch across the side of his hand, nearly healed by now. "I should have known you'd pulled through, but..." He ends with a shake of the head, looking troubled.

Pyrene shivers, wincing as that involuntary movement jars stiff bones. "I'm not entirely sure just how bad it's been. I mean, Cadge was so glad when I came round that I knew she had been worried, but she's so positive now. I'm awake, I'm going to be fine at some point and all is well. But... well, if I was unconscious for five days." Another shiver and wince. "I keep thinking about how Cadge might have thought me dead... might have gone--records say dragons have done it." She bites her lip, tears springing to her eyes for the hundredth time since she awoke. "I just can't believe that /anybody/ would do this to a /rider/. It's... sacrilege."

"Yes." It's a simple statement of agreement, and perhaps all G'deon can really manage at that very point in time. His boots are just so distracting, after all. Time to see a tailor... Finally, "Between Nissionath and Nylanth, they tried to keep Cadgwith company. Maybe the others helped as well. I'm not sure." Part suicide watch, perhaps? Finally, he looks up at Pyrene again, wincing with her in slight sympathy. "I haven't heard any new reports from Zethlen, but he has an excellent team working on this. We'll find out who did this, Pyrene." That, at least, sounds a little more like Gid's normal tone before growing a few shades darker. "And then we'll deal with them."

Pyrene raises her brows. "Nissionath? I suppose, yes... that would be needed. Poor Cadge--I feel guilty for putting her through that. Whoever did it should be flayed alive." She takes a deep, careful breath. "I wish they'd find them. It's ridiculous, but I feel so frightened. I can't keep an eye on Cadge, and if anybody did come in here, I'd be helpless. I know I'm never alone, but still.... I don't understand /why/."

A smile reappears on G'deon's face as he nods once to Pyrene. "She did very well. Tried to protect you from anyone even coming near, just after everything happened. I think Nissionath finally convinced her to let the healers help, but it was most impressive." And again, the smile falters. "None of us can understand. The guards have done what they could... there was even a riot, if brief." Maybe he thinks she'd like that bit of news. Rioting... on her behalf, of course. "No major injuries," (aside from Pyrene's, of course), "that I heard of, but I can't remember the last time something like that happened here."

"A riot?" Pyrene does crack a smile at that. "Glad to hear that the weyrfolk are keeping their sense of outrage. I mean, nobody weyrbed would have done this surely--I don't understand and that's why I'm scared." She sighs. "I keep trying to focus on the fact that I'm going to have to relearn to walk to take my mind off it... What else is going on? I've only seen healers, and Cadge is only interested in me. I've no idea what's happening in the Weyr."

"Well..." Alas, G'deon cannot put this off any longer. He sits up slowly, takes a long breath and folds his hands again. "Nissionath rose last night." Can he leave it at that? Lifemate says not. "Nylanth caught..." Surely he can delay just a little longer. But for what purpose? "Pyrene... I had to..." The familiar finger-combing action ensues. "We just didn't know what was going to happen. It's too critical a time. I... removed you as senior." Surely no more needs to be said.

Judging by the sheer confusion on Pyrene's face, quite a lot more needs to be said. But Cadgwith is there, and as Pyrene continues to stare at Weyrleader, comprehension takes over her features, along with an expression that's otherwise inexpressible. "Oh," she murmurs ineptly. Her eyes drop and she adds on quietly: "I suppose it would be for the best. I..." she gives up, too busy taking it in to respond.

G'deon takes a slow, quiet breath and slumps back a little in the chair. "I'm sorry, Pyrene," is all he can think to say for quite a while. His expression is distant and impassive for quite a few beats of silence. "I think Vaeli will do an adequate job. We just need to get through this Pass..." He stops, runs his hands down his face and leans forward onto his elbows once more, mumbling something about being 'so sharding close to the end'.

Pyrene isn't so dazed that she can't see the guilt written all over G'deon's face. "No, no... It obviously had to be done. Pity it was Nissionath and not Isamath that was rising... I know Ashli's still settling into riding in many ways, but she could be twice the Weyrwoman that Vaeli will ever be." She stops, grimacing. The hardest thing to cope with is that she, perforce, did not have any say in the decision. "I'm glad Nylanth caught. You should be able to guide Vaeli into things." The words are almost toneless, spoken out of duty rather than any genuine sentiment.

G'deon's brows rise slightly in unspoken agreement before he shakes his head, sighs. "We didn't know how soon Isamath would be rising. The flights have been so spread out in the last Turn or so... I'd hoped things would just transition quickly so we can get back to business. I know it sounds cold, but with only two Turns left, we don't have time left for waiting." He stops to study Pyrene's face, perhaps looking for something specific. Whatever it is (or isn't), he starts to reach for his jacket. "If there's anything I can do to help you, Pyrene, please let me know. I won't be far."

Most people will be hard pushed to find anything specific in Pyrene's face at the moment. Those interminable tears are threatening again, but she merely nods hopelessly. "Find whoever did this, so I can put it behind me. Keep me informed of what's going on... and," she looks at him properly for the first time in some minutes. "Thank you for coming to see me. I'd like to see more people now--tell Pidge, and Lis and that sort?" She finishes with a sigh and closes her eyes again, already returning to Cadge's enduring company.

G'deon stands, slipping into his jacket. "I will," he promises quietly, reaching out to... pat Pyrene's shoulder. Very gently. That's safe, right. Then he leaves. Not much more to say now.

Wake Up Call

2006-02-16T13:44:37Z

Pyrene finally wakes up from her coma. Morallen in attendance. This is one of those logs where you have to account for an unheard draconic element. In my mind, Cadge would have been chaotically relieved at the beginning, which would have faded into tender but firm support. And she's not daft enough to mention the change of Weyrwoman (dragons can keep things from their riders, after all).

Logfile from HT Pyrene.

Wednesday 15 Feb 2006

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.

With only one patient needing prolonged attention, by that one patient's bedside is where Morallen's to be found. Occupied with a book of poems loaned by Wyn, the journeyman's passing the time by reading one aloud to the unconscious and restrained goldrider in the bed beside his chair. It's an epic about Moreta's last ride, and has been going on for a good fourteen verses already.

Pyrene lays as peacefully as she has done for the past few days--or perhaps not quite. There is the slightest tilt of the head, a sudden intake of breath, and then the head and shoulders on the pillow go rigid with a stillness that can only be conscious.

And Moreta is just going to be stuck in time forever, before she can even take that last jump between. The book snaps closed at that intake of breath, and Morallen leans forward to place a steadying hand on Pyrene's shoulder. "Weyrwoman Pyrene?" he asks. "My name is Healer Journeyman Morallen. You've had a bad fall and fractured your spine, so we've restrained you so that it will heal properly."

Pyrene's eyes fly open at the touch of his hand, rolling slightly as they struggle to take in her surroundings. She ends up staring at him, her eyes focusing and unfocusing rapidly. "Cadge," she chokes out, hoarse. "It's alright, I'm alright? I can't move at all?" She's more bewildered than anything at this stage, but she's unguarded to her dragon's emotion and sob-less tears spill for that.

"The fracture's lower down, so I can give you your arms back in a bit," Morallen assures, although, watchful of the dragon-influenced emotions, he doesn't reach for the straps just yet. "But until it's on its way to healing, you're going to be flat on your back for at least a fortnight, if you want to keep the chance of walking again. This is a very serious injury, weyrwoman," he intones, hazel eyes intent on her face as he tries to get his meaning across. "You're not going to die on my watch, but you're going to have a very hard turn ahead of you, at the easiest."

Pyrene nods, although she's not registering all his words at the moment. She's quiet for a time, relaxing slowly although her brow remains furrowed. Then her eyes focus clearly on him; she's regained the balance of the outer world with her dragon's bond. "How long was I unconscious?"

"Five days." The answer is prompt and level, and while Morallen's brow is still furrowed and his eyes still highly concerned, he seems to be willing to grant Pyrene the courtesy of a straight answer. "What's the last thing you remember? Any numbness or tingling in your extremities? Any dizziness or odd feelings?"

Pyrene's face tightens at the answer, "Oh, Cadge... I'm so sorry..." but before she can dwell on that she's overwhelmed with his own questions. "I--I don't know. I think I feel alright--can I walk?" She missed some pertinent information earlier, and now fresh panic starts to set in. "You said I'd broken my spine?"

"You fractured your T10 vertebra, one of the bones in the middle part of your back," Morallen explains, still watching Pyrene, although now he's looking for signs of pain in her features. "As a result, I'm not going to know whether you'll be able to walk until it's healed. And you'll probably have to relearn how. I'm a physiotherapist by specialty, though, so helping people recover from this sort of injury is what I do."

Pyrene settles again, either talking to Cadgwith or mulling that over. "I think I can feel everything," she says finally and calmly, although she's looking at him very hard. "I'm afraid to try moving, but I'm pretty sure every bone in my body is aching right now. Is it just my back? And when can I expect to ride again?"

"You'll need to keep your back as still as possible, but as long as you stay lying down..." Leaning over, Morallen unbuckles the padded straps holding Pyrene's arms to the side of the cot. "It's mostly just your back. You also have a moderate concussion and a scalp wound from hitting your head when you fell, but the back's bad enough as it is. I can't make any calls on when you can ride again, but it'll take at least six to eight sevendays for your spine to heal fully, so that would be the earliest you could sit on your dragon."

Pyrene gingerly raises one hand to her head, finding and gently touching the dressed wound there. "I must have fallen down the steps," she murmurs, looking to him for confirmation. "I was going to go to the council chambers for a record--should have been more careful." She bites down her lip for a moment, and when she speaks again, it's more piteously. "When can I see Cadge?"

"There's... actually some strong suspicion that it was foul play involved," Morallen admits, slowly and worrying his lower lip with his teeth. "The Guard is investigating, but your steps were the only icy ones. Oddly so. As for seeing your dragon... well, I figure we can probably get a few apprentices to transfer your bed to one of the ground weyrs, so she can poke her nose in at you."

At that, Pyrene almost forgets all admonitions and starts to jerk herself upright. The sharp twinges at her first movements catch her, and instead she presses her head fiercely against her pillow. "Somebody did this on purpose?" she gasps, outraged, horrified, near-hysterical. "I could have been killed! Cadge--" her voice breaks and she closes her eyes, breath hissing through clenched teeth.

"Stay still!" Morallen barks immediately, affable concern vanished beneath an avalanche of more medical worries. "Faranth, goldrider, I'll sedate you if I have to, but don't -move-, if you want to walk again." He stops at that, mildly sheepish over exploding at a patient, and settles back in his seat, jaw working feverishly for a bit before he's able to pick up his calm again. "The Guard thinks that was the intention."

"I don't need you and Cadge telling me to keep still," Pyrene snaps. "Does the guard know who did this? How... /why/ would anyone do this..." Her voice drops from anger into fear, and her eyes squeeze shut. "Am I being guarded? Is Cadge?"

"There are guards posted at both doors to the infirmary, and someone on staff's always here," Morallen assures, tuning out the snapping to focus on the questions. "I don't know about the guards elsewhere, or what's going on with your lifemate, weyrwoman. All I know is that you're my patient, and I'm seeing that you're getting the best care I can give. The weyrleader's been in and out, and the weyrsecond too, so now that you're awake, I'm sure they'll be filling you in. Or, well, the weyrleader will. I suspect Wyn was only visiting because you were unconscious."

Pyrene doesn't respond to see that. "I need to talk to G'deon," she agrees. "But not yet. Cadge is telling me I need to rest, and Faranth knows she's right." She manages a weak smile at him, although there's still distress in her eyes. "It's too much to take in. Cadge and I need to think about it. Alone, please?" Belatedly, she tacks on, "Thank-you... for all you've been doing." It pays to remember your manners when you're dependent on somebody else changing your bedpan.

Morallen may not actually be -changing- that bedpan, but he does delegate who gets sent to change it, yeah. "It's understandable to be a bit bemused, ma'am," he assures, rising and tugging at his forelock absently before picking up his borrowed book of poems. "I can't leave you entirely alone, so I'll be at the desk over there. Shout if you need anything."

Pyrene nods quietly, watching him go before closing her eyes and only listening inwards.

Message 16 of 16 on *High Reaches (#3155):
Date: Wed Feb 15 23:10:13 2006 CST
From: Pyrene (#11964)
To: *High Reaches (#3155) and *Gossip (#627)
Subject: An awakening

Maybe the recent mating flight managed to reach Pyrene in her stupour or maybe she was just ready... whatever the reason, shortly after Nissionath was caught by Nylanth, the former senior weyrwoman awoke after five days of unconsciousness. As of yet, she's spoken only to her dragon and healer Morallen, although word is already seeping out that she reports sensation (namely pain) in all her extremities. She's taken the news of her injury reasonably well all things considered, the news of the attempt on her life slightly less so. Neither Cadgwith nor Morallen taxed her with the news of her retirement, although sooner or later somebody's going to have to bring it up...
--------------------------

I probably thought up the bare bones of this TP almost three years ago when Py first became Sr. I was basically aware that I'd have to come up with one at some point (since playing it through to old age would be near impossible--we're talking another five RL years), and I didn't want to repeat what had gone before. So far in HRW's PC history, Adel disappeared in time, Nuff got run down by an avalanche, and Areiah was afflicted by a convenient and non-specific illness. So I decided to be taken out.

Of course, this means Vaeli's stuck with either being impeached or actually dying. Good luck with that, Vae!

Search Q&A

2006-02-15T01:19:42Z

Q&A for High Reaches' upcoming Search. If you're thinking of applying (or just have nothing better to do) read on!

Logfile from HT Pyrene.

Want to know all about Search? Come to Hell for a Question and Answer session (type 'hell') and find out all you ever wanted to know but were afraid to ask.
-- entered by Pyrene on 2006-02-14 12:56 MOO Time. (4 seconds)

Cheyanna materializes from places unknown.

Saohlai materializes from places unknown.

Liza materializes from places unknown.

Nat materializes from places unknown.

Pyrene hands out folding chairs. Make yourselves comfortable!

Liza tickles Nat. That'd be a hard name to contract :p

Cheyanna says, "N't."

Nat giggles. Yeah well.

Saohlai says, "You could always go N'ta!""

Saohlai eyes her stray quote-mark suspiciously.

Liza hrms. Makes me think of Nit, Chey. Or A'nt. A'nt is cool :D

Eshe says, "Or N'a."

I'anex says, "N'anana na."

Nat oohs. Yeah, that last one.

You say, "Or if it's short for something else, contract that!"

Liza giggles. N'a N'a, N'a N'a N'a N'a...

Saohlai says, "Hey Jude?"

Liza nods! Yes!

Cheyanna says, "Ain't."

Saohlai says, "That's what I thought from what Eit said."

Liza grins.

Nat doesn't actually really want to ride though... I was just bored. And also wondering how Stand-Only works.

Liza aaws. Well, Stand-Only is really cool.

You say, "Right then. So the format for this is very simple. Ask a question... we'll answer it. Try to let us answer a question before asking another, but if it gets too chaotic we'll switch to queuing them via page."
Pyrene notes that Stand-Only basically works exactly the same way as ordinary Search except we don't interview you and you are never considered for Impression. It's just for those people who want to play with candidacy but not the dragon.

Nat says, "So the rules are all the same and such?"

Pyrene nods. You're treated like any other candidate.

Liza says, "And playing the candidacy only is brilliant. You get so much RP and you get to meet so many new people, plus there's all that character development schtuff. "

Pyrene also notes that we won't let the candidates know who among them is SO. If you want to keep it to yourself, that's fine.

Nat grins. Well I haven't decided yet or anything, but thanks for the info.

Liza gives Nat a HRW-branded cookie.

Nat says, "Ooh. Fancy."

Pyrene beams. Easy questions are good. Any more? Or, in fact, not easy ones?

Liza is just too hyper right now. And yes, we give cookies to candidates. Lots of them, and laced with llama spit, too, if you're lucky.

Pyrene makes a mental note never to accept a cookie from Liza.

Nat eyes his own cookie suspiciously. Oh dear.

Saohlai tries to think of a question. Hrrm.

Cheyanna has no real questions yet, and is just here to listen. I am pondering, though...

Liza blehs. Llama spit never hurt anyone. May I ask you a question, Nat? Why would you prefer going SO as opposed to applying for Impression? You don't need to answer, of course. It's just my own curiosity :D

Pyrene chuckles. Also, I don't know which if any of you have requested the infopack and application yet, but we are changing Search this time. I was wondering if the infopack was clear enough about the changes?
Pyrene takes the opportunity to get feedback. We need it!

Saohlai has never actually done Search before from this side of it so has no idea from, like, differences.

Nat grins. This char really isn't cut out for dragon riding. But it would be hilarious to see him cope with candidacy.

Cheyanna says, "The infopak was really well-built, yes. I could understand everything fairly well. :)"

Liza grins. Sweet. :D

Pyrene grins. Fair enough. We usually get a fair few applicants who are familiar with our way of doing things, so we were worried this might throw people. Basically, we wanted to update everything and as one of the problems that has often been raised with Search is the lack of feedback about why an applicant was unsuccessful... we wanted to increase the opportunities for you to get feedback.

Cheyanna nods. With the way the infopak was written, I wasn't sure: Is it going to be easier to get Searched this time around, or is there just going to be less doubt? It said people who aren't being Searched will be informed.

Siannen materializes from places unknown.

You say, "The theory is that it will be easier. We are hoping to Search everybody who applies. Basically, we figured that you'd have to be really talented to destroy the Weyr during the candidacy period, so why not just give everybody the opportunity."

Saohlai snerks.
Saohlai hasn't destroyed the Weyr yet! Dubious a candidate's knot is going to do that much to make it different.

Cheyanna nods. Cool.

Saohlai says, "Er, though, you never know."

I'anex eyes Sao contemplatively.

Liza will assist you in destroying /something/, Saohlai. :D

You say, "On the other hand, if we think from the outset that we'll never Impress you, it seems a bit unfair to Search you without discussing that."

Nat needs to go to class. Snugs all around.

Liza has Kamikaze blood in her. I'm supposed to do something destructive.

Nat goes home.

You say, "So.. anybody who's ringing major alarm bells will be talked to in advance. I can't get too specific about this since we're going to have to play it by ear and find the right balance, but basically we want to discuss problems with people at the application stage. Talk about why this might not work with us, right now. Talk about whether any changes can be made--whether the applicant wants to make any changes. And ultimately ask you if you want to carry on with Search."
You say, "And... well, we'll have to see how it works out, but presumably if we still feel that Search is the wrong thing, we'll inform them a bit before the clutching. But that is hopefully an unlikely scenario."

Cheyanna bobs her head. Cool. That makes sense. :)

Saohlai nods.

Pyrene is glad to hear that! Anything else?

Saohlai says, "You say in your search application that you would not like a mini-novel. Er."
Saohlai says, "So if I turn in twelve pages of rambling, that's bad. Right?"

Liza grins. Some people like to write oodles and oodles for us to read. It takes a long time for us to go through lots of oodly writing. :)

Saohlai will let it be a challenge to her.

I'anex says, "It's hard to squish everything down into a few paragraphs (say, for history), but possible!"

Pyrene grins. We are used to it. But if you can look at that 12 pages and think 'well, this isn't relevant and this isn't relevant, and I can scratch this...' that would be good. Basically, we need to know where your character's going, and if the fact that she cut her knee when she was 5 doesn't have any effect on that....

Saohlai's history isn't that complex, thank goodness. Only have a couple of IC years on-camera to deal with.

You say, "On the other hand, it's probably better to write too much than too little."

Liza nodnods. There is a happy medium. It may be hard to find it (I'm the waffley type myself), but sometimes, if you're just writing a load of nonsense and repeating yourself, people might get bored reading it. My job is to write, and sometimes trying to get all the vital info in there without every answer being 2 pages long is hard, so you might have to be brutal with yourself.
Liza does have a non-waffle solution, though. :)

I'anex tries to keep to the most essential information -- what history informs my actions? Personality I'm more expansive on, but that's less likely to run pages.

Saohlai has a whole paragraph in here about hats. Should probably start cutting it down.

I'anex dies. Sao, I love you.

Saohlai loves you too, Eit.

Liza would normally go through something and write down the bullet points first off, so that I know what I want to say. Then I expand it from there. That way, you only put in what you feel is relevant.

Pyrene snorts. Possibly. ;) It does take a while and a lot of thought about what is relevant. But that's probably a good thing to think about anyway.

Saohlai says, "It is also really hard to separate history and personality. "
Saohlai also types like crap. Stupid spacebar.

Liza adores on Sao. I find that hard, too. :)

Pyrene grins. Well, we don't ask you to separate them fortunately. Just keep them as concise as you can!

The daemon speaks in Aidany's voice, "Mind if I comment?"

You say, "Go ahead."

The daemon speaks in Aidany's voice, "History: What someone might be able to find out about you without knowing you."
The daemon speaks in Aidany's voice, "Personality: What someone would need to experience /YOU/ to find out."

Liza oohs. Very well put.

The daemon speaks in Aidany's voice, "Makes it easier to separate it."

You say, "That's a nice way of doing it."

Saohlai may still not separate, but it's a thing to consider, anyway.

Liza nods. It's not necessary. Format it how you'd like. :)

Cheyanna hehs. I just tend to let the lines blur. I say, "These are the events" and then later I say, "Partly because of said event, she is this and this and this." There's a bit of repetition in my answers. ;)

Saohlai just seems to be spending a lot of the history tracking her personality development, because she has changed a lot since I started playing her.

Pyrene coughs. I think we all know how that goes.

I'anex says, "RP can change a character dramatically in a short period of time. x.x Oh yeah."

Liza nods. Yup, it can.

Saohlai points at Eit. Much of this is your fault.

Pyrene chuckles. And that's half the point of the whole candidacy experience. Any more questions?

Cheyanna says, "None here."

Saohlai says, "Actually it, you know, isn't Eit's fault, but I thought that would be funny. -- I'm good."

Pyrene has a question for you then. What do you think of the decision to let applicants know if they will be Searched instead of surprising them?

Cheyanna likes that. "Honestly, the will-I-or-won't-I aspect of Search has never been my favorite, and while it's sometimes nice to be surprised by the Search rider, it's really rough to wait and wait and wait and then just be told, 'We got everyone we're going to.'"

Saohlai thinks that Search is high-stress for applicants and Searchers alike and that sensible steps taken to reduce that from the outset is a sharded /brilliant/ idea.
Saohlai can get her uncertainty fix from the actual, like, Hatching, thanks.

The daemon speaks in Aidany's voice, "Wish someone had told me whether I (alt) was getting Searched or not. It would have been nice to plan."

Cheyanna wouldn't mind having all candidates get a mail at the beginning of the hatching saying "You're in" or "You're out", even. ;) It's easier to make interesting RP with the stress gone.

Pyrene nods. Even if you're Searched, it's a really rough few days just waiting. And if you're not Searched, a week-plus of that waiting isn't conducive to getting over it gracefully. You'll still have to wait until the clutching to be totally sure, admittedly. But you'll also know why you weren't Searched by the time you get to that point.

I'anex nods. And sometimes, Searchriders can't get /out/ for a few days, or until the end of the week. I like this, too.

You say, "We did worry that people liked the surprise too much. So it's good to know that you at least don't mind. ;) And at the moment, we have no plans to change the Hatching. Sorry. ;)"
Pyrene does admit that doing SO makes things less stressful. ;)

Saohlai would be kind of sad if the Hatching changed -- she's never had one.
Saohlai has done Co on MOOs but never Stood, because she is bass-ackwards.

Liza was at a hatching else-game where everyone knew they would Impress. It sucked.

I'anex has done it both ways -- and liked both. Pros and cons.

Liza likes the suspense for the hatching.

You say, "The adrenalin rush that the suspense gives is addictive. But either way, it's easier if you do Impress. :p"

I'anex says, "But you sort of weigh the stress against the surprise. And I've only gotten to be surprised once, and I dig that."

Liza says, "Really? How come you only got surprised once?"

I'anex says, "I've only Impressed here once. :D"

Pyrene still remembers the moment of total shock when a dragon hatches and you know it's /yours/.

Liza nods and /loves/ that moment. You're kinda like... Oh my, that's mine! And then you're like... no, wait, maybe it isn't... but it looks just like what I asked for! Oh, no, s/he's sniffing someone else!

Cheyanna isn't trying to argue a change, really. Just noting I wouldn't mind, personally. ;) So I certainly don't mind the change to being Searched.

Pyrene laughs. Well, maybe we will change that further down the line. But one step at a time.
You say, "Anything else?"
Pyrene okies. If that's it, and it doesn't look like anybody else is coming, I'll wrap up. Once Nissionath's flown, you can start sending those nice and concise ;) applications back to us.

Cheyanna says, "Yay! Thank you. :)"

Liza pops in KISS, my old lecturer's favourite acronym. Keep It Simple, Silly/Sexy/Stupid/Whatever S word you'd prefer :D

Pyrene adds that if you do think of anything else at any time, we're always open to pages or @sends to *hrws. As we keep telling you in the app/infopak. :>