Breide

Thought Dump

Tue, 03 Apr 2007 17:00:36 GMT

This got long. I may have missed addressing some things but will get to it later if I recall.

The Hatching
Breide had high hopes for the hatching that went just beyond her own pride. She'd wanted everything to be perfect so people across Pern could see that Benden, for all its initial problems, was on its feet: to give confidence to the beholden people who came, as well as show the rest of the Weyrs that Benden wasn't a Weyr full of rejects.

Obviously, that didn't work.

Surprisingly, Rielth was more infuriated than Breide was, or maybe it was just that B was too busy that night spending it talking to various people, putting on a show of smiling, nodding, explaining, reasoning that she wasn't given enough time to think much, and by the time she had a moment to herself, she was half way to drunk. Still, there has to be some lingering anger for Rielth to remain pissy even now, somewhere deep inside of her, the petulant Breide that knocked over another girl to Impress, the one used to getting her own way.

Female Riders
Poor Pendarith and Iramyth. In regards to the female riders, Breide is at least making an effort to Tarynn, but Rielth's obstinate pride and anger got in the way of that with Iramyth. Geneve, however, cuts to the quick. B had such ideas for Geneve's potential, and even at two or three points, mentioned how it'd be lovely to have Geneve stand for the gold egg. Part of this is due to the awe and respect she can sense Geneve has for her, and part of it is selfish - Geneve would have gotten a lot of work done leaving Breide with more free time to indulge in her other hobbies.

In general, Breide looks to the female riders with some disdain, though as her relationship with Adria shows, it is also one of the few times she is less Breide-like and just more her. It depends on the personality on the other side too and Adria is good at that kind of non-threatening aura.

Rielth
As for Rielth, I feel a line in her personality describes her reaction to this situation best:

She doesn't care much for the other female weyrlings, finding them rather distasteful in a way - << They don't really BELONG on those dragons. >> - and she can be callous enough to start fights about it. She's not one to keep her mouth shut when something bothers her, a fact which may cause you a lot of grief until you rank highly enough to get away with it.

She *is* angry at Al'zay and how the people handled the situation itself, though it's difficult to stay upset when the brownrider was trying to prevent her children from Impressing to girls who don't belong on those dragons, and in the absence of being able to vent her anger at Yhanth's rider himself, all of it is dropping like a cold, infuriated little bombshell on the poor baby dragonets.

The memory of the event isn't fading as fast as it should, due to Breide's constant thoughts on the subject. And yes, Rielth wins the trophy of worst mother of the year or decade or century.

E'drai and Adria
That Rielth knew they were in cahoots, more the relationship part than cahoots in putting girls on the sands, and didn't share it with her rider was a mild shock for Breide. As loose as she is, she isn't the type to go after another girl's man generally (discussion of Sh'van later). Her visit to Adria was one out of pity and much of what she said in that conversation was pretty frank, even up to the part where she's mulled over the possibility of Adria as Benden's Weyrwoman.

While Taseith was good about taking the blame off the greenrider, initially, Breide was convinced Adria had somehow charmed E'drai into doing something bad - despite the fact that logically, it's more likely the other way around. While she's not entirely convinced E'drai is solely at fault, that Adria was led by a man appeals to the hidebound aspects of Breide: it's something that she feels happens a lot with her.

At the time of her visit to Adria, she had no idea E'drai would be sent away, though it's ironic their conversation included how Breide would stay away from E from there on. I also think that (in conjunction with the next part), Breide had very little say in their punishments overall except asking for Adria to assist her now that both Geneve and Cirila were gone. (This is prior to Maddy becoming Headwoman.)

I also would like to think, potentially, Breide might be the one to convince Sh'van to allow E'drai to come back. She's a romantic at heart and seeing Adria every week pining (even if she never really pines in front of B now or later), would melt her little heart. Who knows?

Weyrleadership
Traditional at heart in terms of man-woman relationships, despite the fact that Breide is the senior queenrider, she defers to Sh'van in most all decisions. If Lanmith tells Rielth to do something, she'll acquiesce. If Sh'van asks Breide to do something (other than the whole discretion, monogamy thing), she'll at least make a huge effort to do it. He's the man, he's the Weyrleader, and while she's not entirely stupid, it makes life easier to do as Sh'van says.

This is part of her incredible fear of Zaorine and Sh'van - despite the fact that she knows they do seem to like each other (or did at one point), it was enough fuel for her to decide to keep Sh'van tied to her only - which meant she would be tied to him only. Weyrmating was part of it - she does like and respect Sh'van a lot, but it's nothing like the relationship she has with Al'zay and even to a lesser extent I'neph. He's like, as we discussed once, a father figure who is much more stable, grounded, and there for her than Layten was.

In any case, Zao and Sh'van: in B's mind, if Zaorine and Sh'van continued their relationship and became closer, it'd be Zaorine puppetting Sh'van and ultimately, it'd be Zao controlling the Weyr.

B'net opened her eyes a little to the possibility that regardless of what happens _now_, whether Zaorine controls Sh'van or not, Rielth will decide who will be Weyrleader when she next rises - and that is power. It's got her thinking now and while her question to B'net that night was mostly rhetorical, she is considering the bronzeriders at the Weyr a little more closely beyond just pretty objects to stare at - though doesn't that make a great excuse? ^^

There's also the lingering question of whether or not Rielth would have been caught by Dioscuth and I'neph be Weyrleader if not for Al'zay starting a fight. Though B will probably never admit it (who knows though?), she actually was pulling for Sh'van. She wants a successful Weyr and I'neph wouldn't be the path towards success. And heck, until then, Sh'van had resisted all her numerous charms.

Weyrmating and how it failed, and other relationships
I debated a long time whether Breide should fail at this challenge from Zaorine and the promise to Sh'van - weyrmated to the Weyrleader is certainly somehow appealing and would fit the character (as in she would never lose a challenge made by Zao), but not making it to the end also posed amusements as ever, with B's sex life in a constant state of flux. I worry off and on that the B's sexcapades overshadow her as a character itself, except it is a huge part of who she is and it does, oddly, have an effect on the way things play around her.

B'net was the icebreaker, taking advantage of her drunk and tired state while Al'zay was the prize. (Sorry Ben!) What Rielth said to Lanmith just after the hatching was true: He asks - will she come to him later? / She will go to anyone tonight. If it is yours or another.

Al'zay probably would not have happened if not for B'net's comment on how she controls the Weyrleadership and who becomes Weyrleader is hers and Rielth's decision. It was a very 'in your face' move to a man who has been nothing but good to her, given Sh'van was like next door and I can't imagine Zaly and B were very quiet. Sad. :/ But sometimes the petulance just simmers, y'know? She is, however, incredibly happy to be back in Zaly's arms and Rielth is begrudging of that. Angry at Zaly herself, Breide's fascination and devotion to Al'zay is just enough for Rielth to overlook a few things.

Letting Yhanth 'Fly'
The decision to let Yhanth fly was fueled in part by Breide's emotional state at the time (all atwitter in her skirts to get Zaly in bed), but also Rielth's calculations that Jasmyth will be the next to rise. It'd be like her own triumph against her junior gold.

Al'zay and I'neph
Andoran recently asked why Al'zay, because Zaly is really such a prick sometimes. It has a lot to do with history: they've been together off and on since she was 13/14, in sort of the same way as she and I'neph. Except in I'neph's case, he's like backup plan when she has an itch to scratch because he can't be bothered to rise to the occasion (no pun intended) and keep her mentally stimulated and make efforts in their relationship. Zaly, on the other hand, makes efforts, he trysts with her on deserted islands, he is forceful and just takes her as he pleases and that's never changed, even after she Impressed gold. He's like the perpetual 'bad boy' in her life.

As for I'neph - she's not heartbroken he's gone, especially since he's just a between flight away, but the fact that he's not there within easy access is something that'll come up more, now, I think, that she's not tied to her apron of enforced monogamy.

Maddy in General and as Headwoman, and bits of Layten
While we didn't get to scene this :/, Maddy as Headwoman is something that Breide didn't give two thoughts over before consenting. Well, I imagine they twitted back and forth: insults, jibes, and then finally came to an agreement, but B has a ton of respect for her less than pretty sister. She doesn't set up other girls with guys for /no/ reason at all, y'know. I imagine they grew up a bit more distant than they are now.

The relationship Maddy and Breide have is interesting, first cause it's funny how Layten had two incredibly different daughters and how he treats them so differently. Some people have commented how fucked up Layten's view of Breide is, and well, what can I say? She enjoys the attention her daddy showers on her with gifts and trinkets, and he in turn exploited her loose skirts and prettiness to make more money - seriously, charming girl who can turn man into putty and buy a glass trinket for 200% price? Definitely an asset. So that he understands and more than that, /approves/ of his daughter's slutty ways sort of makes sense in some twisted way. He's never been fatherly, and despite B's affectionate way of calling him daddy, she realizes this.

The Timing Hide
This is going to get shafted a bit in terms of length only because there's not much to it. It ties in with the whole Weyrleader makes decisions, Breide doesn't argue much. This, however, was one of the times Breide started to go behind Sh'van's back a little - talking to Andoran, getting his input and utilizing his harperlyness to gain herself more information on timing it and the Connellites that she is fairly certain she'd be unable to get herself - aware of her position as Weyrwoman and how some people might be less than candid. She did manipulate the conversation with Al'zay to get him to be the one to do it, she was the one that suggested his name to Sh'van at first (I think), and while she's not altogether pleased given the inherent dangers, Zaly is at least trustworthy.

The arrival of the Connellites however, made her believe in the hide's veracity even moreso than any argument Andoran and Adria could have managed. She still wonders at the lack of Benden's records, banners, or anything out there in all of Pern and how this slip is the only thing found and at Harper Hall at that.

Coward

Thu, 29 Mar 2007 23:36:16 GMT

Location: Benden Weyr - Southern Bowl
Time: day 11, month 10, turn 448
Players: Tarynn and Breide
Scene: Breide is an intimidating figure or something, or at least manages to frighten the pants off of Tarynn and her green. Rielth is her usual, stubborn bitchy non-maternal self.

Southern Bowl(#10RHJM4) Autumn. Partly Cloudy. 61F / 16C.

The primary feature of this end of the mile-long bowl is the Weyr's lake, which takes up nearly a quarter of the bowl's capacity by itself. About two dragonlengths deep at the deepest part - which is safely nestled along the wall of the bowl, far from the shore - the water is fairly clear for all that it's warm. Even in the winter, the water never really dips below "chilly," heated as it is by the Weyr's internal thermals. Occupying the southwestern corner, the southeastern finger of the lake dips into what would be the feeding grounds if the fence were still standing.
The tunnel to the weyrling barracks opens on the eastern side of the bowl, just north of the patio-like overhang that serves as the Weyr's stables - for all that the Weyr has stables at the moment. Almost directly across from this on the eastern wall is the tunnel leading in to the lower caverns, meeting up with the road out of the Weyr.

-- Players --
Breide.........Energetic, confident, curvy. Pretty in a very obvious/common way with silken hair bound in a loose bun.
Tarynn.........Brown-haired and brown-eyed, oval-faced, of average height and build.
-- Exits --
Northern Bowl............[N] Weyrling Barracks........[E]
Feeding Grounds..........[S] Patio and Garden.........[SW]
Lower Caverns............[W]

It's been a little over a week since the hatching and while much has settled down, such as Adria out of incarceration, the effects of what the green and brownrider planned and executed still linger in gossipy undercurrents in the Weyr. Whether she cares about this or not hasn't stopped Breide from living life more joyously than prior to that fateful day, taking pleasure in the brisk autumn day on the arms of one man or another - today a former Istan brownrider whose company she departs as they exit the garden patio. An affectionate laugh, fond words exchanged and then he's off, leaving the weyrwoman alone to consider her various options: food in the living caverns, a dunk in the lake, or- and on the weyrling barracks her gaze lingers a beat longer, a thoughtful purse to her lips.

Tarynn is doing much the same as the goldrider, inasmuch as she can with the restrictions--explicit and literal or implicit and social--imposed upon her. She and her small green charge, already noticeably larger and more filled-out than she was a week ago, are returning from the lake at a leisurely pace: Tarynn moves at Iramyth's waddling, plodding speed, occasionally stopping to supply the name of that flower or this little scurrying creature or that insect. Even at a distance, the girl's smile is a visible, palpable thing, and she frequently stops to affectionately clean some little piece of grit from Iramyth, or stroke her muzzle, or smooth her wings. And thus is she oblivious to Breide.

From her vantage point, the one offered by the first step towards the patio, Breide can see the comings and goings of the barracks and in such a manner, Tarynn and Iramyth come into view. The weyrwoman's dark eyes drift back and forth following this boy or that with idle curiosity that abruptly pauses at the female greenrider. Her arm lifts, fingers climbing to nip lightly at her upper lip, tugging as if in thought, and then turning the back of one finger beneath her chin to stroke idly. Then with a fall of that hand to accompany her long strides, leisurely despite their purpose, she saunters towards the plodding pair. From just a few paces behind the new-made rider: "She's growing," remarks the goldrider, smooth soprano light and a carefully arranged smile small on her lips.

Tarynn shudder-jerks her startlement, but is silent; Iramyth, lacking self-control, squeaks and loses her careful pacing--it's hard, you know, with six limbs and a tail--and it's only because Tarynn is /that/ much faster with the catch that the little green keeps from driving her blunt nose into the ground. "Hey now," begins the girl-half, whirling, "You shouldn't--" Eyes land upon that flashy gold knot, and isn't it /great/ how efficiently they teach weyrlings to snap to attention? "Weyrwoman. Sorry. I'm sorry." Oh, damn, is she sorry. Iramyth comes up green-eyed and fine, snaking her head this way and that to get a better look. Hi-hello!

Breide's eyes dwell on the squeaking and near miss in Iramyth turning into a hapless heap against the ground. Blinking a beat, she's unable to help the growth of her smile and the tiny chuckle that escapes in spite of herself. "I shouldn't?" Those big brown eyes swing to land on Tarynn instead of continuing their study of the small green, her leading question fishing for a continuation that she so nicely attempts to fill in. "Sneak up on you? Turn your... dragon, into a one stop wagon wreck?" 'Please, continue,' Breide's overly pleasant gaze begs of Tarynn.

Ohh, no. No, no. She's seen THIS one before. The stupid moron who actually gives the Boss what he's got coming to him ends up six feet under. Cement, water. It's all very messy. So Tarynn remains at perfect attention, eyes front--though they wobble a little, snapping down to Iramyth and back again--until she's told otherwise, thankyou. "Forgive me," says servile she, and still the strangely-colored dragonet whuffs and chuffs at Breide's skirts, barely able to tell one biped from another. How cute. How innocent. How mortifying.

Where Tarynn might be mortified and servile, the latter expression causing Breide to study the new greenrider a moment longer, the goldrider is anything but. The blonde stoops, rearranging her skirts a bit out of danger of being thrown up to the winds by a curious dragonet, and attempts to come on level with the rather large and angular green. "Pity," she murmurs, "You have too much of your mother in you. Poor kid. You like her?" The last query rises up with her chin as it lifts to catch sight of the weyrling at attention. "Think she's beautiful, the best thing in the world since fruit grew on trees?"

Iramyth's eyes take on a delighted whirl as Breide comes to eye level, angling forward for a better look. Whatever mental command Tarynn gives, she punctuates with a throat-clearing for the goldrider's sake-- and hesitant, confused, Iramyth backs away a step, one foreleg still half-raised, almost doglike. 'But,' say the spinning, sparking facets, focused and unfocused as she alternates her attention between the women, 'But why?' Rynn shifts uncomfortably, not sure whether she ought to take the bait. She errs on the side of caution, wordless. Her lifted arm trembles. She winces. Ohfaranthhelpme.

Iramyth's reaction is enough for Breide to recognize there's silent commentary going back and forth between rider and dragon and with a wink for the retreating green, the weyrwoman rises. "Are you scared of me?" While her blank eyes do well enough on their own to convey puzzlement, the hand that lifts to scratch idly at the back of her hand just adds more to the goldrider's overall confusion. "Consider yourself one of the lucky ones, y'know. Miran's daughter was sent away for that little fiasco and /she/ belongs at the Weyr."

The fabric over Tarynn's left breast flutters, ever-so-slightly, with the pounding of her heart. Iramyth, slow as she is, begins to pick up on her other half's plight, and yellow blinks on in a facet or two. Tarynn's arm is steadily vibrating now, her eyebrows knit tightly together; but her straight-ahead stare pleads: Don't do this.

[DTU] To Rielth, Iramyth reeeeeeaches--it's far, so far, but she quests after you, insubordinate, unwitting. She's a wisp of greeny smoke, a curl of fog, a nothing, but she knows you, and she is intent, and frightened. She does not know, greengraybluegray, to fear you, too. Not yet. There's so MUCH she doesn't know.

Still puzzled, Breide continues her study of Tarynn taking in the tremble of her arm and the flutter of fabric over her chest. "You /can/ talk, right? And why is your arm raised? You look like a puppet. Regardless of what you've heard," and here the weyrwoman's voice dips in dry humor, self-deprecation there, "I don't mind. And especially not girls. Relax."

[DTU] To Iramyth, Rielth is not as gracious as her rider, and when the curl of fog extends from this green known to be paired with a female, the queen does not respond in kind. In fact, she doesn't respond at all, flicking the attempt at communication away like her tail lashes at vtols. What is discernible are the flashes of bright swathes of color that lie beyond her defenses.

Tarynn drops her arm, rotates it in its socket. Pop! "I can talk," she says tonelessly. "I do what I'm told until I'm told to do something else. Isn't that what girls are supposed to do?" Let the barb stick: aren't you queen of the girls? "Yes. I do think she's beautiful. Why?" And here, her innocence sound so genuine, it's difficult to discern whether it's feigned--she's just a stupid holder girl, ladeedah, hairflip--"Is it unusual to think so?"

[DTU] To Rielth, Iramyth falls back as if she had run into a brick wall, with a little tinkling cry of metallic hurt--and Mommy won't bandage the wound, won't kiss it better, and so she flashes away, silverfish quick, in a burst of bright red confusion. And is gone. Ow. Ow ow ow.

Iramyth gives a little wheeze and hides her head in Tarynn's leg. The girl looks down, looks up again, straight into the goldrider's face: what did you DO?

"No." Breide's smile returns, fashioned bright and warm overlaying suspicious regard quite neatly. "It's not unusual. I've heard people talk of Rielth and objectively, I might agree. But it's far too difficult to be objective about your dragon. I think she's beautiful and her various quirks just differentiate her from a gold such as Jasmyth." That, and Rielth at least rises to mate unlike the other gold in the Weyr. "I'm so glad you can talk." Delighted really. "So you can tell me why it is you did what you did. Though she seems," a downward glance to meet Iramyth's straight on gaze, "Happy enough with her choice."

"It was an accident. Didn't you see me run? I'm a coward," says the abomination, and there's no sarcasm there--just the bitter bite of truth. She brushes a hand across Iramyth's headknobs, as a mother would push her child's bangs from her forehead. "I thought the whole Weyr knew that by now."

"I've been busy." There's no other explanation Tarynn might need out of her. "There were more interesting things to spy out on the hatching sands that day. Breide," the introduction tacked on as if the greenrider might need the clarification. Simple curiosity infuses her voice as she inquires further, "No cajoling? No desperate desire in your pretty head to want to Impress Iramyth? Nothing?"

"/No/." Emphatically, no, no, no. "I was there to see my brother, who was a candidate that day. I got lost. There were girls and I was told to line up with them. I just assumed women were led in separately, I guess. No, I never wanted to Impress. I didn't want to have anything to do with you peop--" No, wait, back that up. She clears her throat, furrows her brow. "With dragonriders." Iramyth chuffs at her knees, a trifle indignant. "--Tarynn."

"You people." Bemused by this, Breide laughs a little, indulging herself in a little hair flip that is nowhere near mocking of Tarynn and seems instead a very natural part of who this woman is. "Holdbred aren't you? Tarynn and," while Rielth might not speak with her progeny, she does supply a quick name, "Iramyth. It's a good story. You should work on its delivery a bit. Have a good day, greenrider." For all her lightheartedness, her bright-faced delivery, she somehow turns the final title into an insult as she begins to walk away, up towards the living cavern entrance.

Tarynn's face hardens at the implication of untruthfulness--but what's to be done about it? "Ma'am," she says. She doesn't give the goldrider the pleasure of a salute.

Promises

Thu, 29 Mar 2007 23:30:57 GMT

Location: Benden Weyr - Queens' Anteroom, Breide's Weyr
Time: day 3, month 10, turn 448, midday
Players: Al'zay and Breide
Scene: This pair continue to be really really screwed up. That's all that really has to be said.
Notes: Log taken from Al'zay. Icon used for sheer giggles.

Queens' Weyrs Autumn. Clear. 49F / 9C.

A large but often ignored anteroom, this chamber leads into the weyrs set aside for queens. There are several cavernous openings here, but most of them have long since been covered by a tattered and ignored curtain so that their bare interiors are hidden. There's a long hearth along the interior wall, but it looks as though it hasn't seen use in generations: There is no tinder nearby, not even a poker to stir the non-existent embers. What were once elaborate tapestries are now bare swathes of empty black wall.

Smaller tunnels, still large enough to easily admit a queen dragon, lead into the ten personal weyrs. The larger opening, high enough to allow a dragon to glide to an easy landing in the high-ceilinged chamber, heads to the anteroom of the hatching grounds.
-- Players --
Breide.........Energetic, confident, curvy. Pretty in a very obvious/common way with silken hair bound in a loose bun.
Al'zay.........Ice green eyes, auburn curls, average build.
-- Dragons --
Yhanth.........Brown dragon.

Just after midday the day after the hatching finds Breide bathed, dressed, and pacing the anteroom outside the queens' weyrs - well, striving towards not looking like she's pacing in worry, just walking back and forth in leisurely strides. An unnatural touch of rouge colors her pale cheeks, a hint of the hangover that lingers from the morning.

Al'zay comes out, not from the weyr he shares with Zaorine, but out of Sh'van's weyr. His preoccupation is such that he very nearly bumps into Breide. "Oh, Bree, sorry - I didn't see you there."

If Al'zay is startled, Breide is not so much and moves to avoid the accidental hit by reaching out an arm to slip around the brownrider's waist in an attempt to draw him close. "Are you hurt? I'd heard you were hurt. There was so much chaos yesterday and there's word today that... I mean. I just heard, that is." Warm eyes shine up and then drop, but not before the relief at finding Al'zay with all his visible pieces intact flickers.

Al'zay's left forearm is indeed bandaged, though still mobile, as he curves arms gently about her shoulders. His tone is teasing, "Why Bree - surely you're not so very concerned for me?" A bit more soberly, "Please apologize to Rielth for my manhandling of that green, but I was following orders to try to prevent her from partnering a girl - by any means necessary." He looks down at her face, drinking in the sight of her for a moment.

A wince wrinkles Breide's brow, what's visible of it at least, as her gaze is cast down, a thought that either pains overly or brings back the assault of her morning hangover with heavy thinking. "I wish you hadn't brought that part up," the goldrider exhales, perfectly willing to 'forget' as easily as her dragon typically does by not mentioning Al'zay's indiscretions. With apology in her slowly lifting eyes, her arm lifts meaning to smack his cheek. "You're getting off easy, only because Rielth believes something is wrong with that green."

Al'zay intercepts that arm, fingers closing around her wrist with deceptive strength. He smiles, then, a sharkish expression. "Take it up with Sh'van. I'm doing being whipping boy for following orders." A pause and then deliberately, "If you hadn't been so dead set on being senior, perhaps Yhanth would have given Rielth undamaged weyrlings." He drops her wrist then, willing to take a slap for that statement. ":Or perhaps your pretty boy B'net would've obliged you. You two seem quite cozy."

Wrist caught, the apology dissipates leaving in its wake another wave of relief, and when her hand is released, the arm doesn't drop, fingers instead coming to curl lightly against Al'zay's cheek. "Becoming senior was just, something that happened. Everyone, me, you, Sh'van... we were all expecting Jasmyth to rise first. If anyone was driven, it was Zaorine." The blonde doesn't apologize for the latter accusation, B'net's state of prettiness sketching a slight smile on her mouth which lingers as Breide leans forward against Al'zay. "He was available." Unsaid, but understood is: you were not.

Al'zay says mildly, "I was with weyrlings. Doing my job. Besides, you informed me I wasn't to darken your door, in so many words." He changes the subjecct abruptly, "You want me to learn to between times."

"No. Yes. No." In a reprisal of her role the night before, Breide vacillates between two definitives, warring with what she wants and what duties compel. "I want someone other than the Connellites to know how to between times. I wanted you. Sh'van wants someone else. I'm... now inclined to agree." The steady caress of her hand to his cheeks aims to calm him, soothe him down while her other hand about his waist tugs slightly, pulling him back as far as he might go towards her weyr.

Al'zay follows slowly, perhaps not willing to havve this discussion in the open. "Why are you inclined to agree?" He ducks in the entrance to her weyr with her.

Within the archway of her weyr, just beyond the curtain that now flaps with recent movement, Breide slides her arms around Al'zay's neck, drawing close enough now to smell him in the same way he drank in the sight of her - ferver beneath each precise movement. "Because if something should happen to you. I would be heartbroken." It's as simple as that, despite the drama contained in the words. "I can let myself watch you and Zaorine cozy up together, because at least you're alive then."

Breide's Weyr Autumn. Partly Cloudy. 51F / 11C.

Featuring high-sloped walls leading up towards rounded out ceilings, this mid-sized cavern is situated in the center of the row of personal weyrs - right in the thick of things. What the weyr lacks for in size, it makes up for in details, the little things that make it charming: from vertical protrusions at intervals, with delicate leaves carved up along each side with hooks made for glow lanterns and hollowed out blossoming flowers meant to hold candles, to the slim mantel constructed over the hearth.

A wallow near the opening, deep and smooth despite disuse and clear of rodents' nests, has been thrown over with sweetened fresh rushes for Rielth and close by this draconic bed sits a bare desk and simple chair. Situated between two of the vertical wall ornaments, far in the corner of the weyr, lies a rotund bed, thrown over in sheets and furs of warm colors: autumn golds and sensuous reds. The sleeping area, with its antique wardrobe, are sectioned off by layers on layers of filmy fabric of semi-expense, trader goods from the looks of them. A large rug warms the center of the weyr near the hearth both with its vibrant colors and the way it helps heat up the cave.

-- Players --

Breide.........Energetic, confident, curvy. Pretty in a very obvious/common way with silken hair bound in a loose bun.

Al'zay.........Ice green eyes, auburn curls, average build.

-- Dragons --

Rielth.........Gold dragon.

Within the archway of her weyr, just beyond the curtain that now flaps with recent movement, Breide slides her arms around Al'zay's neck, drawing close enough now to smell him in the same way he drank in the sight of her - ferver beneath each precise movement. "Because if something should happen to you. I would be heartbroken." It's as simple as that, despite the drama contained in the words. "I can let myself watch you and Zaorine cozy up together, because at least you're alive then."

Al'zay says coolly, "How little faith you have in our abilities." His voice is detached, though his body is beginning to give him away, pulse pounding in his throat. "I can't imagine you heartbroken, pet. Or," he amends. "Maybe I can. Wrapped around a pretty bronzeling just interested in getting in your skirts. And maybe trying to get the weyr that way too. If B'net were weyrleader, you really think I'd stay his wingsecond? I'd be out on my ass moments after the flight." A thin smile, his eyes hooded. "I've worked hard to get here, pet. I've no desire to give it up so easily."

"Don't be petty, Zaly," Breide asserts, unfazed by his coolness as she continues on warming up in familiarizing herself with Al'zay's body again with questing hands. "I don't love the others. It's politics. It's... hard." Petulant that last, the blonde sinks her body against his, resting her head against his chest.

Al'zay's arms come around her, automatically stroking her hair. "Oh really. Could have fooled me. You were half drunk already last night, going off with B'net." Damn the man, does he have eyes everywhere? "And the one time I needed you - after that flight - you pushed me away, held me at arm's length. If that's how you treat someone you love, pet, then that's my serious misfortune." Still, that thundering heart beneath her ear gives the lie to his words.

Breide doesn't betray what she hears with her head pressed against his chest, instead sliding her arms about his waist and tightening them there. And his observance of her tryst with B'net goes unremarked on - though when has Breide ever made apologies for what she is or who she does? "Zaly, Zaly," the blonde begins sweetly, shoulders tensing together as she makes herself tiny in his arms. Her head cants, twisting so as to feel the stroke of his hand against her cheek rather than in her hair. "Do you love her?" Blithely, she ignores everything he accuses her of.

Al'zay's hand is gentle on her cheek. "No." The word is softly said, as though it could lessen the impact for its volume. A bit louder, "But that hardly matters. What would you do if you had me, pet? Put me up on your mantle? Move in with me? Weyrmate me?" his smile is bitter, as he brushes a thumb lightly across her lips.

"I'm not the weyrmating kind," Breide replies, a smile stretching the lines of her face until it presses into the hand that's gentle against her cheek. His words turned back on him. Like a kitten being stroked, she nuzzles against his hand, craving more of his touch and shutting her eyes so long lashes sweep against her cheeks in anticipation of it as his thumb lines against her lips. Pursing them, a light kiss is bestowed before his thumb might find another place on her face to explore. "I would not think to put you on a mantle, Zaly. Never. I would be on yours. I've always been on yours, I thought."

From out in the antechamber, there's a snarl. It's Yhanth's voice raised in such a tenor - or protest, as the case may be. Ignoring Yhanth for a moment, Al'zay brushes his thumb over her lips again, murmuring softly, "Damned fool I - taken in by my own trap." He seems fascinated by the silken feel of those lips he knows so well. Lighter he says, "If you were on my mantle, pet, no other men would be able to get to you. Careful what you wish for."

"You could not keep them away." Delighted for the snarl just outside her chambers, taking it as a vocalization Al'zay does not indulge in with his soft murmuring and even softer caresses, Breide leans up to steal a kiss as she states her challenge. "Could you?" Coy now, her happiness shines brilliant in the warmth of her dark eyes and the smile that deepens as she tips her chin up to drink in Al'zay's face, broken noses and all.

Al'zay's hands move to her temples, tightening roughly in her hair. "First," he grates out, "You question our abilities in the air. Now you question mine as a man. Faranth help anyone you love, Breide! You're like a cat playing with a mouse - let's see how much we can cut it up before we kill it." Green eyes are snapping now, furious - at fate, at the situation, at her. This kind of fever possessed him before - when Yhanth blooded for that queen at Ista. And now, the big brown is just without, and another snarl rips the air, clearly as angry as his rider. His hands shake, and he stills them with an effort, studying her face and that triumphant smile on her lips. "Is this what you want? Set him against the bronzes now and for all?"

"I don't want to kill you. I /want/ you." Breide doesn't suppress the delight that grows alongside Al'zay's fury, pleased somehow by his and Yhanth's reactions. "If you can keep them away, then I'd like to see that. Mmmm. I love it when you're all strong and demanding... like our first time." While he's furious, she's pleased. While Yhanth bellows outside, Rielth's thoughts are placid, though the queen herself isn't within sight. The question she poses last, soft spoken and sweet as she entangles her fingers into his hair to bring down for a ruthlessly passionate kiss that's put on pause to ask and await his answer: "Don't you love me too, Zaly?"

To Rielth, Yhanth allows his thoughts to quest for yours. Roiled and seething, all his frustration is laid bare: of always being judged second best, of always having to wait for what he wants. Never being good enough, simply due to the color of his hide. And sheer anger at his rider's unintentional blame for not being her Weyrleader. He's too upset to form coherant words, just this desperate need, fueled by his rider, to /do/ something. To have this fight be /over/.

Al'zay doesn't answer, instead crushing her to him, mouth hard and bruising on hers. Into that kiss is poured twenty years of frustration and need, desire and anger. In it too is the intention to drive the smug, triumphant smile from her face, the memory of others from her mind and body. He is so dangerously close to losing control, skating the ragged edge of the ice that keeps his emotions locked down and away.

To Yhanth, Rielth is a queen in this, unyielding of both color and the way things are, traditionally inclined where her rider is currently not. Still, the bond between dragon and rider is strong, that wave after wave of bright colors blue as Breide favors washes into the brown's mind to sooth his anger, to give favor to his needs in swathes of gold that crash into stalwart browns, blending seamlessly and turning a lustful lavender in midair.

In that bruising kiss, the crushing embrace, Breide is in her element, unable to expel the cries of passion due to the kiss, and unable to squirm in delight due to his arms. Instead, what can move, her arms about his neck press his face down even closer, and her legs step backwards, near tripping over the hem of her skirts, to draw him into her bed. When she does manage to break free of his lips, she breathes out, words interspersed with harsh breathes: "Forgive me. Love me. I love you."

To Rielth, Yhanth is stunned for a moment. Stunned enough to regain his voice. You would... She would... I could fly? Shaded in the meaning of that one single word - 'fly' - is a wealth of longing. Both Al'zay's for Breide, and his for his queen. There is no doubt what the big brown means.

To Yhanth, Rielth does not say as much, no words needed to supplement the image she shares. She will not stop it from happening, will not ground him come the next flight. Where her rider is consumed with constant needs and perfectly willing to overlook logic or think of her actions, Rielth thinks and is aware of the implications of her consent that sums up into the rich hue of purple amethyst and red rubies thrown luxuriously from the back of a trader's caravan that toss two words out at the massive brown: Yes. Fly.

Al'zay is easily drawn, pushing her back none too gently. Hands that have been too long from her know exactly the right spots, the secret places that make her melt. I'neph, long a rival, is gone. The others he can deal with. An exhultant bugle from Yhanth takes his breath in the way the kiss had not yet. "Breide." Her name is softly murmured. Then his lips are on hers, the ice shattered, the hunger, desire and frustration that drove him no match for this sudden dam bursting. Rough and tender by turns, all the previous encounters were but for show. Nothing comes close to this fire than consumes him, laid bare now by Yhanth's choice, pouring into Rielth. The desperate, consuming love he has for this woman with him, the fear that she would leave once she knew the frightening depth of it, his anger at himself and his dragon, that they could not be the Weyrleader she needed - all spring out of this one, inescapable fact: his love for her.

Adria and Breide do not get frisky.

Wed, 28 Mar 2007 20:25:12 GMT

Location: Benden Weyr - Adria's Weyr
Time: day 8, month 10, turn 448
Players: Adria and Breide
Scene: Rielth is still -mad-. Breide is not so much so anymore, but it still makes for interesting times when she drops in on the incarcerated Adria. If Adria's Boomer, does that make Breide a really really really slutty Roslin?

[DTU] To Chiyath, Rielth is polite enough, at least, to give a rush of bright red swathes and the thought imminent arrival, before landing on the green's ledge. That she doesn't supplement vague thoughts and colors with words is merely another sign of her disapproval.

Rielth wings to a landing on Chiyath's ledge.
Adria's Weyr(#304RIJh) Autumn. Breezy. 54F / 12C.

Set in the northern face of the bowl, the wide ledge of this weyr is just under the Star Stones. The dark stone of the ledge is scarred with the talons of dragons past, but the marks are mostly faded by turns of weather and disuse. Only large enough for a green - and a visitor, should the green be small enough - the smoothed walls are equipped with nicely carved shelves and metal hooks for hanging straps and jackets mysteriously embedded in the walls.
Inside, it's obvious why this weyr was chosen. Among the first at Benden, the walls are completely smooth, with decorative niches for glowbaskets carved in. It is large and spacious, with simple, elegant fireplaces on either end that are usually lit with cheery fires. There's a simple table with four matching chairs on one side of the room; two tall armchairs before the fire and a low table between them on the other. The outer living area also boasts shelving set into the dark walls, which is used to store instruments - a gitar and drum - along with a few books and wooden boxes. The space gives way to a small passage to a more private area; raised three steps inlaid with pink granite, it is a small cozy space with decorative ivy carvings and practical shelves around the dark lovely sleigh bed always perfectly made up with soft blankets. There's also a small writing desk next to the niche where there's a sink, and the fittings for a bathtub - just no bathtub.
The space is still somewhat bare, feeling a little too clean and sparse to have been lived in for long.

-- Players --
Breide.........Energetic, confident, curvy. Pretty in a very obvious/common way with silken hair bound in a loose bun.
Adria..........Tall, slim, refined; Lovely, unassuming. Early twenties.
-- Dragons --
Rielth.........Gold dragon.
Chiyath........Green dragon.
-- Exits --
Sky......................[O]

[DTU] To Rielth, Chiyath will make room for the queen - but does note that her ledge is quite small, with a hint of apology for it. The green likes to be a good hostess.

[Time] 11:59am on day 8, month 10, turn 448.

The size of the green's ledge is yet another reason for Rielth to evince disdain in the ginger way she lands at the very edge of Chiyath's home - just long enough for Breide to dismount before the tarnished dragon takes off again to find a much nicer, roomier place to enjoy her respite from the sands. The weyrwoman lingers on the ledge, a curious glance cast Chiyath, before she calls in, "You home?" As if Adria might have any option otherwise.

The tiny green does make as much room as she can, actually withdrawing into the outer weyr and allowing Rielth to land. Though Adria doesn't seem to be expecting visitors, she's not in any disarray as she appears in the archway almost at the Breide's call. With a smart salute, her tone is nonetheless dry as she watches Rielth head off for roomier pastures. "Yes, ma'am. I am nothing but home, currently. Would you like to come in?"

Breide steps back one foot, rocking her weight idly from back to front as she tilts her head in appraisal of Adria's greeting. Just as dryly, the blonde remarks, "You don't have to do that anymore. Salute you know. I'd rather you not if you didn't mean any respect by it. Here." It's not quite a peace offering, but the basket looped easily around the goldrider's arm is thrust forward. "Thought you might need something to eat. Something to... drink." The last garners a funny look for the long neck of a bottle sticking out. "As good time as any to get smashed."

"I respect your position. And I think I might be able to respect you personally, however - there are difficulties to that." A long pause to regard Breide back for a moment, then honestly, "I know you're not stupid. But I can see why you might like to seem to be." The greenrider eyes the basket a touch warily - but takes it even so as it's thrust her way. Touching the bottle's neck with a finger, she asks, "Did you add this? If so, thank you. I might have liked it a bit earlier. E'drai keeps the booze around. Would you like a drink?" Even still, even now, she's still polite, with the same apologetic tones as her dragon as she adds, "The weyr is a little - sparse." And indeed, as she steps into the living area, past Chiyath's curled form, it doesn't look all that lived-in, though the clutter of the past days are there to see; hides with musical notations on the table, a blanket thrown over one chair.

"Do you now?" Bemused by Adria's frank assessment of her, Breide tilts her head again, loose blonde hair sweeping over one shoulder as if by mere inane physical movements, she might wipe Adria's thoughts of her being 'not stupid' away. "I don't think many people would believe you, you know. Might not want to say that out loud. They're likely to think you're crazier than you are now." But somehow, the goldrider's pleased, a small smile playing about her lips as she follows in after the greenrider and then nods. "They were about to send up a carafe of water. Figured," she shrugs, unable to get away from cute gestures for too long, "You'd prefer to get smashed right now."

Adria sets the basket down on the table, well away from the hides. She stands behind one of the chairs as she speaks, hands resting on it - possibly waiting for Breide to choose a seat? "I don't tend to tell anyone who wouldn't believe it; nor do I tend to say it at all. But you're bright enough, if somewhat easily distracted. You're also different around different people - a wise enough trait to develop with the world as it is." With a quirk of a smile, she notes as she pulls out the bottle to uncork it, "I'm not crazy, but I can see how one might think that. I am somewhat amused that the criminal mastermind behind this is likely seen to be some helpless pawn, but I expected that as well." Pause. "I don't get drunk very often." Big surprise /there/.

"Rielth mentioned that." Though the comment comes a span of time later, after Breide's impolitely wandered the length of Adria's weyr while the greenrider speaks - at least the more public areas though an inquisitive peek aims to garner her a glance into the passage towards privacy. "That Taseith took all the blame on his rider. Rielth says," the weyrwoman pauses, hand poised on the top of on the backs of one of the armchairs. "She says you and E'drai have a... 'thing'." The airquotes hang tangibly in disgust.

Adria doesn't seem overly concerned with Breide's wandering, finding a couple of glasses which are sadly not wine stems. She pours out some wine, glancing the Weyrwoman's way as she peers into the inner weyr. "You can look if you like - It's really not much." After the glasses are arranged to her satisfaction, she carries one first to her vistor - offering it up, she merely arches a brow at the disgust. "E'drai told me that Taseith said it was his idea. It was - but it's not as if I didn't agree to it. And, I suppose we do. We didn't when he asked for my help, if that helps. Though not for lack of effort."

"He could've told me you know. About the thing you two have, not the, well, y'know." Breide shrugs again, reaching out for the offered glass. "If I'd've known, I would respect your boundaries." Yours. Not his. "It's a good vintage," she says of the wine instead, casting about for a subject other than Adria's love life. "Got it from my daddy before he left. I think," she purses her lips wryly, "He thinks I'll need the case load he tried to offload on me. For a price."

Adria seems a bit bemused by the first, just asking, "I'm sorry. Boundaries?" But as she glances down at the glass, a light goes on and she offers, quite carefully, "I've only been - living there -" A nod next-door, "Since just before the summer. There wasn't much in the way of boundaries before that. In fact, the only thing I've ever asked E'drai to do is to stop getting his ass kicked to try and feed people who aren't terribly grateful for it." A sip, and she is happy to jump on th change in subject. "Is is nice. Is that difficult? I mean, I don't want to pry - it's just my parents are somewhat less... pragmatic."

"I won't ask him to spend the night anymore in any case." Or in Breide's case, a quick five minutes. Hos have a certain set of ethics. Some of them. Maybe only Breide. Refraining from sipping, though there's an appreciative sniff at the glass's edge - she makes no remarks on the wrong glass being used - the goldrider eases herself around the armchair and finally seats herself as gingerly on the edge as her dragon landed on Chiyath's ledge. "You're smart. I'm not stupid. So let me ask you why? I doubt I'd get any kind of straight answer from E'drai. He'll be too busy flirting and I'll be too busy responding in kind. So... talk. Why?"

"I... appreciate that." Adria's looking at Breide like she's some sort of weird alien creature rather than a woman who's likely slept with her man - but, as it could be argued, who -hasn't- Breide slept with? Still a bit bemused by the Weyrwoman, the civility, and sitting down to a glass of wine like she'd invited the other woman by for a chat, she takes her own seat. Less gingerly, but still alert. There's a long moment of slience before the greenrider answers, expression thoughtful. "When E'drai asked me to, I didn't know why he was doing it - and even now, his reasoning is a bit vague to me. But I agreed because I don't think it's right that women are barred from the sands. And I don't think it's right that riders be restricted from their duties. I also don't want to see a very handy erasing of greenriders through 'attrition' in threadfall. Those are logical reasons. Emotionally, I was tired of you and Zaorine hating me for things I couldn't control. Being Raine's pawn is hardly a honour."

"Oh, doll," Breide waves her free hand about, her merry laugh not quite reaching genuinely amused. "I don't hate you for being Raine's pawn. Better you than me. Fact, better you than Zaorine, though if you ask me, she's still stuck on you almost Impressing Jasmyth." Speaking of stuck on, the goldrider's scrutiny of Adria intensifies a bit, sizing her up. The glass continues to act more as an occupier for her hand, keeping it filled and busy than as something to drink out of. "Ben," a beat is followed by a wry correction, "B'net said that if we had just smiled and clapped our way through the hatching, the Lord Holders wouldn't have gotten as upset, they'd have no reason to if we pretended it was all normal. What do you think?"

Adria watches that merry laugh, gauging the tone. "Something else, then," she surmises. "And I figured that - about Zaorine, I mean. Jasmyth wasn't meant to be mine, or I would have impressed her." Matter-of-fact, it's just that simple. "Life would be simpler in ways if Chiyath were gold. But I don't envy anyone the position. It's as confining as my role, in a sense. Rielth's purpose is to propagate the line, yours is to make that happen and make the Weyr pretty and welcoming. I know there's more to it than that, but given the Senior gold chooses her mate and not the other way around, I often wonder -why- Weyrwomen do not have definitive power over the Weyr." Not that Breide being in sole charge of Benden would help her right now, but. The darker of the pair takes another small sip before, "Ben might have a point at that. The Weyr decides who an acceptable rider is. What do Holders or Crafters know about dragons?"

Breide places the cup on the arm of her chair, inching back just a bit away from the edge in efforts to get more comfortable. "They know enough of Tradition and for many, that is enough. If Chiyath had been gold, if Jasmyth had been green the world would be a different place now, don't you think?" Rhetoric that, the goldrider finally brings the glass up to take a tiny sip, nose twitching in the aftermath. "Good vintage," she again says, moving the wine glass back away from her. "Do you wish to incite more insubordination, Adria? Though," quickly, she adds with a light twist of a smile on her lip corners, "I guess you aren't the first to suggest that to me, that by Tradition, Sh'van can't replace me, but I can replace him. When I wish. When," she concedes, "Rielth rises and when she wishes otherwise. Who'd be your perfect Weyrleader then? The one to champion your cause." On the last comment, the twisty smile shapes crookedly, dry and infused with sarcasm.

Adria turns enough to look at Breide properly across the low table - no-man's-land - that divides them, one knee bent up on the seat. "Tradition. I can't imagine that Tradition was always the same. I've heard call to ground the queens for Fall as well, though the sprayers put the lie to that being Tradition. There's a place for traditions, and then there's a place for the reality of the situation. Tradition won't save us when thread comes. Besides, it's Tradition to tithe to the bloody Weyrs - how do they manage to get around -that- one?" It's a rhetorical question, as much as if Zaorine and Adria's places were switched. There's a pause, and she purses her lips before, "If the Weyrleader had taken us from the sands to deal with us - as I fully expected to be dealt with - my comments would have meant nothing but insubordination. But he gave me Pern for an audience - what would you do? Meekly walk away, or take the chance?" Giving the goldrider her own smile, while raising her glass in salute, "There are no perfect men, ma'am. Only the ones you decide to care about despite their failings." That, for some reason, leaves her quiet after.

"I'm mad at you, you know." Breide remarks, non-sequitur and all, nothing to really do with Adria's speeches or her thoughts. "Wanted to throw Rielth at both of your heads. Livid even. I was at least. You'd be surprised what a good night's rest and some much needed liquid medication can do." Quiet too, she tips her glass towards herself, studying the contents within and how they swirl with the slightest of her movements - a tremble of her fingers causes the most minute ripple, a turn of her wrist sends the liquid another way. Fascinated, as easily distracted as the greenrider's accused her of earlier, the weyrwoman remains silent, perhaps thoughtful even in her glazed wine study.

Sincerely, "I'm sorry that it was your hatching. And I do apologize for making you angry. I don't dislike -you-, Breide, as much as I dislike your - issue with me. Whatever it may be. I do dislike Zaorine, on occasion, because it seems like a silly thing to get upset over." Adria notably leaves Sh'van out of the discussion, but something about the darkening of her gaze makes her thoughts more obvious than usual. That is, if Breide were paying attention. Watching the blonde move the wine in the glass, she murmurs, "A good night's rest makes everything look better in the morning. So says my mother."

"My mother," disdain brings Breide out of her wine-contemplative reverie, "Wasn't anything more'n a pair of legs to spread." The goldrider at least has the decency to smirk, self-mocking causing her head to shake. "Which I'm sure most people say of me. You should have the rest of this." No man's land finds one occupant: Breide's wine glass, minus one sip. "I've things to do today, people to see, and can't clutter my mind with alcohol. Faranth knows you need it more than I do. As for daddy?" The blonde's chin lifts, mocking edged with reflection as she renews the subject of parents, her father in particular. "Everyone knows what Layten is, and yet you can't help but be charmed most'the time. He's good at that. It's how he lives, survives. Cares for everyone he likes or pretends to like." She doesn't notice the darkening, though it's doubtful she'd say anything even if she did. Silence is followed by a confession: "I'd have liked to be a junior to your weyrwoman I think. But I guess things are as things are. Need anything to read? Anything to do?"

Adria looks, for a moment, a little sad - perhaps for Breide, though the expression's fleeting. Somehow, she seems to have an idea of how the goldrider might react to pity or anything related. "Ah," she merely says. And for the second time in the last few days, she's lost for words, though her eyes are nowhere near as wide as when Geneve impressed. There's another of her silences, only punctuated by blinking, before graciously; "I have things to do, though if you would like me to be productive in some way, I would be pleased to assist with hidework. At least -that- I can do here." A pause, looking at the glass in her hand, the one on the table. "I'll save the bottle for another time."

"I'll speak on your behalf to Rielth." On Breide's tongue, this is more promise than threat, still more reflectively quiet than her cheerful self and to /Rielth/? Not Sh'van. "I need assistance now that Geneve's gotten herself in a right pickle." The first signs of true displeasure appear with the emergence of this topic and couples wiht the goldrider's rise from her seat. "And you are," the blonde allows with a dry smirk that doesn't push away the sudden tension of her anger with her former Headwoman, "Too smart to languish in here. Your skin might turn gray and sallow and you're too pretty for that too. Such a waste."

"Thank you," Adria says sincerely, standing as well. Hey, who's she to question who Breide speaks to? "Of course," she says about the Headwoman situation, without any real indication of her feelings on the matter. With another blink, she offers her own little smile, noting, "I don't take well to sun like some -" The blonde. "But fresh air is always appreciated." And freedom's even better.

"Mmmmmm." Breide channels her displeasure at the entire situation on Adria's looks rather than start a new argument on female brownriders in general. "You need a bath. You should do something about your hair." But leaves it at that, though a slightly disparaging look follows down the greenrider's clothes: definitely not snug enough. "Drink the wine now. You'll need it. Promise. Especially if-," the female rider flicks a glance out the weyr to the Weyr at large. "Well, just drink it when you can. Have a good day, Adria." She doesn't wait for a response, none really is needed, and besides Rielth hovers just above the ledge waiting for her rider to come out and hop on.

Done Being Good

Wed, 28 Mar 2007 05:45:10 GMT

Location: Benden Weyr - Living Caverns, B'net's Weyr
Time: day 2, month 10, turn 448
Players: Andoran, B'net, and Breide
Scene: Post-hatching, late after most people have left, Breide shares a drink with Andoran and B'net and then gives in after /months/ of being good.

Living Cavern(#25RHIJM4) Autumn. Windy. 55F / 13C.

Huge, still mostly the natural shape of the bubble cavern that formed it though embellished with intricate columns, the living cavern is large enough to seat over two thousand people at any given time. But it has fallen into a state of disuse. High in the eastern walls, narrow windows allow slants of light through the gloom, the glowbaskets here sparse and ill-suited to the amount of space. There are long gaps in the room where tables must have been at one time: Now, there are only about a dozen long picnic tables filling too little of the area; most of them are arranged neatly in the middle section of the cavern, but a few have been pulled off-center or into corners. The rest of the space seems empty, lacking tapestries to color the walls and extra tables to fill the floor.
The exits from here are pretty clear-cut: A set of handsomely carved stone steps lead up to the balcony-style kitchen that wraps around the cavern; a tunnel on the eastern wall slopes upward just slightly on its way out to the bowl; the southern tunnel slops downward steadily as it dips into the Weyr's inner caverns.

-- Players --
Andoran........Mid-twenties, curly black hair haloing his head, hazel eyes in a "baby face", about 5'10", on the plump side. Wearing a Journeyman Harper's knot.
Breide.........Energetic, confident, curvy. Pretty in a very obvious/common way with silken hair bound in a loose bun.
-- Exits --
Kitchen..................[N] Bowl.....................[E]
Inner Caverns............[S]

Most of the furor has died down, though clusters of folk here and there are still chattering away about the eventful Hatching. Andoran is sitting to one side of the cavern, face as placid as usual, playing a rather soothing melody for the benefit of an enthralled group of youngsters. A few lower caverns women sit around the loose circle holding babies and younger children, the harper doing his part to soothe frayed nerves amongst the younger set, some of whom got quite hyper from all of the hubbub from the adults.

Lords Benden and Bitra have long since departed in a stately huff, speaking dire words of consequences of their own for the Weyr. Many of the Weyrleadership notables have also left, not without a few 'words' said questioning Geneve's state of girlness; rumor has it Breide even went so far as to suggest the Headwoman might be a boy... in disguise. Or something ridiculous to quiet down more nerves. In the end, with the notables trickling out and returning home to spread the gossip all across Pern, the senior queenrider sits, wearied midst what remains of Benden's feast.

The song Andoran plays winds down to a conclusion and the lower caverns women smile their thanks. The harper passes out a few treats under the guise of sleight of hand tricks to some of the children and then shoos them off to bed. Scanning the cavern, he marks Breide's arrival and stands, making his way over to the Weyrwoman. "Good evening, Weyrwoman," he says pleasantly as if it were any other evening. "Might I inquire as to your favorite tune?" he holds his gitar up, the gesture underscored by lifted brows and a pleasant smile.

It's much later now, most of the guests having already left in various states of huffiness, at least most of the important people, and Breide rests now, tiredly at a table near the harper when Andoran speaks to her. 'You've got to be kidding me,' so sayeth the brows that inch up at his pleasantry, but in the next moment, the goldrider seems to shake off her somnolence in favor of a wane smile flashed to the harper. "I know nothing about music, anything that'll... well, frankly, harper? I'd like to have a big honking glass of whiskey right about now."

Ask, and ye shall receive. B'net appears as if on cue at just this moment (alright, he appeared in the room a few minutes earlier, but has made his way up behind Breide's table at just this moment) and trails a finger across the back of the goldrider's shoulders as he walks past her, head tilted as he says: "Well, it's a shame you're more interested in Sh'van than that handsome bronzerider who used to be a vintner. I bet he could hook you up." A wink, and he keeps moving towards the sideboard, aimed for wine or klah.

"Music calms the soul," says Andoran gently and for lack of Geneve and Cirila, lays his gitar down gently on a chair. "I'm not sure about /whiskey/ Weyrwoman, but --" and there's B'net cruising in and he chuckles softly. "I believe that our friend here can hook you up with something suitable." So saying he picks his instrument up again, and pulls the chair out, settling into it, completely relaxed. He's tamping down on it, but Andoran is vastly amused by all of the goings on of the evening. Well, maybe not all of the bloody bits, but he's hiding it pretty well under the guise of general pleasantry. "Now then, you can't tell me you don't know this one, it's a trader ballad." The harper, draws fingers across the strings and plucks out the simple tune. It's got a swinging cadence, and not a single reference to dragonriders, just the wide open spaces of the road and the people who walk it.

Breide's shoulders aren't as exposed as her back is, due to those wide, modest-seeming straps, but when B'net passes by to trail his fingers across her skin, the goldrider can't help but start, turning quickly to watch the 'handsome' bronzerider make his way to the sideboard. "Don't kid me, doll, it's not a good night for tauntin' me with your offerin's." Doesn't look like she needs whiskey much now though, dark eyes drinking in the movements of the bronzerider. "Hmmmm?" Absent, her response to the harper, it's only after he begins playing that a flash of memory sparks in her eyes and a knowing smile of gratitude turns to find Andoran plucking at the strings of his gitar. "Aye, I know that song well." Light, beneath his accompaniment is a somewhat more off-key version of his instrumental.

B'net returns to the table a few minutes later with a glass of wine in one hand and a half-full mug of klah in the other. He slides into the seat next to the goldrider, shooting her a crooked smile. "Me? Taunt? I'd never." He takes a little sip of the wine, and moves it around in his mouth slowly, tasting. Then he swallows, makes a bit of a face, and lifts the glass again, draining the rest in one gulp. "I've had better," he says, turning to smile at the harper, "Evening, Andoran." He swirls the klah absently in his mug as he listens to the song, smiling as he picks up Breide's accompaniment, and then reaches for his hip, suddenly producing a flask, which he holds discreetly in his lap as he unscrews the top.

Andoran nods over the body of his gitar at B'net. "Good evening, B'net," he replies politely, favoring the former Connellite with a broad smile. "I can find you better than that, then, if your face is telling the whole tale of the wine," notes the harper, fingers still drawing the tune out of the instrument across his thighs. "Ahh, you know this one too," his smile increases in brightness. "Trader tunes are so different from most of the ones the Hall teaches as standards, I sometimes find that they get into a person's ear better, even."

"Catchier songs that aren't pounding lessons into your head," Breide notes, breaking her warbling attempts to speak. Her knowing smile diminishes as a cluster of lower caverns people, gossiping, catches her gaze and without meaning to, cringes and visibly sinks down into her pretty blue dress and behind B'net's shadow. "S'why I didn't get any wine. It tastes like what I imagine smelly feet to taste like. Not that I've tried," she's quick to add, challenge glaring at both men to try and dispute her claim.

"Not the kind of lessons harpers teach, anyways," B'net agrees, adding with a smirk, "Though I've learned plenty of valuable lessons from catchy songs. Like that one about fisherwomen and wine." He winks at Andoran, and then turns to look at Breide as she hunches down behind him, clicking his tongue reproachfully: "You're going to wrinkle that dress. And not for any fun sort of reason, either." Her announcement and her glare draw a laugh, and B'net shakes his head before lifting the flask for a drink, lowering it into his lap again and running a few fingers into his hair. "If you're looking for a place t'hide, sweetheart, you know I can help with that."

Andoran only chuckles softly, bringing the tune to a close. "Precisely," agrees the harper. With the formal tune ended, his hands play over the strings once more, not playing anything in particular, just little musical doodles, some spritely, some calming. He looks around the cavern, expression mild. "I know a few of those B'net, but I'm not sure the time's /quite/ right to play them yet. Too many children still about." His expression remains neutral through B'net's audible flirtations with the Weyrwoman. What flirtation? "Perhaps I could interest you both in a slightly better vintage than what's being served?" Something's made Andoran a lot more loquacious than usual.

The silver of B'net's flask is what captures Breide's attention, quick (if tired) eyes drawn to the movement and unconsciously, she licks her lips. "What's in there?" The goldrider isn't so polite as to not inquire with a chin jerked to the flask. "And why aren't you sharing with me?" Her talent for sulkiness displays itself marvelously in the wake of a trying evening. "See," she points out to the bronzerider, straightening herself a little for the threat of wrinkles to her dress, "The harper's willing to share. Don't be mean, Ben."

B'net follows Breide's eyes to his flask, and shrugs, overly casual, "Liquor," he replies vaguely, "Too strong for a little thing like you. Besides," he adds, when she mentions sharing, "I only share this sort of stuff with particular friends of mine. And you haven't been particularly friendly lately, so...." He shrugs, as if helpless. He looks up at Andoran's offer, capping the flask and tucking it back into his pants as he shrugs again, and nods a little this time, too, "I could be interested in that," he tells the harper.

Andoran gives B'net rather a long look after that set of remarks, but he simply quiets the gitar, sets it on the table and rises. "I'll be just a moment then, if you'll excuse me." He's not gone long, just down into the corridors to his own rooms and back, holding a nice, fat-looking wineskine. On his way by where he was sitting before, he catches up his gitar case, bringing it with him and once arrived back near the Weyrwoman and bronzerider, sets the wineskin down, then makes quick work of stowing the gitar away safely. "Here we are, I just got this on my last visit home, it's not the finest vintage ever, but it's better than the table wine." He presents the skin formally to Breide. "With the compliments of Elben Hold, Weyrwoman. I'll fetch some glasses." And he's off again, busy little harper doing his best to be harperly.

During the time Andoran's gone to get both wine and then glasses, Breide shoots B'net a glare, not particularly pleased with how he's withholding the much needed medication of liquor from her. "You could share, y'know, anyway. Be nice to me cause I've had a bad day and all. And I'd /like/ to get drunk enough so's I don't have to wake up tomorrow morning." There's a hint of a whine that jives with her petulant expression. "The harper's sharin'," as if B'net needs further reminders of Andoran's various acts of kindness.

While the Harper's gone, B'net just shrugs at Breide, and nods, "Sure, I could share. But what's that get me, huh? You're gonna drink my liquor and then go screw Scarface, and I'm left with an empty flask and that's it. I'm perfectly willing t'facilitate you getting drunk and taking your mind off the hatching, but since you don't seem interested in doing anything except whining or calling me pretty, I haven't got a whole lot of incentive, have I?" He reaches for the flask again and takes another sip, wiggling it at her before shoving it back into the waistband of his pants. "I'm not interested in sleeping with the Harper," he explains. Duh. Andoran's return soon after is met with a friendly smile, and the skin is eyed and nodding at, "I'm sure it's better than what they've got over there. Nice of you t'share," he adds, "I'll owe you a drink, sometime."

With three glasses in hand, the Harper returns, setting each down carefully. "B'net, as a former vinter, would you do the honors please? It's a brand new skin." He flashes the bronzerider a smile, oblivious to the pair's most recent interlude. Once poured, the wine is smooth, with only a hint of the rawness of youth and a rich grapey flavor. Not the best, but at least good. The Harper settles back into his chair, and looks around the living cavern, eyes drifting from grouping to grouping, absorbing facial expressions and the overall tone of conversation.

Breide's disquiet with B'net's response doesn't smooth out once the harper returns, brows knitting in a fashion, as if puzzled with the bronzerider's reasoning. Tact never being her strongest suit, what little she's gained in the past six turns is discarded as she poses a frank question: "So if I sleep with you, you'd let me drink your liquor? You're awful." Awful, but still interesting, as despite herself, Breide darts the bronzerider surreptitious glances every so often even as the brunt of her attention refocuses on Andoran. "So...," the big white elephant hanging in the room hangs, unspoken, on the tip of the goldrider's tongue as wine gets poured.

B'net shakes his head at Breide's question, completely unfazed by her bluntness: "No, I'd let you drink with me first," B'net clarifies, "You'd just have to show at least some intention of sleeping with me. And I'm bored," he adds, in response to the awful. He ignores her after that. Her sneaking looks go unnoticed as Ben grins at Andoran, and goes through the proper motions of opening the skin, letting it breathe, pouring it at the right angles, etcetera. He even swirls it in the glass and inhales the aroma before slowly tasting, clearly teasing with all the formal vinter-stuff. After he swallows, he nods to the Harper: "It's not bad at all. If you have others, you should try holding onto at least one for another couple turns, it could be very good."

Blink. Blink. Andoran didn't hear all that about people sleeping with other people, no siree Bob. He's just sitting nearby, y'know, enjoying the view of the living cavern. "Very nicely done," he compliments B'net at last, for the elaborate show of wine-pouring, "I will, I get one or two every now and then from my parents back home." He waves vaguely and then smiles Breide's way. "So?"

"Never mind." Whether it's her renewed distraction with B'net, or simply B'net's presence itself, Breide waves off Andoran's smile and return question flippantly, a bit annoyed maybe. After the elaborate wine tasting, she reaches forward to flick at the glass before her lightly: conspicuously empty. "You can fill her up all the way to the top, doll, if you're done showing off that you used to be vintner once." When her hand withdraws it settles beneath the table on the bronzerider's leg discreetly.

B'net grins at Andoran for a long second, then turns to look back at Breide and her glass-tapping. It's not his wine, so he goes ahead and fills it up, though he takes his time pouring in an overly-fancy manner, just to tease her. Andoran's glass is filled more quickly, then the skin is stopped and set down, and his own glass picked back up. He's just finishing a sip when suddenly he laughs, and turns a grin on Breide. "If you're looking for the flask, darling, it's a bit higher."

Andoran lifts his glass once filled and sips, nodding at B'net's assessment of the vintage. "Nice," he adds and then lifts his glass. "To our Weyrwoman and her lovely Rielth," he toasts solemnly, though there's still a smile in his eyes at least even though it's subtle on his lips. He's still dutifully ignoring the byplay between the other two.

In spite of B'net's laugh and teasing comment, the goldrider's hand doesn't drift from pressing all the more firmly against his leg beneath the table. It certainly refuses to climb higher up in search of that flask. "You're mocking me," Breide notes, voice suddenly uneven for the toast. Not that it stops her from raising her own glass and pitching it to the back of her mouth in a rather quick and heady drink. In the aftermath, there's a clink of the glass to the table and an exhalation roughened despite the smoothness of the wine. "I needed that," she murmurs, her free hand coming to rub wearily at her temple and eyes. "And maybe another for the road."

B'net lifts his glass just a touch, though he doesn't repeat the toast, instead taking a swig, and then swallowing it to laugh as Breide empties he glass in one gulp, practically. "I don't think she appreciates your vintage, here, Andoran," B'net laughs. As the goldrider asks for another, he laughs again and lifts a hand. "Please, spare the good wine," he chuckles, a hand patting her shoulder, "I'll get you something stronger, all right?"

"Would I mock you, Breide?" the harper makes rare use of the Weyrwoman's first name in public, and drinks deeply from his glass. If her treatment of his wine pains him, he doesn't show it. "It's not so bad really, just a little upset of what's considered traditional. It'll work itself out in the end," Andoran offers with firm conviction and optimism in his voice. "No one was killed and there was only the one serious injury. The rest will shake out in the wash." He sounds so very sure and so very calm, eyes fixed on the Weyrwoman's face as if willing her to believe it. B'net's comment earns a laugh and he shrugs. "We can't all be connoisseurs."

Having been called everything from 'Weyrwoman' to 'ma'am' to 'hey you' to whatever else the Holders and Weyrleaders might have pitched her way, though all very polite to be sure, it's Andoran's naming of her that undoes all the stiff upper lipdom she's shown quite a knack for tonight. Couple the name with everything else he intends to reassure with, and her reproachful eyes lift all tearful: "You don't understand. You're only a harper. And /you/ don't understand cause you just want to get in my skirts." First one to the harper, the latter to B'net, and without a second drink, Breide rises unsteadily, lightweight that she is, and uses the backs of chairs to make her way towards the bowl.

B'net nods along with the Harper as he enjoys his wine, grinning and shrugging at the last, "True, true. Just as well, too. If everyone was a connoisseur, the good stuff would be harder to find." He smiles as he finishes the last of his glass, then looks up as Breide goes all wobbly. She stands, and starts to go, and he watches thoughtfully, then sighs and stands as well, shrugging at Andoran as he does in a 'what're you gonna do?' sort of way. Hands drop with a bit of a slap against his legs, then he's smiling, "Thanks for the wine, Andoran. Tell your family they've got a good vintage, there." Then he turns to head after Breide, quickly enough to catch her, though not in any particular hurry.

Andoran starts to rise as well, eyes following the Weyrwoman out, consternation on his face. "Er, yes, certainly B'net," the harper nods at the compliment to the wine. He hesitates a moment, then adds, "Please make sure she's all right and convey my apologies. And ... take it with you," he lifts the skin and holds it out to the bronzerider, a half grin on his face. "I have another and it would seem others will need it more tonight." Turning back to his gitar case, he makes sure everything is all buckled up tight, before lifting the instrument. He pauses by a knot of chatting lower caverns folk to check in with them before heading deeper into the caverns himself.

Breide isn't /that/ far gone -- she just needs the help of chairs so while B'net might not be in any particular hurry, the goldrider isn't moving terribly fast and is easily caught up with. "Go drink with the harper," she asserts, once awareness of the bronzerider's proximity sinks in. "Share your whiskey with 'im."

B'net grins at the harper, and reaches back to take the skin. "Thanks," he says, "I'll owe you one. Enjoy your evening." Another friendly smile in parting, and he heads after Breide, catching up easily, and hooking a hand around her waist to take the place of the chairs in supporting her. "Harper's going to bed," he tells her, "Come on, why don't you come out, get some air, get away from all these people... I'll walk you out to the patio, or something. Nice and quiet over there, I bet."

For all her protests, Breide is all too easily caught about the waist and tips her head to rest tiredly on B'net's shoulder. The last of the words in the living cavern sound like a jumble of: 'awful, that horrid Adria, poor manipulated E'drai, what to do.' Even up close, it doesn't make much sense, drowsy mumbles venting frustrations as the two head out for fresh air. The only thing that is fairly distinctive is: "Got any whiskey?"

B'net blinks at the rambling nonsense and just shakes his head a little, slowly leading the goldrider out into the bowl. "You're babbling," he tells her, as they duck out the door and he aims in the direction of the patio as promised. "I think you're too tired for whiskey," he adds with a chuckle, "Seems like you're about to pass out on me as it is."

More clearer, she grouses, "I don't know how Adria managed to wrap him around her pinky. Could use whiskey. Would burn down my throat and get my mind off of things." Things, y'know, cause that's what the entire night should be whittled down to. Once clear of the living caverns, Breide turns to drape her arms around B'net's shoulders, cajoling transparent in her dark eyes. "Please, Ben? Please, please, please?"

"What makes you think she did?" B'net asks mildly, as he moves them along. When they get outside and Breide turns and drapes herself on him, B'net just laughs, and squints to peer at her face, assessing her condition. "Alright, fine. I've got whiskey in my weyr, you can have some. C'mon, I'll get Hafizth t'come down."

"Haveta talk to Sh'van," Breide protests, doing little to actually give credence to her words as she continues to cling to B'net in efforts to stand straight. "But I'm so tired of lookin' and not touchin' and," pitiful dark eyes coincide with arms that tighten, drawing her in close - she's definitely touching now. "Mmmmkay. Whiskey. Pretty Ben."

"Eh, let Sh'van deal with himself," B'net snorts, "He's a big boy, he'll be alright." As the goldrider goes on, he just watches, amusement obvious, and finally laughs out loud at the end. "You sure you're not smashed already?" he asks, as Hafizth lands and he draws Breide in that direction, "You're certainly sounding like it." He's not refusing to give her more alcohol, though, in any case, helping her up onto the bronze if she'll go and heading away.

Oh, she'll go, though Breide needs an incredible amount of help hoisting herself atop Hafizth. "Sh'van /needs/ me," says the goldrider while straddling someone else's bronze. "If he doesn't have me he'll go to icky Zao and then I won't have a Weyr 'nymore. Not that," one eye squints, the other rolls in lazy thought, "Not that s'much of a Weyr now. Do you think that brown is..." Instead of saying what she thinks. Breide taps on the side of her head and makes the crazy motion. "Rielth says he's not all right in the head."

B'net basically just carries her up, then, looking tempted at at least one point to just throw the goldrider over his shoulder. It would certainly be quicker. "Sure he does," B'net replies, "Without you, he's not Weyrleader, is he? Don't see why you need him, though," he goes on as he straps her in and they fly up to the bronze's ledge, "Zaorine isn't senior, you are. Nothing they can do to change that. Doesn't matter who Sh'van likes better." Once they arrive, he helps her down again, shrugging about the brown. "One of them's not right in the head. Or that girl's not really a girl. That's my theory." He grins, and pats Hafizth before heading into the weyr.

That gives Breide pause, her unbalanced weight jerked a little when the bronze heads to the weyr. Thinking hard about it, lines dwelling across her forehead, the goldrider exclaims, enlightened: "That's /right/! He can't replace me, huh, 'n Zao can't either." Not that that settles worries imminent. "But he loves her. 'n she loves him and I'm so sad, Bennie. If they like each other, he'll favor her and listen to her and not listen t'me anymore and-..." Midst her babbling, the pretty face crumples, leaning forward into B'net's back to cry.

"Exactly," B'net replies as Breide catches on. It doesn't seem to cheer her up much, though, and when Breide keeps going and going and calls him Bennie and starts crying, he blinks. "Jays," he laughs, turning to look at the goldrider over his shoulder, "You are a mess, aren't you? There's a simple solution to this problem, darling. Get a new Weyrleader. You can't do it immediately, I guess, but if Sh'van's not working for you, replace him next time. He can listen to whoever he wants, but it's you that has power forever. He needs your favor, not the other way 'round. And I don't know how I feel about Benny as a nickname," he adds as he helps her down and coaxes her into the weyr, "I think only my grandmother gets to call me that."

B'net's Weyr Autumn. Partly Cloudy. 61F / 16C.

This weyr is set in the northern face of the bowl, among the oldest at Benden, and near the Star Stones. The stone of the wide ledge is marked with the faded scars of talon-attacks long past, lichens having been allowed to fill the scratches. The ledge is large, wide enough for a medium-sized bronze and a small visitor, and the smooth walls are equipped with carved shelves and metal hooks embedded in the walls for the hanging of straps and jackets.
Inside, it's obvious why the weyrs at this end of the bowl are most coveted. Among the first at Benden, the walls and high ceiling are completely smooth, with decorative niches for glowbaskets carved into them. It is large and spacious, with simple, elegant fireplaces on either end that can provide both light and warmth to the space. There is a deep, comfortable-looking couch set in front of one of the fireplaces, with a low table in front of it the perfect height for resting one's feet on. An armchair is set at a diagonal at one corner of the couch, also facing the fire. The other end of the room has a couple more lounge-inducing armchairs set in a small cluster by the fire, a table of more normal height with three simple chairs set off to the side. There are shelves set into many of the walls, and a long, low cabinet with a polished counter-top set below them near the table and chairs. Heavy rugs in neutral colors cover the floor near each of the fireplaces and the furniture there.
The walls close in slighty towards the back, and the floor rises three granite-inlayed steps to create a sort of large platform with half-walls, and pillars on either side of the steps. It's a cozy sort of space with practical shelves and a wooden press around the large, wood-framed bed that's tucked into the corner. It's covered in blue sheets, and an assortment of blankets and furs, depending on the season. There's also a small writing desk and chair in another corner, and past the bed, the floor dips back down a few steps to a lower, closed-in area with a sink and a large bathtub sunken into the stone floor.

-- Players --
B'net..........6' and muscular, with dark brown hair and brown eyes. Scarring on left arm.
Breide.........Energetic, confident, curvy. Pretty in a very obvious/common way with silken hair bound in a loose bun.

-- Exits --
Sky......................[O]

Breide sniffs twice for good measure, still not stopping the flow of tears from her eyes as she nuzzles all the more comfortably into B'net's back. A little mou of protest sounds when he moves away, her hop down all too eager to slip arms about the bronzerider's neck, a sagging mess of sniffling goldrider, that's not easily coaxed into moving. She's /so/ put upon this entire evening. "Benny," Breide says again, with all the withheld affection that comes in spades now that the one glass of wine's sinking in, "Where's the whiskey?" Somehow, she has her priorities straight: whiskey first, talk of Weyrleadership changes later.

B'net makes a bit of a face as Breide snuffling into his shirt, drawing his back away a little, willing to put up with tears, it seems, but not snot. Not someone else's, anyways. Despite her unwillingness, he sets an arm around her and actually pulls her inside. "Are you my grandmother?" he asks when she calls him Benny again, tugging her inside and trying to scrape her off onto the couch. "Sit down, and I'll get some." Once he's detatched himself, he moves toward the long cupboard near the hearth, crouching down to pull out two glasses and a bottle. He pours a measure in each, and then puts the bottle back, and brings her a glass. "Here. Now quit whining that I'm mean to you."

Like she needs any further help on her way towards intoxication, Breide is surprisingly malleable once forced to do something: pulled inside, sat in a chair, ordered to quit whining -- especially once B'net offers her a glass of whiskey, which she promptly attempts to inhale and instead chokes on. "Strong," she coughs out in between larger coughs. At least she's not sobbing anymore.

B'net takes a seat on the couch near the goldrider, taking a more managable sip from his own glass and making a face as she chokes. "Of course it's strong," he replies, rolling his eyes, "This is why I didn't want to give you any. You're wasting it." He looks tempted to take the glass away altogether, but instead just gives her a look: "Just calm the fuck down already, alright? You're freaking out about everything and nothing."

Admonished, Breide slouches her body into the chair she's been sat in, look despondent into the liquor. Her next kitty sip is a little more cautious, slower, testing the strength of the liquid before taking a little more courageous drink. "No, no," protests the goldrider aloud, "I can handle it. Really, it's helping. See." Bright eyes, wet with the recent bout with tears lift to show that she's not crying anymore - just ignore the stained cheeks. "I'm freakin' out 'cause, there's lots to freak out 'bout. How come you ain't freaking out?"

B'net watches her a bit skeptically, keeping an eye on that glass as she tries again with the drinking. "Uh-huh," he replies simply as Breide protests, taking another sip of his own drink, more familiar with the liquor than she, clearly. "Why would I be freaking out?" he asks with a shrug, "I don't care. So some girls Impressed some greens. Girls've been Impressing all over the place, so why's it a big deal? If the girls hadn't been there, they'd've either chosen them out of the stands or died, and I don't see how that's better. And that girl with the brown... alright, that's weird. But if it happened, it happened, don't see what could've been done about it. If it's possible, then it would've happened eventually, somewhere. Don't see how it really matters, anyways."

"Could've chosen someone on the sands," Breide points out, using her glass as a tool to gesture aimlessly with. "Might've even, if Adria hadn't brought those girls out. Stupid Adria. Why would you go off and do something stupid like that when you're a wingleader? S'pposed t'follow what the Weyrleader thinks and all?" Rhetoric that, it's intent isn't clear until the goldrider plows on ahead, uncaring of what the bronzerider's response is, and head tilts in appraisal, slouched figure and all, of B'net. "Wanna be my Weyrleader?" she asks over the rim of her glass.

"Could've. Don't know that they would've, though, do you?" B'net shrugs again, though a hand twitches, ready to grab that glass if Breide's gestures go too far and endanger the contents. "I'm sure Adria had her reasons. She seems pretty bright. Sh'van, on the other hand... he and that... who was that crazy brownrider? Al'zy? That one's a moron. Actually attacking hatchlings? I can't belive Rielth didn't just eat him." He rolls his eyes and takes another sip, turning a bland look on Breide at her offer. He's still a minute, then shrugs. "You're drunk."

Another drink, bolder for growing accustomed to B'net's whiskey. "C'mon, Benny, I mean," Breide flashes a muted smile, lazily crooked for being drunk or close to it, "Ben. Ben, Ben, Ben. BennyBen. Y'could be a fabulous Weyrleader with me and we get along so well." Dangerously close to sloshing the liquid over the rim of her glass as she waves it idly to punctuate her words. "You don't wanna be my Weyrleader?"

B'net just watches her, one hand coming up automatically to catch her hand and steady to glass as it threatens to spill. "I would do things differently from Sh'van," he tells her, something of a warning in his tone.

If Breide were sober, she might actually care about the answer B'net says after she asks: "Why?" Instead, her head tips back and the blonde sinks more comfortably into her chair, wresting away her wrist a little, spilling some onto her blue dress as she cradles the glass of whiskey near her chest.

B'net blinks. "What kind of a question is that?" he asks, "Because I disagree with him, obviously." He's shifting around to see the whiskey she's spilled and sighs, "You've got it on your dress," he tells her, tossing a handkerchief out of his pocket into her lap, "At least drink enough of it that you're not sloshing it all over the place everytime you move."

"I mean," Breide's face scrunches, pained somehow, as she heaves it forward to pin a brown look on B'net, "What would ya do that's so different? I mean, like... how?" As if just recognizing her glass again, the goldrider takes another sip and then leans forward to put it on the ground, and pull herself forward to try and land on B'net's lap. Woeful, she mumbles, "Tired now, Ben."

B'net frowns as he watches Breide shifting around with that glass, and finally bends to scoop it off the floor and set it on the end table out of the way. Then she's crawling into his lap, and he laughs and helps her the rest of the way, slinging an arm around her hips. "I don't know. Wouldn't make such a fuss about girls Impressing, that's for sure. You all act like it's such an awful thing, you let those holders and everybody bad-mouth you for it. If you just got over it, let it go, they wouldn't be able to make such a big deal. They're riders. That's all that matters to me."

There's a difference in their situations, Breide's beadily narrowed eyes and knitted brows knows this somewhere in her muddled head. Staring at B'net, the blonde blinks a few time, as if to clear her thoughts, and leans her head forward to rest against the bronzerider's shoulder. "Y'had girls Impressin' male dragons back then too?" is all she can come up with, oddly slurred at that.

"No," B'net admits, emptying his glass and craning an arm back to set it down with hers. His hand comes back and slides into the goldrider's hair to massage up the nape of her neck idly. "No, the male dragons are a new thing. Still. If you act like it's a terrible mistake, y'give license to others to treat you as if you've fucked up. You all sit there and watch and clap and smile about your new riders, others won't be quite so able to bitch at you about it."

Again, Breide thinks, ponderously, about what B'net says while playing her fingers on his lower jaw. Her head's rested close enough that the flutter of her eyes tickles lashes against his neck and with an easy exhalation sighed out for the ministrations of his fingers to her neck, she relaxes into his embrace. "Y've got an easy view of life," she finally says, leaning forward to press pursed lips against the hollow of B'net's neck. "Sounds so easy when y'say it like that, but it's not so easy now. E'drai and Adria were insubordinate. What 'bout them?"

B'net continues working on the back of her neck and head, a hand shifting from hip to thigh as she reclines against him. "Life's easy," B'net replies, "Easier than most people make it, anyways. Nobody directly ordered them not to allow girls onto the sands, did they? You gave 'em a talking to, took their knots away, grounded 'em for a few days... it'll teach them a lesson, whatever. Then you give them back and move on."

"No one told them not to, but girls were forbidden from the sands. /That/," Breide knows, despite liquor-haze, "Was said. Numerous times. They know this. They knew this. Should't've done this. S'not that easy, Ben." The insisting voice stills abruptly, her bare back and spine tensing and then puddling once more to purr in a low thrum from her throat. "Mmmmmmmm. Missed you. Couldn't get that time outta m'head for ages, y'know."

"Not sure you really have the right to forbid people of the right age from the sands," B'net adds, skeptically, "Not with a pass coming. Seems to me the rule wasn't valid to begin with, so if they assisted a few people in breaking it, I'm not sure they did anything all that wrong." His hand shifts to her back, tracing the lines of her spine with his fingers as he chuckles, shaking his head, though not enough to bump her: "You're a liar. You can stay anyways, though."

"Y'wanna get laid or not?" Breide asks pointedly, bringing her finger up to shush his skepticism, advice, and condescension all at once. "Cause I ain't gonna sleep with you unless you're more agreeable. Nicer to me. I could use some nice tonight and think about... them, all of this tomorrow. Later. Not now." While her voice wheedles, her fingers cajole along the buttons of B'net's shirt. "Didn't lie, never lie really. I've missed you, my pretty, pretty man."

"You're the one asking about it," B'net points out, tilting his head to teasingly bite her finger. "I been plenty nice to you. Got you the whiskey you wanted, didn't I?" He trails those fingers on her back under the edges of her dress, then shifts to get his other arm under her knees. "I wish you'd call me something a bit more manly than 'pretty'," he says, "But I do wanna get laid." To facilitate that, he lifts her as he stands, and carries across the weyr and up the steps to his bed.

Now that alcohol has been had, some conversation has been made and some of the wear'n tear of the evening's departed her in favor of the languidness liquor brings, Breide finally gives the weyr an appraising look, thus carried up to the bed. She peers over the arms that clutch at B'net's shoulders, studying all the details of the bronzerider's weyr and satisfied, squeezes herself against him all the more affectionately. "Not place," she drawls, sweeter now for libations and his 'niceness.' "Can call you handsome if you prefer. Manly. Strong. Muscles? Mmm, muscles, I'll call you that from now on."

"If you mean 'nice', then thanks," B'net grins, "I like it." He carries her up, and sets her down on the bed, straightening back up to kick sandals off and shed his shirt, then flops back down, laughing. "Any of those things're fine with me," he grins. "I've got nothing against you calling me muscles. Pretty's alright, so long as you use those more manly ones, too," he grins.

There's a moment of confusion for the correction, Breide's eyes squinting up at B'net as he sets her on the bed, before the comforts of the mattress beneath her outweigh any of her other pretty little thoughts. "Niiiiiiice," this time, much more clearly, with all the vowels elongated out in relaxation. She even squirms a little to sprawl out her limbs all over the large bed, then closes her eyes lightly - a fact which becomes more obvious when her lashes flutter awake when he flops down beside her. Smiling despite the night and herself, the weyrwoman cozies up alongside the bronzerider and makes the clever observation: "You're still wearin' pants. Can't get lucky with pants on, 'less you've learned some tricks since last time."

"Y'picked a good one," B'net grins as she seems to appreciate the mattress, shifting further up onto the bed and rolling up onto his side towards the golderider. "You're still wearin' a dress," he points out with a grin, setting an arm around her waist, and leaning down to kiss her neck, "And you're fallin' asleep. Wake up!"

Breide's low protest of, "Can't help it," expels throatily in a whiskey-roughened voice. "Long day and dun really wanna think about tomorrow." The weyrwoman's dark eyes stay open, however, fluttering lashes notwithstanding and in swift movements that don't completely jive with her liquored up state, the blue dress that Sh'van bought her gets discarded to the ground. "Better now, muscles?"

B'net watches Breide untangle her way out of the dress and laughs softly, nodding. "Much better," he grins against her shoulder. He unbuckles his belt and kicks off his pants, then rolls back to hook a leg over the goldrider's to pull her close. A hand goes back up into her hair, and he tilts his head down for a kiss. "Let's not talk about your day anymore, then," he smiles, and sets about making her sure she doesn't have any room in her thoughts for it for a while.

He does a fantastic job if the earlier sounds mean anything - she's certainly not thinking about Adria, E'drai, or the mentally wrong brown. But the combination of the night's festivities and less than festive moments don't mix well with the liquor and sometime in the middle, Breide's eyes just shut and her breathing becomes /far/ too even for anything other than sleep.

It takes B'net a minute to realize it, and then he groans in the back of his throat, and flops onto his back. "/Bitch/," he grumbles, making a face at the sleeping goldrider before shifting around and tugging a blanket up over them both, rolling away onto his side to sleep. She's going to hear about this in the morning.

Benden's Fiasco of a Hatching

Tue, 27 Mar 2007 03:58:40 GMT

Location: Benden Weyr - Hatching Sands/Gallery
Time: day 2, month 10, turn 448
Players: Sh'van, Breide, E'drai, Adria, Kaiver, Cirila, Geneve, Tarynn, Kesida, B'net, Zaorine, Marlon, Al'zay
Scene: Obviously, this is not the log where Maddy gets a job. Instead, this is where Adria and E'drai lose their jobs.

The throaty humming of dragons vibrates through the Weyr. In all haste, the residents and riders of Benden Weyr make for the galleries. There are few guests in attendance, but it's still more company than the Benden hatching grounds have had for 150 turns. The Weyrleaders from around Pern, Masterharper Vinris and the Mastervintner Cidrol, Lords Benden and Bitra, and a few straggling guests help fill in the galleries along with the few hundred Bendenites. Already, sixty-some eager looking lads in white robes hurry toward the sands.

Sh'van escorts the Weyrwoman up the steps and to the front row of seats, then onto the last few with cushions. "Here you are - and just in time, too." He gives a nod toward the Sands. "Congratulations on a fine clutch."

From the sands, E'drai brings 'em all - not so much single-file as a single mob of prospective lads. The loose semi-circle starts at once as the eggs take to rocking or crackling or whatever it is that eggs do prior to hatching.

From the sands, Kaiver looks in awe at the clutch, sweat starting to bead on his arms, feet shifting in the hot sand

From the sands, Al'zay bids farewell to Zaorine just off the sands and then heads onto them himself. He bows to Rielth and then simply stands off to one side, waiting. A general nod is sent towards E'drai, and then he glances up into the galleries, green eyes picking out a few folks in the crowd.

From the sands, Kaiver shifts his feet yet again uncomfortably in the sand, trying to get a better glimpse around the boys in front of him

Marveling at the cushion before she takes a seat, Breide smooths it down with a delicate dance of fingers before claiming it on the heels of Sh'van's words. "Blue's done a beautiful job with them," she utters, pleased. "And Lanmith had some part in the eggs, I'm sure. A wee tiny bit, if you must." Her tease is followed by a quick wink and a tightening of her other hand that remains steadfast at the Weyrleader's elbow. Surreptitious looks scan the short rows of cushioned seats for a few familiar faces in particular.

From the sands, The first dragon: Green. Within minutes, as the sound of voices and shuffling feet still drift from the galleries, the Sands stir busily with hatchlings and new weyrlings. The Wingseconds assist the newly Impressed, leading them away from the Sands out toward the bowl with their wobbly dragonets.

Unescorted, Zaorine none the less manages to find her way into and up the galleries. She hesitates at the top of the stairs, glancing toward the row holding Breide and Sh'van. Purposefully then, she steps that way, excusing herself past the people between her and her chosen seat. "Breide," is her friendly greeting upon seating herself in the free seat opposite the other goldrider.

It's terribly warm in the galleries. Having never seen one before, Marlon made the best possible time and has taken a seat up at the top with a great view. Very shortly after sitting down, his leather coat has been chucked beside him, all but discarded for the moment.
From the sands, E'drai returns Al'zay's nod to acknowledge the man, but let's not get the impression that things are /friendly/ out here. Fortunately, the ensuing chaos prevents much face-to-face interaction. Hanging out near the entrance from the bowl, E'drai mostly just nods the new weyrlings on out where there's food and stuff.

From the sands, Near the center of the sands, almost right in the middle of the semi-circle of candidates, a spindly-thin brown dragonet hatches. Gaunt and narrow, reddish-brown in coloration, he rights himself busily with a pleasant little croon amid the chaos and goes plodding off - all ungainly and uncoordinated - toward the line of boys.

"Zaorine!" Sh'van stands up when the other goldrider approaches, ignoring the cries of protest from those behind him. "That's a lovely dress." "--Green," he adds needlessly. "A lovely little girl." And Impressed to a proper -boy-, too.

What a pair they must make, seated next to each other with their backs exposed to the higher tiers. Mindful of this, the quick scan that was meant to find Raine finds Zaorine and her dress instead, Breide adjusts her seating and rolls her shoulders back, straightening. "A gay boy most likely," Breide notes dryly under her breath, watchful of the Impressions. "The dress looks," her warm smile thins a bit as she refocuses on the other goldrider, "Blinding. I mean, stunning."

From the sands, Kaiver has forgotten to breathe at the sight of the hatchlings. Standing on his tiptoes to see better over the front line, he rubs his left arm in a nervous habit. Trying to watch the new brown as he approaches the boys.

From the sands, E'drai, ever a weather eye for a brown, trails the spindly guy for a second before distraction with another new weyrling overcomes him. All busy - but notably not so busy that he strays far from his sentry near the bowl (so no one else can take it while he's away) - he treks over to lead the pair off toward the bowl.

From the sands, Al'zay shoos off another one of the new weyrlings towards E'drai and the bowl and then prowls around the far edge of the group. "Keep your eyes out now," he admonishes a pair of young boys, clinging to each other for support.

From the sands, The spindly brown dragonet makes his choice, announced with a childish trumpet of pleasure - high and tinny. Pushing his narrow body beyond a big boy from Bitra, he stops to look up at Kaiver with eyes whirling a pleasant purple.

Zaorine, appropriately pleased by Sh'van's reaction and, to a lesser extent, Breide's, smiles full force at both. "Isn't it though? Al'zay surprised me with it. Though after selling off my ruby I had nothing fitting to wear with it," A hand touches the small jewel at her throat, "You look nice too, Breide." Then to Sh'van, and a good deal warmer, "'Van. How're you?"

From the sands, K'ver eyes are wide, tears leaking down the side of his face, softly K'ver utters the most important name in the world to him "Hebereth"

From the sands, E'drai moves over to collect Kaiver - K'ver, K'iver, K'whatever - with the mincing steps that always have and always will dominate the hatching grounds. "Don't cry right out here, son," he directs out of the side of his mouth, tossing his head to indicate the little anteroom off the sands. "Just come over here to do your blubbering. And feed Hebereth?" He gives the dragon a dubious look, then moves to lead the pair toward the side room.

From the sands, A few minutes into the hatching and the first bronze breaks shell. Sturdy-looking, stocky like his dam, the dragonet crosses quickly to a young man from Benden's own lower caverns. So far, for those keeping track, there have been five greens, two blues, and three browns - and now the bronze.

Sh'van continues to ignore the Sands in favor of getting Zaorine properly settled. "I'll have to remember to thank him." One or two people try a more intent, "SHH!" but most people just lean out from behind the Weyrleader to see the Sands. "Jasmyth's turn next." Then he both sits down and shuts up, the better to watch the Hatching.

From the sands, Al'zay steps over to have a word with the newest bronzerider, sending him off in the direction that K'ver and Hebereth are going. Those two young boys are petrified now, clinging to each other for dear life. And then, in the next moment, seperated, as a green claims one, but not the other. Zaly shoos them over as well, going back to prowling through the chaos. No mincing for him, thanks.

Breide's thin smile, presses into an even line when Sh'van helps Zaorine and the mention of a certain wingsecond, who suddenly is a rather riveting sight on the sands so near the newest bronzerider. Smug, she can't conceal the satisfaction in her dark eyes and looks first to Zaorine and then back at who else is taking note of what her dragon's eggs are hatching.

From the sands, Adria comes on to the sands.
From the sands, Adria has arrived.
From the sands, Geneve comes on to the sands.
From the sands, Geneve has arrived.
From the sands, Kesida comes on to the sands.
From the sands, Kesida has arrived.
From the sands, Tarynn comes on to the sands.
From the sands, Tarynn has arrived.

B'net comes up the stairs from the entrance room.
B'net has arrived.

Zaorine's smile sobers at the reminder that it's not /her/ day, nor Jasmyth's and indeed that there's a hatching going on. Her attention shifts toward the sands, briefly lingering on Al'zay as he escorts a new bronzepair off and away. Her lips move, too. It might be silent calculation of the odds left, it might be something else entirely.

Zaorine whispers, "He's a fine sight, isn't he? Especially for a brownrider."

From the sands, Standing off to the side of the sands, trying to go as unnoticed as possible, Adria appears - and begins to usher some candidates out towards the eggs. They're not wearing robes, but most seem pretty confident about what they're doing, just marching on out there. For those that know the weyrstaff, Cirila is one among them.

From the sands, Geneve strains on her toes to see the hatchlings as she marches her way onto the sands, smiling brilliantly. The Headwoman, surrounded as she is by the rest of the girls, pushes her way towards the male candidates, never mind the horror and dismay about to unravel about her. She turns back, telling Kesida, "Stay back. It's safer that way. I don't want you getting hurt." Also? Surprise!

From the sands, E'drai utterly fails to look surprised by the arrival of the girls - quick! everyone act shocked! - just returns to his place near the edge of the sands and watches the parade of them. The fact of the matter is, he grins, the cat that caught the canary. Hands behind his back at something like a parade rest, he stands there and looks calm and lets the female interlopers stay. He even tells one girl (a pretty one, go figure) where she can find an empty place to stand, so gentlemanly.

From the sands, Tarynn is positively agog, second-to-last in the gaggle of girls. Her head craned as far back as it will go, she looks up, and up, and up, like the tourist she so clearly is. "Why are we coming in /this/ way?" she asks her redheaded companion, her voice pitched on a very precarious edge. "Shouldn't we be up there?" The redhead regards her strangely, and says something in an undertone. And Tarynn begins to freak out. Just a little bit. "No. Oh, no, no, no. Um, ma'am? Ma'am? Excuse me," she calls towards A'dria. "Ma'am?"

From the sands, Kesida stumbles a bit on the unfamiliar texture of the sand as she hurries after Geneve, only to halt when she's told to stay back. So stay back she does, blushing furiously and beginning to wonder what she's doing here. Her eyes flash towards E'drai and then dip down again as she hangs back a little bit. She's definitely on the Sands, though.

From the sands, The sound of shock and dismay ripples through the galleries and even disrupts some of the candidates as the girls arrive on the Sands. The dragonets are hardly deterred, Impressions still ongoing - shocking already stunned boys into life as a dragonet here and there butts his or her head against wobbly knees.

B'net wanders in on the heels of Adria and a large group of girls, watching their progress onto the stands with slightly narrowed eyes. Then he shrugs, and heads up into the galleries, picking a seat next to a pretty brunette, directly behind Breide and Zaorine.

From the sands, Al'zay is helping a new bluerider when the chaos ensues on the other end of the sands. He looks up, and then bellows, his voice cutting across the sound of cracking shells and squealing dragonets, "E'drai! What the - What are you /doing/!" He starts in that direction, only to get tangled up in one of the newly impressing pairs.

"You match," Breide notes, her displeasure with this sudden realization dampening even the smugness of the clutch's first bronze. Surprise! What surprise, when there's people to be sulky at, and Sh'van's arm to cling to. It's only Geneve's sudden voice pitched out that causes sharper eyes to cast about the galleries for the brash Headwoman.

From the sands, Hatching amid the current chaos, a darkly-colored stocky green dragonet marches steadfastly across the sands. Her choice seems pre-determined, as if she had made the decision of Impression before she left her egg. Bypassing the boys, she heads for the cluster of newly arrived girls.

Well, if E'drai isn't and the girls down there aren't, at least one person genuinely is. Marlon has to stand up in his seat to get a better look over a broad man's shoulders. "What's she doing?" He asks the crowd, and meaning specifically the Headwoman.

From the sands, Unlike her counterpart, Adria's too busy looking towards the entrance and the girls to be grinning - or looking anything more than nervous. It's her first time doing this sort of thing - not comfortable. As Tarynn tries to get her attention, she just shakes her head, waving the girl back out. Too much going on to hear her.

From the sands, E'drai makes like he can't hear Al'zay, though the smugness of his expression only deepens when he turns that deaf ear. Some signal - thumbs up? - flashes briefly toward Adria, then the brownrider feigns the business of leading a newly Impressed away, giving the girls a wide open path to the eggs... and the dragonets a wide open path to the girls.

From the sands, Tarynn tries to halt, but somehow she's still moving forward as candidates and weyrlings and squeeling, needy dragonets buffet her farther and farther from safety. She's still trying to raise Adria's attention, or Geneve's, or *anyone's*, shouldering her way through people and hot-footing with all the grace of a cripple, or a toddler. "No, I don't want-- listen, I need to get out." Claustrophobia?

From the sands, Again, as if she knew in advance where she would be headed, the squarely built green dragonet arrives - unceremoniously but determinedly - in front of Cirila. Pairing girl-to-green, she butts her blocky head against the young womans shins with an imperious little creel.

Zaorine's reply to Breide is cut short upon sight of _all those girls_ on the sands. She's quick to rise to her feet too, forgoing paying attention to her rivalry with Breide for favor of pinpointing the Headwoman. "Breide." A low, low accusation lies somewhere in that sole utterance.

From the sands, Al'zay's cry, however, rallies the other wingseconds. Voices babble in the confusion and Zaly cuts them all off. "Forget the weyrlings for the moment. Get them /off/! Get them /OFF/! STOP THAT GREEN!" That last bellow is to the man closest to the stocky green.

Sh'van turns from Breide as a ripple of shock passes through the crowd. It takes him a second to take in the sight - /girls/ - and then he, like many others, is on his feet. "What's the meaning of this, Weyrleader?" Lord Bitra roars, red-faced from both the heat and fury. He's joined by others, and Sh'van has his hands full trying to calm the masses.

From Marlon's question rustles more eyes that dart to the sands, perplexed and then stunned. Is that the Lord Benden craning to see what's going on on the sands, or just some other portly gentleman? The largest question seems to be various more profane versions of: What the /shell/ is going on?

From the sands, Geneve, well aware, it seems, of the disruption she seems to be partially spearheading, continues her march towards the eggs and hatchlings. She's utterly focused upon them - too much to hear Tarynn, or to glance even once into the galleries, to see the reactions, turning from green to blue to brown, and back, apparently hunting for something. The loss of her Assistant Headwoman to a green passes her by entirely; perhaps it's simply no longer an issue.

From the sands, Kesida squeaks when the green comes towards the girls and shuffles out of the way, marveling none the less at seeing the young dragons so up close. She sees Tarynn's distress and frowns, wondering what the girl is up to. She makes down motions with her hands, "Stay calm," she mouths. Then she blinks in shocked surprise when she sees a green impress to Cirila. Guess all those plans are going out the window. When she hears Al'zay's cries she pales and stumbles backwards, always one for following orders.

From the sands, Okay, so maybe E'drai can hear. Baitingly, he calls back toward Al'zay, "Whyn't you jump right out there in front of them talons, slugger?" And then there's Cirila's Impression - jubilation, one would assume - and the brownrider has to shrug. "Damn, too late."

B'net does not seem particularly interested in the hatching, his focus primarily on chatting up the pretty caverns girl next to him. Even the arrival of the surprise female candidates only draws his eyes for long enough to pick out the attactive ones. He turns a grimace on Al'zay's yelling, and as the girl next to him begins to voice some sort of similar sentiment, he turns away from her to lean forward towards the Weyrwoman.

From the sands, With more than half the dragons Impressed, with girls on the sands (the shock of it all!), with Cirila's Impression still in mind, another green passes by the boys and makes her way across the Sands to yet another girl. For the score-keepers, there are now three bronzes, 5 browns, 6 blues, and 11 greens - three of them Impressed to girls.

To Breide: B'net trails a finger up the goldrider's spine and leans down til his mouth is just behind her ear to whisper, "You look gorgeous in that dress."

From the sands, The man closest to Cirila charges towards the pair and then stops, arms dropping helplessly. Angrily, he practically jerks the poor pair towards the anteroom, even as others try to converge on the group. the girls who have impressed are hurried off the sands as fast as humanly possible.

From the sands, Fairly unnoticed with everything else going on, a seafoamy, hazeled green dragonet hatches about the same time as a pair of blues. The blues have the good sense to stay over by the boys /where they belong/, but the green traipses her ungainly self across the sands. She's looking for someone in particular, crying out in a piteous creel as she searches the faces.

Breide has very little time for Zaorine's one-worded accusations and instead turns her own pointed stare at the other goldrider. 'You did this,' is her own blame returned before she rises to move past Sh'van and his crowd of displeased holders towards the sands. At least she tries, it doesn't help midst the chaos of the sands, Rielth's starting to fuss, angrier for her rider's own recognition of what's going on.

From the sands, There is a dual roar and bellow from the entrance to the cavern. Yhanth's shadow can be seen there as he protests, closely followed by Lanmith. Bronze and brown are focusing some righteous anger at the females on the sands.

From the sands, Adria begins to back away a little as her job's done, staring at the chaos ensuing with wider eyes than usual. E'drai gets a vague wave in return, but it's well after the thumbs up. At the brownrider's shout to Al'zay carries over, she winces - but the greens pairing to young women all across the sands causes her to quirk a smile - despite roaring dragons barreling on in. She gets outta the way.

From the sands, And now people are /yelling/, and men are trying to grab the female candidates, and dragons are roaring, and forget *this*. Tarynn makes a run for it, dignity forgotten, and nearly crashes into a dark-haired boy who catches her by the shoulders: "Whoa, hey, watchit--" They blink. They gape. A woman starts making a racket from the galleries. He asks, "What are you DOING here?" as she cries, barely recognizing him, "I'm trying to /leave/."

[DTU] To Chiyath, Rielth, Taseith, and Yhanth, Lanmith projects, << Who knew? >> The bronze is unusually focused, his good cheer completely eclipsed by fury. << Chiyath. Taseith. Did yours know? >>

From the sands, Starting to realize what's going on with /her/ babies, /her/ eggs, Rielth's own indignant rumble rises, egged on, no doubt, by her rider's recognition of events. Shooting a look keenly passed the girls who are Impressing and even past the male dragons that are now shadows across her sands, Benden's senior queen zeroes in on the supposedly inconspicuous Adria.

From the sands, Big surprise there. Adria stares back at the gold, and takes a step back.

[DTU] To Chiyath, Rielth, and Yhanth, Taseith tends to be preoccupied whenever Chiyath is involved, and he all but hmmms? << Knew what? >> If E'drai answered like that, it'd be a bait. With Taseith, the lack of understanding seems quite authentic.

From the sands, The hazel green's cries continue unabated as she tries to make her way across the sands. Clumsy and distant from her target, it takes her a long time to finally arrive at Tarynn. When she does, her little wedge-shaped head pushes almost hopefully against the girl's calf, her creel turning to an uncertain sounding croon.

Displeased, Zaorine's lips thin as she shakes her head. As Breide passes by, there's likely even a very improper slur thrown the woman's way. Bristling done, and with 'Van heading the irate accusations of the other gallery spectators, Zaorine settles back into her seat. Why she then chooses to look smug is anyone's guess.

From the sands, And, as the mayhem continues, Geneve does, too - still irrevocably focused upon whatever it is she intends. Apparently, this includes dodging green hatchlings, one of which passes her way. Her eyes shine.

From the sands, Al'zay's eyes go from E'dria to Adria and back again. "You pussy-whipped /bastard/!" Still, he charges forward, exactly throwing his body in an effort to stop one of the greens from getting to a girl. He even goes so far as to pull on the poor green's tail to try to get her away. And gets severely raked for his pains. So much for the new outfit. The first cursing was mild. The next gets really inventive.

From the sands, Kesida lifts her hands to cover her ears and shuts her eyes tight. This is just too much, too, too much. Oh no, this is awful, she never should have come. And so she stands there, a strange and swaying pillar amidst the chaos.

"Okay, clearly all bets are off," Marlon says, tapping the shoulder of the big man in front of him. Staying in the gallery seems like the best course of option with the big adult dragons snapping at one another.

[DTU] To Lanmith and Yhanth, Rielth's cold in her fury a sudden wash of ice and chilling blues flooding in command: << Get them off my sands. >>

[DTU] To Lanmith, Rielth, Taseith, and Yhanth, Chiyath seems a bit puzzled herself - what's the issue, here? <> Her attitude is rather zen - it is what it is, and it is done.

[DTU] To Chiyath, Lanmith, Rielth, and Taseith, Yhanth was angry. Now he's /pissed/. And Zaly's injured to boot. << Chiyath's rider and Taseith's riders knew. They *conspired*. >> There's unimaginable condemnation in that word.

There's more yelling in the galleries, and not the good-natured cheers that successful Impressions gather. One of the boys who Impresses blue has a family who enjoys the moment, but they're drowned out by yelling (and, it must be said, scattered applause).

Sh'van gets most of the Lord Holders reseated, though none of them look happy. "Sit down!" he barks at Zaorine, though she's already sitting, and then he turns to push and wade his way through the lowest row of people. "EVERYONE SIT DOWN!"

From the sands, The boy with his hands on Tarynn's shoulders -- is there a resemblance between them? -- is suddenly frantically pointing at the approaching green: "Move it, Tarynn, get out of the /way/." Genius that she is, she clings to him instead, eyes clenched tightly against the mayhem and the noise. She moans, "Garinor, I'm sorry, I want to go hom-- home-- h. Huh. Hhhh." She turns, oblivious to all the bellowing. "Oh. Iramyth. What do we do NOW?"

From the sands, E'drai, with one eye on Rielth and one on Adria. It's a wonder he manages to accomplish anything out here. "Language, Wingsecond!" he berates Al'zay quickly, nodding the other Wingsecond toward Tarynn when it's clear the unwilling girl has just found a much more willing counterpart. "Remember your duty," he adds, full of irony.

[DTU] To Chiyath, Lanmith, Rielth, and Yhanth, Taseith's mood lights with recognition and realization. Frankly, as if it were nothing unnatural, he reports back, << Oh. Yes. Of course E'drai knew. >> What a silly thing to ask!

From the sands, Rielth continues to stare steadily at the wingleader -- the girl wingleader who shouldn't be on the sands, suspicion a bright red in her less than placid eyes.

From the sands, A crack right down the middle of his egg spills what appears to be another pile of sand onto the hatching sands until the sprawling brown hatchling rights himself, wings half-spread for balance. He pulls all of his long limbs in towards himself and stands unsteadily to get the lay of the land, wings stretching out further, then furling onto his back before he sets out in search of his rider.

[DTU] To Chiyath, Rielth, Taseith, and Yhanth, Lanmith wordlessly promises repercussions. Dark repercussions too, if he has anything to do with it. << They will be dealt with. >> And then he's gone, snapping out of the link.

[DTU] To Chiyath, Rielth hones in on the zen green, while the males throw their weight around more generally. << Later, >> is the queen's promise, white fury betrayed in the sharp blues that flare bright in her mind.

From the sands, Even across chaotic sands, a gold dragon is terribly intimidating. However, there's not a whole lot Adria can do about it with bronze and brown headed in on one side, Rielth ahead and weyrlings all around. Discretion being the better part of valour, she starts E'drai's way quickly, with ever intention of hiding behind the brownrider.

From the sands, Geneve, despite her bulk and height, despite her relative lack of grace, moves fast when she wants to. Clutching her shawl about her shoulders (really should have left that off - the heat!), she darts forward again, angling for the newly hatched brown, who is just within her vicinity. Something is said under her breath, something inaudible to everyone - "Me." she says, staring at the brown with all the intensity she's ever shown to anything.

Zaorine looks to Sh'van, the smugness fading as he issues commands to the whole of the galleries. But the action on the sands is too much to ignore or look away from for long, and she turns her attention back that way.

[DTU] To Rielth, Chiyath is calm but deferential under the queen's scrutiny, but tells her honestly, <> Regardless, don't they know who they're supposed to be with? With that one thought, she waits at Rielth's pleasure. Or lack thereof.

From the sands, Kesida risks opening her eyes, since no one has yanked her off the sands yet. And she sees Geneve hurrying towards the brown. The young girl lifts a hand, fear for the woman's safety in her eyes and clawing at her throat. And then, and then she sees all the angry dragons. Dipping in as low a curtsey as she can manage, she utters her favorite two words, "I'm sorry."

B'net is already sitting down. No way he's getting up and running around screaming, like the rest of these, "Idiots." He rolls his eyes and leans back to watch the craziness.

Breide doesn't sit down, even when directed by the Weyrleader. A glance casts back to the seat she's recently vacated, finding B'net just behind it and even the sight of prettiness does little to quell her visibly, clamped down on anger as she tries to follow through the crowd left in Sh'van's wake. Funny thing about crowds, they close up their ranks almost instantly most of the time.

From the sands, E'drai misses Adria's approach at first, his confusion directed toward Geneve for a moment. "That girl's - " Even he's taken aback by the headwoman's now very obvious intentions, and he points the greenrider at his side to the brown now closing in on Geneve. He tugs at his collar.

From the sands, Al'zay holds his left forearm with his right hand, trying to staunch the blood flow and get the wingseconds to work together. Seeing the results of his intervention, the remaining 'seconds are half-heartedly trying to make a wall between the girls and the remaining eggs, trying to usher them off the sands. One, a big brownrider, gets the bright idea to wrap arms around two girls and sling them over his shoulders, carting them off the sands. Al'zay snarls something in E'drai's direction and moves to Tarynn. "You. There." A point, slinging blood at the girl, the direction and the sands. "Go. NOW." And Tarynn's pointed towards the antechamber where the rest of the weyrlings are.

From the sands, As if it weren't enough that there are girls on the Sands - as if it weren't enough that there are girls /Impressing/ on the Sands - there is now very clearly a girl Impressing to a /brown dragon/. The sand-colored brown dragonet, having woven his way through the male candidates, stops dead in front of Geneve. For a moment, it's hard to tell - perhaps he just got distracted, perhaps he's just lost - but then there's that look, the rainbow tint of adoration in his eyes as he stops in front of the (former) headwoman.

From the sands, Adria just stares at Geneve when E'drai points her in that direction - and blinks. "Wha-" Lost for words.

From the sands, One boy looks downright /mad/ at the goings on. His fists balled up, he's on his way across the Sands to bodily remove the girls if need be when he winds up worse for the wear, getting knocked down by an excited green headed the same way. Taking a talon along his belly and thigh, the boy adds a hoarse cry of pain to the motley noises already filling the cavern.

From the sands, Tarynn is busily gathering up her green--HER green?--and the boy adjacent to her stares, gapes, glowers, shrinks and shrugs and moves away. Tears streaming, mouth full of apologies to Faranth and everyone, Tarynn is attempting to escort her wide-eyed charge to relative safety when candidates start jabbing fingers, open-mouthed, towards Geneve. Tarynn is barely aware. She glances blindly over her shoulder, and gets an eyeful of Al'zay instead. Blood-covered, she shudders under his gaze, and nods, obeys, retreats.

[DTU] To Lanmith and Rielth, Yhanth is still furious. << Do they go in the barracks with the real riders? >>

From the sands, Geneve's whole-- /everything/ changes, all in an instant. Not so much, now, that furious intent: instead, the Headwoman-- /former/ Headwoman straightens in pure triumph, like a plant uncurling to the sun. Grin ferocious, eyes gleaming in satisfaction and glee, she reaches out to touch the sandy brown, faltering only once. "Pendarith," she says, under her breath. And, then, loudly, loud enough to reach the galleries: "Pendarith. My /brown/." Hah.

From the sands, Cirila has arrived.

From the sands, Kesida gasps, her mouth agape. A brown?! A brown?! Then, despite herself, she begins to giggle. Very quietly, and very hesitantly, but she's giggling none the less. If anyone could impress a brown, it'd be Geneve. At least, from what she knows of the woman, it's a perfect match. A brown!

Sh'van makes it to the stairs - few people get in his way after the yell - and flies down them three at a time. Handrail? What handrail?

Sh'van heads down the steps.
Sh'van has left.

From the sands, Sh'van comes on to the sands.
From the sands, Sh'van has arrived.

It's all fun until that ruby red blood hits the sand, and when the boy hits the ground Marlon takes a step back, knocking his heels into stone. The sheer force of it makes gravity take over and he falls on his butt, to miss Geneve's impression. No need to have seen it, though, because the entire stands is afire with the words Headwoman, Geneve and brown.

Now that, -that- is an Impression that can make B'net sit up and stare. "Did that girl just Impress -brown-?" He asks incredulously. The girl beside him gapes, and frowns, shaking her head: "That's not possible. Must be she's not really a girl at all. That's the only way." B'net arches a brow at that, and peers at Geneve more closely.

From the sands, E'drai pales after Geneve's words, an ashy cast to his complexion when he takes the first step toward the new brown(?!)rider. His voice grinds through his teeth, words for her ears alone. He mutters to Geneve, "This is... you wanted? This?... lucky... survive... If... survives..." Audibly, "Congratulations, brownrider. This way?"

Breide does the gaping fishy mouth well when Geneve, /her/ headwoman Impresses to brown. With Sh'van near the sands the hoards of Lords descend on her. Oh joy and rapture, as dark eyes shift towards the renewed bustle of the prestigious of Pern and in the midst of that, catches what appear to be the mocking gleam of all too familiar green eyes. "Yes, yes, no, yes, no, /no/," comes a litany of responses to various concerns, mostly wrong answers, spoken in frustration rather than any sort of clear thinking.

From the sands, Al'zay swings around at that. Female voice. My Brown. Man, his day couldn't get any worse. From the entrance to the grounds, where Yhanth still looks, there's an absolutely vicious snarl, which sends a couple of the girls already carted off the sands into hysterics. Now that Tarynn's out of the way he scowls over at E'drai and Adria, before moving towards Geneve. "You, back away, E'drai. This is your fault." Then to Geneve, "Take him over to the others." His tone is ice, his expression one of complete disgust.

Zaorine, quite done with the show now that what's happened has, stands. Seeking to push her way through the crowd and down those stairs, it's through the exit she slips. Just visible before she exits entirely is a hand rising to pat a stray piece of hair into place.

From the sands, Cirila is in just as much shock as everyone else, having been certain that would not have Impressed at all, after all, there's no gold, and that's the only correct spot for womens. But, she's there clinging to Adeyvith never the less. Eyes switch from Al'zay to E'drai and back, and she starts to speak up, before her training takes over, and she stays silent.

From the sands, Geneve gives E'drai little more than another triumphant smile, telling him, "We'll see about that," in a loud, clear voice. "Certainly, Wingsecond," she continues, nodding respectfully towards Al'zay. "Pendarith's quite hungry - not surprising, given /his/ size. Come on," she murmurs down to the brown, her hand stroking his headknobs with a soft, fondness rarely seen from the brash woman.

From the sands, About now, some other Wingsecond - L'ott's? Sure. Why not. - has the sense to collect the girls that have not had the chance to Impress and hurry them off the sands while there's still a few eggs left. Heedless of Kesida's deference, he practically shoves the lot of them out of the way, issuing curses all the while.

From the sands, Adria's not far after E'drai, her expression unable to settle on any one emotion as she continues to just watch Geneve and her dragon. Totally stunned. As Al'zay wards the other brownrider off, she leans over to murmur something quietly, still a bit out of it.

From the sands, Kesida stumbles as she's bumped off the Sands, regaining control of herself and properly schooling her expression. Then it hits her - she didn't impress. Her eyes dart back to the eggs and longingly after Geneve and Cirila, and she feels a moment of deep sadness. Failed.

From the sands, Enter the Weyrleader, and my my my, but doesn't Sh'van look icily furious. He barks, "Out," at a couple of the girls who were hopefully lingering by the exit despite Yhanth's snarl, and that sends them skittering. He grabs L'ott's Wingsecond's sleeve and adds, sotto-voice, "Get them out of here. The empty weyr just past mine." Then he's stalking onto the sands, eyes blazing as he heads straight for Adria and E'drai.

From the sands, E'drai falls back a step, but there's a second there where his fists ball up and his spine straightens and it's obvious that he's sizing up Al'zay. He mutters to Adria, "Gonna... with... But -... at... now we... dealt..." Back to his parade rest, he braces himself for Sh'van's approach.

From the sands, As the chaos is sorted, the unimpressed girls drawn away from the Sands, the last few dragons Impress in relative quiet. With the last dragon paired - a blue - the total comes to four bronzes, six browns, eight blues, and fourteen greens. Of those, four greens looked to girls - and, of course, one brown looked to Geneve.

Looking miserable, and completely not noticing Zaorine's exit, Breide continues to try and field questions from Pern's leaders until a discontent rumble distracts her to Rielth and the state of no more eggs. Falsely brighter now, she notes, louder: "Come join us for a celebr-, feasting after which I'm /sure/, Sh'van will have more answers for you." After all, he's Weyrleader. She's just someone pretty by his side.

From the sands, Tarynn and Iramyth take turns staggering over each other and nothing. At once diminished and augmented, the girl half of the pair manages to thread them towards that other Wingsecond, her hands nervously and lovingly stroking Iramyth's wet nose and neck and wingtips. Ew, sticky. "Help?" she pleads, small. "Where are we going?" It's not somewhere she really, really shouldn't be, is it?

From the sands, Kesida heads off the sands.
From the sands, Kesida has left.

From the sands, Where Rielth succeeds, the Weyrleader fails. Adria is still nervously glancing the gold's way when Sh'van stalks his way across the sands, but she lifts her chin a touch at the approach. "Fun," she tells E'drai. No, really.

From the sands, Al'zay has the other wingseconds - save for L'ott's, who ushers the rebellious girls to that empty weyr Sh'van mentioned - rallied, and they start to lead the weyrlings off towards the barracks. Zaly is tightlipped, directing the others, "The barracks. And you," he snaps to Tarynn, "Shouldn't be saying a word right now."

From the sands, Geneve's beam doesn't die down, not even once, as they're all drawn away. "To the barracks, I expect," she tells Tarynn, as matter-of-fact as ever. She's just a little late, though - her words coming in after Al'zay's. Call it post-Impression slowness. "Come on, Pen. We've so much to get done."

From the sands, Rielth isn't quite about to stalk over and snatch Adria up in her maw, but she sure looks tempted. Discontent rumbling couples with the renewed glare of her beadily jeweled eyes on the greenrider and then, soon thereafter, her brownriding cohort.

[DTU] To Rielth, Lanmith's sharding Sh'van's ice, his mental 'beach' covered with ice and chill. << He asks yours to take care of *the galleries*. He will deal with Chiyath's and Taseith's. He also asks me to ask you to prevent them from flying. >> The dragons, presumably.

From the sands, Cirila looks as the other girls are ushered off, nodding her head with a half smile at Kesida as the girl disappears, before looking rather worriedly at Al'zay. "I.. I'm sorry sir. I didn't mean to.." But at a nudge from Adeyvith, Cirila's words stop, and she starts edging towards the much more confident female that is Geneve.

From the sands, Tarynn is appropriately horrified. Iramyth mewls and glowers. "Shhhhh," says her rider, hustling her off towards Geneve and the-- brown?-- who seems to know what she's doing. "I'm so, so, so sorry," she says again.

[DTU] To Chiyath and Taseith, Rielth's pissyness, so recently only directed at Chiyath and through the green, Adria, now extends to include Taseith. << You will not fly tonight. Not until Lanmith's decides otherwise, >> she directs, her mind an array of acidic greens.

[DTU] To Lanmith, Rielth projects, << The galleries are cared for. The Lords will await your word later. >> So kind of Breide to pass the buck on to Sh'van. << And the two have been grounded. >>

[DTU] To Chiyath and Rielth, Taseith accepts this without argument or even hurt, a simple matter of a subject doing as his queen bids. Ohbutwait. << How will I get back to my ledge? >>

[DTU] To Rielth and Taseith, Chiyath acquiesces with the same calm deference. The brown's question was on her mind, however.

From the sands, "Don't be," declares Geneve, confidently, in response to Tarynn, as if it were her call to make. "You're a rider of Benden, now. You're making history. We all are." She turns, allowing her words to encompass all four of the other girls.

[DTU] To Chiyath and Taseith, Rielth projects, << There is the bowl floor. There are cots in the dormitories. >> She really could care less of the plight of both riders, suggesting a beat later, darkly bemused: << Or there are the weyrling barracks. >>

From the sands, Al'zay looks flatly at Geneve as he ushers them out towards the barracks. "Don't be too sure you're a Benden rider yet, Geneve. You may have impressed here. Right now, that's all you can count on. Sh'van's not X'drian of Fort."

From the sands, Tarynn skews her facial expression up in response: she clearly had zero intention of making history today. Despite herself, she snuggles Iramyth a little, her own meager taste of defiance, one wary eye on Al'zay.

From the sands, Adria mutters, "More's the pity."

[DTU] To Chiyath and Rielth, Taseith, all tragic hues and mournful tones, accepts the rebuke - but there's an edge to it. Technically, /he/ didn't do anything, and he does seem to want that at least stated for the draconic record. E'drai's guilt? Unquestionable. Taseith's? By proxy.

[DTU] To Rielth and Taseith, Chiyath is bemused herself. <> For the green's part, anyway. She's still rather surprised by the reaction. But, she would be.

One of the guys just behind Marlon peers down at the butt-lined smith and frowns. "You ok down there?" Just how the man manages to look past the chaos of this particular hatching to notice someone falling is another question. "Crazy, isn't it?"

From the sands, E'drai snickers after Adria, lacking the good sense to look guilty for his part.

From the sands, Sh'van has disconnected.

From the sands, Geneve shrugs. "Whatever he does with us," she tells Al'zay, still beaming, "We'll still be riders of Benden. If he wants to think of his own dragon's children as... /wrong/, I guess that's up to him. Now. The barracks?" She leads the way - at least, as much as she can, behind Al'zay, her brown at her side, and her hand firmly attached to said brown.

From the sands, Al'zay heads off the sands.
From the sands, Al'zay has left.
From the sands, Geneve heads off the sands.
From the sands, Geneve has left.
From the sands, Tarynn heads off the sands.
From the sands, Tarynn has left.
From the sands, Adeyvith has left.
From the sands, Cirila heads off the sands.
From the sands, Cirila has left.

Marlon is fine, really. He looks up and shrugs, and says, "It's really too bad. I was starting to get used to her." The Smith goes back to brushing his pants off of schmootz.

From the sands, Pendarith has left.
From the sands, Iramyth has left.
From the sands, Hebereth has left.

[DTU] To Pendarith, Rielth quests in the little browns mind curiously, careful, despite all her anger, not to come off too strong. Tricky, weird little brown that he is.

From the sands, Sh'van heard that, thanks. He stops not five feet from the trio, staring grimly at first Adria, then E'drai. "You're both grounded," he says clearly, not bothering to lower his voice. Might as well let those in the galleries get a full show. "Give me your knots. Both of you. Right now."

[DTU] To Rielth, Pendarith is desert-brown and sandy in tone, but clear and crisp. His curiosity lingers in return: Hello? His thoughts are thick with Geneve - softened with adoration.

There's less of a throng demanding reasons and responses out of Breide now, as some of the crowd has decided to traipse off into the bowl to watch the spectacle of dragons and their new mates make their way towards the weyrling barracks. Always follow the trainwreck, but there are still some people, namely Lords Benden and Bitra standing, watching, arms folded over their respective chests, looking the picture perfect of opposites: portly and short, tall and scarecrow thin. They watch the show Sh'van puts on for them while the goldrider takes one step back and sighs, tired.

From the sands, To the first, E'drai reports calmly, "Yeah, we've been told." Underneath that smarmy veneer, he sounds a little bemused, and has to ask, "To the point we can't even go back to our own ledges? And I wear my knot on my riding jacket. Which is in my weyr. Should I go get it?" Nonchalant as he sounds, no doubt braced for the consequences, his eyes betray some concern when they turn to Adria.

From the sands, Adria tugs off and hands over her knot easily. If Sh'van wants a show? She'll provide. Clearly, "I thought you wanted to make something of us, Sh'van? Make us something more than a more challenging version of the lower caverns women? Or was that - were -all- our conversations basically to shut me up so Lanmith could catch and you'd have your way? There's your knot, Weyrleader. It's not like you ever pretended it was a real one anyway." She looks fairly infuriated, shaking as she stands at attention. "At least I gave you the excuse to take it."

[DTU] To Pendarith, Rielth's mental eyes seem to cross a bit when a response actually comes, somehow as if she'd expected this odd little progeny of hers to be deformed in other ways. Shock. But when the confirmation that the brown does seem to have most of his mental capacities about him come, the queen abruptly cuts off contact, mind closed for today though what can still be felt is the roil of waves of black and red anger.

[DTU] To Rielth, Pendarith's mind fills with confusion and upset - a deep, deep sadness, as though he can't quite grasp /why/ everything is so very wrong. Sad.

From the sands, "You're insubordinate," Sh'van tells E'drai calmly - or at least with less impending-violence. "Whether or not Taseith is allowed to take you is up to Rielth. I suggest he take it up with her." He takes Adria's knot and immediately turns his hand, dumping it onto the Sands. "I could have expected something like this from him. I expected better from you. Apparently I -was- wrong in expecting you to be more than, how did you put it? A more challenging version of a lower caverns woman. You disappoint me." His eyes flick back to E'drai. "Both of you. Go join the other girls. You may as well see their fate. I have yet to decide if you'll share it."

[DTU] To Rielth, Lanmith projects, << He asks - will she come to him later? >>

[DTU] To Lanmith, Rielth is still watching, despite her quietness, her anger a quiet, lurking thing. In this state of mind, the gold is far too willing to share her rider's thoughts with a: << She will go to anyone tonight. If it is yours or another. >> She may be deliberately misinterpreting his question.

From the sands, E'drai answers, "Yeah, I am." He looks down at the knot on the sands, though the stubbornness of pride prevents him from putting forth any argument of his own - except to nod along with Adria's. "Understood, bronzerider." And he waits up for the greenrider, looking unrepentant as he offers an arm.

From the sands, "/I/ expected better from /you/. And that's how you put it, not so long ago. Interesting that you forget. It's nice to see /her/ charms have their effect on you too." Adria's tone is shaking, only that stopping it from being truly icy as smirks a touch, not commenting about lower caverns women - but she sure wants to. Rielth is a damn good deterrent at least - so she simply says, "Understood, sir." And takes E'drai's arm to get the hell out of there.

From the sands, Sh'van turns away from the pair as if they didn't exist, spreading his hands as he faces up into the galleries. "Lords, Ladies, guests. Despite the unfortunate incidents, Benden warmly welcomes you all and invites you to join us in celebrating our first hatching in over a hundred and fifty years. Please, come to the living caverns and share our hospitality."

From the sands, Mildly, as if he were addressing the weather to Adria while they leave the sands / are banished from the sands, E'drai remarks, "Makes me sad that nobody even wants to ask us why. Surprise you?" He says it just loud enough that someone - a lingering candidate, a sharp pair of ears in the gallery, just /someone/ - will be sure to overhear it.

From the sands, E'drai heads off the sands.
From the sands, E'drai has left.
From the sands, Adria heads off the sands.
From the sands, Adria has left.

[DTU] To Yhanth, Rielth spares, in the midst of all this, one singular thought: << Al'zay, >> and yes, she names him, << Did well tonight. >>

[DTU] To Rielth, Yhanth is still simmering. << He needs to see the healers. >> A pause and then, << But I will tell him. >>

[DTU] To Rielth, Taseith tendrils an apologetic thought? And that is all - careful not to raise Rielth's ire, but unwilling to sleep with his queen out of sorts with him.

[DTU] To Taseith, Rielth has allowed a spot of time and the mental comfort of other dragons to wash away most of her fury though it lingers in a simmer. She responds to Taseith, reluctance seeped into the wash of cool blue. Without words, she understands the brown's part in this, dragged across the coals by a more calculating creature: Chiyath and her rider. Course she's going to automatically blame the freak girls.

[DTU] To Rielth, Taseith... Long in answering, slow and thoughtful in his choice of words, conveying the gravity of the admission as if he plucked it from the rider himself, << It was E'drai's idea. >>

[DTU] To Taseith, Rielth is single-minded in this, no rational thought allowed to actually make her (or her rider) think very logically - if they ever did. << He is enamored of hers. >>

[DTU] To Rielth, Taseith has his pride, and it's that pride that makes him insist, <> Except lies of omission, but how often do he and Rielth /really/ talk? << He is in love with her, but it was E'drai's plans. From before you had flown, from before Chiyath was with us every night. From before. >> A flash of snow, of the abandoned Benden as first glimpsed by the brown however many months ago.

[DTU] To Taseith, Rielth is ominously silent, perhaps allowing Taseith's thoughts to settle in more firmly or having already reached the point of believing the brown, in which case the gold isn't so receptive and forgiving anymore. Then, a cold: << Why? >> As if the brown should know his rider's motivations and more importantly, share them with his queen.

[DTU] To Rielth, Taseith is quick to answer this one, at least, seeing as it's very simple: << Because he could. >> Duh? After some consultation with his rider, he adds, << Perhaps I should stop talking now. Please know that I am sorry you are angered. >> Not sorry for what they did, not sorry for not telling, just sorry for the consequences - the kid in the cookie jar.

[DTU] To Taseith, Rielth comprehends the difference and does not seem all the more pleased for it as swells of red again loom along the fringes of her consciousness. She allows Taseith his retreat with only the promise of more words, though not from her, later.

[DTU] To Rielth, Taseith, nothing further. Not even to acknowledge that promise.

Maddy Gets a New Job

Fri, 23 Mar 2007 05:26:35 GMT

Location: Benden Weyr - Living Cavern
Time: day 18, month 9, turn 448
Players: Maddy and Breide
Scene: Maddy seeks her sister out for a job. Breide makes a few catty comments. Seriously, what else do you expect of sisters?

Maddy comes up from the lower caverns.
Maddy has arrived.

[Time] 7:27pm on day 18, month 9, turn 448.

Two of Breide's favorite things to do: munch on sweets in minimal quantities and people-watch mean she's found in the living cavern often when she's not tending to Rielth's needs or working. This evening, in the bustle of the dinner hours, she's combined work and play by plopping an untouched stack of hides by her while she takes her time in making her way through a small sack of sweetened dried Istan fruit, nibbling as she watches people, namely cute men, walk in and out. Like a fish out of water, a long suffering sigh accompanies her watch.

Maddy's not a cute man. She's not even a cute woman, if you want the truth. Woe is she. There hangs about her - despite a month and a half in and around the Weyr - the general air of someone who doesn't /quite/ belong here, the way she enters hesitantly, surveys the room carefully, even approaches her own (half-)sister once spotted. "You're a difficult person to pin down," she greets from the end of Breide's table, making an effort to stay out of the line-of-sight for the cute dude.

For all of Maddy's best efforts, Breide still leans herself to one side to follow the trek of a paunchy, fortyish handyman, before she tears her gaze away to plant her not-exactly-welcoming brown eyes on Maddy. That doesn't stop her from kicking out the seat across from her for the brunette to claim. "So you've pinned me down finally. Sit." The sack of sugary fruit is pushed across in an offering to the other woman. "Have some. It's pretty good, though I don't think we'd be able to manage to dry fruit like this here." Getting over her disappointment over having her past time interrupted relatively quickly, the goldrider warms slightly to her sister's presence. "How you doin' here?"

"No. Thanks. I'm trying to cut back," says Maddy to the fruit with a wry expression and a flourish of her hands to indicate her definitely-not-slim figure. Amusing herself, albeit dryly, she sits in the offered seat as if she never so much as noticed Breide's disappointment at the shift in subject. Folding her hands to keep them from darting all over the place, she finds the lie of a smile and answers, "Fine, thank you. Busy. Too busy. It's quite a place." Pause. "That you have here." /You/ have here.

Blankly, Breide's gaze travels up and down at the chub the flourish indicates and then meets Maddy's eyes levelly. "Diets have never worked with you. Y'might as well just enjoy what you can get out of life." Nothing like sisterly love and with that said, the weyrwoman pushes the sack over again, just a little more insistent as she plucks another slice out for herself. "It is, isn't it?" Delighted for the compliments, any of the blonde's dubious maternal instincts to overfeed her sister fades out of sight. "We've worked hard." /We/. "It was a mess when we arrived. Did the harper find you? He's kind of cute, isn't he?"

Maddy explains with a slightly pinched tone, the long-suffering sound of patience wearing thin, "It was meant to be ironic." She clears her throat, looking at her very chewed-on fingernails for a second to regain her thread. "Harper?" She picks at a hangnail, so much for idle hands. "Mm? Which one's he?" She looks around the cavern as if to seek out one particular person who might've caught Breide's eye; her attention trails the aforementioned handyman with the paunch, doubtfully.

The look Breide spares for Maddy, mid-fruit nibble, is one of utter askance: you should know better than to use irony on me by now. "The harper," two snaps of the goldrider's free hand aims to reclaim her sister's attention, as if her sister was the one with the problem of being easily distracted by a guy passing by. "He's cute, the big-haired one. Thought he might be your type." Smug, that last.

"Ooh. Right." Maddy sounds so suddenly enlightened that there should be no doubt that it's a big fat lie. She smiles cheekily for Breide's little jibe. "We met in passing. That's about it. Unfortunately, I just don't have the same..." Watching her sister's distraction, she concludes, "...interests you do, I suppose. I did have something to ask you about though." So it's /not/ a purely social call!

Unfazed by Maddy's sudden dive into business, the only change in Breide's demeanor is a subtle shift in her gaze, keener as it grazes over the woman opposite her. "Too bad, I don't think the harper's very picky about his girls. I'll look around for a girl for you then. Perhaps... Adria or Carys," pursing her lips, the blonde's measured silence is clearly deliberate. "They probably ride fighting dragons for a reason." A few more quick bites and chews makes the fruit disappear, leaving her hands to clap down lightly into the table, expectant eyes waiting for reactions, favor, both.

Placidly, Maddy answers, "No, I don't think I'd like girls much, either. Let's just say, I prefer business to pleasure." And she smiles sunnily as if to sell the point - though Breide's likely not the easiest mark to have picked. Back to the business at hand, she worries her hangnail again, now trying to pry it off with her teeth, a very unpretty thing to do in the middle of the living cavern. "I need a job from you."

"You shouldn't do that," Breide admonishes finally, a wrinkle of her nose following her gaze to Maddy's teeth. "Your mom didn't teach you well, did she? And that's why," for the finger chewing and the brunette's fixation on business, there's an idle twirl of her fingers, "You're such a delight to be around." The faux smile that punctuates that drops at the last. "You've decided to stay then?"

Maddy gives Breide a bland look when she asks, "Do you want me to enumerate the very long list of things - people? - that you shouldn't do?" It's not as judgmental as it reads, promise; little sister don't do what her big sister does, but she doesn't judge her so much for it, either. "I have. But that needs to stay between you and me for now. As in, please don't tell Layten, because he doesn't know yet."

The language of sisterhood, or just simple siblinghood is a long standing tradition of tacitly understanding the unsaid words. Breide purses her lips and narrows her eyes, apparently not liking what Maddy's implied and spreads her fingers across the table, tapping them idly as she regards the trader in silence. Then, with slightly widened eyes that shape her brows quizzically, she asks, "Why?"

And it's part and parcel to being little sister to learn when not to press the issue. Maddy drops Breide's exploits at the purse of lips, shrugging apologetically at the blond - and lowering her fingers out of her mouth now. "Why to which part? Why haven't I told him or why do I want to leave?" she asks simply.

"Why do you want to stay here?" /Care/-amel, /car/amel -- same question, new wrapping, leaving Breide surprisingly still, no boy watching, as she continues to watch her sister.

Maddy, amused at the finely minced words, "Because I don't want to be in charge of some fragment of the business running up and down the coast for the rest of my life. I'm done with it. And, between you and me." She leans forward, lowering her voice like it's some great secret. "I'm not very good at being a trader." (/The hell you say!/)

"So you're gonna leave a cushy job bein' in charge to live /here/." A beat. "With me as your boss." The sticking point that makes Breide watch Maddy as if she might be a lunatic. Blunt, the reasons for her reaction can be summed up in the next comment: "Y'never really liked me, I thought."

As long as we're being frank, Maddy says, "I don't, particularly. But I don't /dislike/ you, either. The fine line between love and hate?" She smiles weakly, aware that the jest isn't all that clever. "It's not cushy. Maybe you've forgotten, but I'm tired of wagons and wagons and wagons and always trying to stretch a quarter-mark across a half-mile. Plus." Now her own lips purse. "Layten's as crooked as the High Reaches mountains."

"S'gotta be more'n a fine line to accommodate you in the middle." Perhaps this is why the sunny goldrider and her sunny sister don't get along - who knows? Despite the jibe towards Maddy, truly fond that, Breide laughs at the appraisal of their father. "Don't think that's new to anyone, but he does well by his family." A family, that a fleetingly pointed glance indicates, includes Maddy. "Are you looking to Impress?" And a woman Impressing in Breide's books does not mean onto green.

"Mm, yes. I'm almost as wide as your legs," returns Maddy, heedless. "Not that I particularly care one way or the other about your little problem - " She flicks her fingers dismissively at Breide, winding up with her thumbnail back between her teeth for a moment before she remembers she's doing it. " - but no. I'm too old for that kind of nonsense. But I /am/ useful. Your harpers are so busy chasing some hope for answers that they can't very well have time for accounting, can they?"

"Aye, as wide as my legs. 'magine my legs are wider'n you even." Breide's laughter shakes her shoulders and with genuine fondness, the blonde leans forward to push her sweets on Maddy again. "I've missed having you around at any rate. It'll be like old times." Easier now that any suspicions have been quelled by her half-sister's practicality, the goldrider waves her hands about: "Any job you want, I'll provide, as long as /you're/ the one who speaks to daddy."

Maddy crinkles her nose and repeats disdainfully, "'Daddy.' It's /such/ a show." Without thinking about it, she takes some fruit this time, chewing on it in lieu of her fingernails. "Just something of ink and hides and accounting is fine. You've gone and hired a headwoman, or I would have been aimed a little higher." Sulk. Unfortunately, not the pretty sulk that Breide could produce, just a petulant one. "But records keeper would keep me happy and out of your way, and I won't even harp on how crooked /Benden/ is as long as you can promise things will turn around when the Pass starts?"

Breide plays her part well, returning Maddy's disdainful 'daddy' with a tilt of her head, quizzical, but not willing to actually ask. "I don't know what it is Cirila does," the goldrider instead decides to say, "And Geneve has her hands full trying to do everything for everyone all the time. Capable, a little nuts, but still, she's a doll. I could put you beneath Geneve and recommend you work with our books. S'easy enough to do." What with being Weyrwoman and all. As for the last, the quizzical tilt turns into wide brown-eyed innocence and a little one-shouldered shrug, intended to be cute if her audience weren't a female relative.

And a pragmatic one at that. Maddy tilts her head in a much more bland way back at Breide, pretty much looking down her nose at the blond. "Shrug all you want, but I know full well that 'daddy' wouldn't be here this long if it wasn't advantageous. I do keep the accounts, remember." If racketeering was a crime on Pern, frizzy Madeline would have the lot of 'em behind bars! "I don't care much for being someone's assistant - " So maybe all she and Breide have in common is ambition? " - but if that's what you've got to offer, I'll accept."

"Mmmhmmmm," Breide continues to work under the pretense of not completely understanding and reaches to steal the sack of fruits away from Maddy's reach, hoarding them for herself agai. "We'll see how y'do in that position first? If you and Geneve really can't get along... well," she smiles beautifully, "We'll find you another spot. Maybe you'll decide you don't like it here much after that."

Maddy lets the sack go, though she does it with a childish face made at Breide. Meany. "You doubt my capacities to keep a clean ledger for this place?" She waves her hands around to indicate all the bare walls and dried fruit and spare furniture and yeah. "Please. And I'm sure I'll learn to tolerate this Geneve person. I'll tell Father after the hatching. That's when they're leaving anyway, as I understand it." Deep breath, "And thank you."

Breide's just looking out for her sister, really, and reflexively in response to the childish face, the goldrider's hands fold the sack closed with her hands pressed over the top. No more. "Don't doubt your abilities," bored again, the blonde's focus starts to shift away from Maddy to rove across for some eye candy again, "Just doubt that you'll get along well with Geneve, but I suppose she shouldn't poke her nose about the books much anyway." Tacitly dropped that, its her roundabout recognition of the shadier side of Benden. "Don't mention it. Maybe you'll be able to return the favor some day." She smiles sweetly - fat chance that.

Diplomatically, considering her big ol' gratitude just got shoved aside, Maddy replies, "Let's hope not." Well aware that she's not captivating Breide's attention any more, the young woman stands at that, chasing imaginary crumbs off the edge of the table as she does so. "I ought to get the ledgers in line before I abandon my post," she concludes bravely. "I hope you find something to your liking." With a nod toward some particularly striking candidate-type-lad at least ten years Breide's junior; gotta love them strapping farm boys.

"Hey." Movement at her table causes Breide to at least make the show of caring that Maddy's leaving. "You sure you don't like that harper guy? Sure his hair's kind of *out there*," her hands spread as wide as her legs probably are to convey the extent of Andoran's 'fro, "But well... are you sure?" In her own way, she cares about Maddy, really.

Like a broken record, Maddy informs, "I don't /dislike/ him." At the mention of hair, she pats her own down uselessly, the damp weather having its fun with her 'do. "But I've got better things to worry about. And so do you?" She still intends to withdraw, evidenced by the fact that she doesn't sit back down or anything, but it's a tribute to Breide's charm that even Maddy doesn't dart off when she's got the luxury of coming to Breide's attention.

The blonde smiles wide, little creases marring the corner of her eyes. "Well, if you're sure, I /am/ glad you're here, you know." Breide's warmth shines in her gaze and with a flippant turn of her wrist, imparts her final parting words to her half-sister. "If you need anything, come by. Clothes," however laughable that might be, "Jewelry. Y'know... we can be like sisters again." If they ever were before.

"Can we?" asks Maddy enigmatically, lifting her eyebrows, pulling a slanted smile. "I'm glad I'm here, too. For what it's worth, you're not as insufferable as I remember you." With that tribute to sisterly love as farewell, she chases herself off to do something more productive and leave Breide to sightsee.

Go Away

Wed, 21 Mar 2007 06:16:36 GMT

Adding to the fall out of Adria's flight. It's short, margaritas apparently make me pithy. Also need to go clean logs again.

<< Chiyath rose. >> Always watchful of her skies, of what dragons do within her Weyr, Rielth shared this with her rider, who in the distraction of her work, pushed it aside until the last notation in the balance of the Weyr's mark books matched with her own figures. Taught well by her father, despite her more well-known skills beneath the sheets than above, the blonde head bobbled a few more times to doublecheck her work with rapidfire mental calculations.

Hmmmm?

Unruffled by being dismissed as such and needing to repeat herself, sun golden shades washed pride for Breide's rare bout of studiousness with: << Chiyath. She has been caught. >>

Bemused, a dryness unheard in her bubbly vocalization a normalcy in Breide's mental quips, the weyrwoman asked: And this interests you?

<< Al'zay has won the female. >>

The silence, Rielth had expected. The sudden coldness, she had not.

Yhanth won.

<< Yes, I said that. >>

No. Accusation, darkly annoyed touched Breide's thoughts with gray smoke. You said Al'zay won.

The senior queen's disapproving silence was enough.

Go away. Breide didn't need to know when Rielth had retreated, nor where to - their moments of distanced anger few in the last six turns. Frankly, the blonde didn't care. Both knew too well that come morning, the anger while not forgotten, would be shelved, misplaced in favor of a clean slate.

Responsibilities Suck

Wed, 07 Mar 2007 09:01:14 GMT

Location: Benden Weyr - Hafizth's Ledge
Time: day 27, month 7, turn 448
Players: B'net and Breide
Scene: Breide drops in on B'net to check out his weyr and the bed she sent him. She finds out he's gotten pillows by now and successfully, at least for now, clamps down on the temptation of checking out the bed itself.

[DTU] To Hafizth, Rielth's mind is colored in bright swathes of color, overlapping and cascading in a rainbow of thoughts. << We mean to visit, >> she sends, more of a statement than request of permission, though politely, she does hover just above the ledge for a response back.

[DTU] To Rielth, Hafizth is all neutral colors - polite, pleasant, unobtrusive. The burst of color and the almost-command that accompanies it are met with a brief, apologetic pause, and then the bronze moves aside on the ledge to allow the gold to land, replying, << We are honored by your visit, Rielth. >>

[DTU] To Hafizth, Rielth's prismatic thoughts settle onto one color. A bright, effervescent blue that is agreeable with the bronze's response and attempts, slyly, in infusing his neutral colors with her own bright thoughts.

Rielth wings to a landing on Hafizth's ledge.
B'net's Weyr Late Summer. Cloudy. 69F / 21C.
-- Players --
B'net..........6' and muscular, with dark brown hair and brown eyes. Scarring on left arm.
-- Dragons --
Rielth.........Gold dragon.

-- Exits --
Sky......................[O]

Breide hops down from Rielth's neckridges.

Rielth alights heavily onto the ledge, a friendly rumble for Hafizth - certainly a greeting that's far more affable than the one afforded the invasion of dragons month prior. From the dragon's neckridge, unstrapped and not attired for riding, Breide slides off easily with a fond pat for the tarnished gold hide. "Yoohoo? Anyone home?"

Hafizth rumbles back, friendly, but more reserved than the gold. B'net does not immediately emerge from the weyr at Breide's shout; it takes a minute until he appears, barefoot and wet-headed. "Oh, hey, darlin," he greets her with a smile. "What're you doing up here, then? Couldn't stay away?"

"Came to tell ya goodbye, though, doll," Breide manages to sound just regretful enough, "It's not without a heavy heart as to not see your pretty body 'gain." The slim blonde tries to look past B'net into the weyr, her eyes lit up, all knowing. "Like your present?"

B'net blinks, arching a brow at Breide. "I've got no idea what you're talking about," he admits, "You trying to confuse me?" He follows her eyes past him into the weyr, which, other than the bed (with its blue sheets and pillow) and a couple of bags is completely empty, and huge. "I did," he replies, "Very nice. Arrived so promptly, too."

"Zactly," Breide responds with heightened merriment, a step forward followed by two steps back to bring her closer to Rielth's side. "Good. I'm glad it suits you. Had to pull in some favors with a couple friends who apprenticed at the Woodcraft, but it's worth it if... well," her smile flashes charmingly sweet. "You got sheets and pillows. What lower caverns girl did you finagle those out of?"

B'net looks completely confused by that response, but gives up with a blink and a little shake of his head. "All right," is all he says to that, then glances back at the bed again, nodding, "Seems like good work," he confirms, "Have t'thank your friends for me. Though I suppose you probably already did, huh?" He smirks, and then lifts a brow at her question, shaking his head. "That set I got from your father."

"My father? You met him?" That she's left B'net confused causes Breide to lower her face, casting dark eyes to the ground before lifting her head and leaning her body to one side to catch another glimpse of the insides of the bronzerider's weyr. Incorrigible. "Mmmmm, I helped them apprentice a few years back," nonchalantly spoken and perhaps feigning ignorance of the insinuations Ben makes. Seriously, not *all* exchanges are made between her legs. "How've you settled in? Do you still keep in touch with your time traveling mates scattered throughout Pern?"

"I did," B'net replies, following her glance into his weyr yet again, and looking at her, bemused, but not inviting her in, "Made a transaction, got the sheets and pillow thrown in as a bonus." As for her helping these friends apprentice, he just lifts a brow. "That so? Interesting." And true, some of those exchanges are most likely made with her mouth. "I'm settling in all right," he replies with a shrug, "I keep in touch with a few. Not great friends with many of them, t'be honest." There's a pause, and then he grins, "And you, Breide? How're you doing, today?"

Given an opening, Breide's smiley facade crumbles a bit. It's B'net's grin that disarms her, and a little sigh expels between pressed lips. "It's hard, y'know. I never thought being Weyrwoman would be easy, but it's harder than I expected in ways... I didn't expect." The blonde's confusion knits across her brows and the klah eyes flick back over the ledge to spy out the ground then back to B'net noting the damp state of his hair. "Did I interrupt you bathing? Did you," she blinks and strains again to look past the bronzerider, "Somehow get a bath as well?"

B'net chuckles and shakes his head. "Course you didn't, sweetheart," he replies, "This is why I don't get involved in shit like that. You all seem to think it sounds like fun, but it looks like a lot of work t'me." A hand through his damp hair pauses at her question, and he shakes his head, taking a half-step sideways that reveals more of the mostly-empty weyr. "I went for a swim," he replies. He's silent for another minute, then relents, stepping the rest of the way back and extending an arm towards the entrance of the weyr, "Wanna come in?"

"I shouldn't." The temptation of going into B'net's weyr rises fervent in dark eyes, and yet still Breide manages a tiny little grin, maintaining her position by the awkwardly built gold. Her excuse: "Rielth's being possessive of Lanmith, me, I imagine she'd try to order Sh'van if she could. If you don't mind standing out here?" The smile spreads quickly, girlish and sweet as she points out the sky and the bowl below. "Might as well enjoy the weather while we can, mmmmm? Y'never want to be Weyrleader?"

B'net just eyes the goldrider a moment. "You came all the way up here, and you've been staring over my shoulder for the past minutes, but... you don't want to go inside." He lets things hang for a beat, skepticism clear, then shrugs. "All right. It is nice out." He takes a seat, leaning back against the rock and shrugs again. "No, not really," he tells her, "Lots of work, pressure, responsibilities, people always wanting things from you... why would I want a job like that?"

Breide shrugs, dimpling cute and casting a look to Rielth: what can you do about the whims of your dragon? The gold, for her part, would roll her eyes if she were capable, and instead just tosses her neck with a tiny snort. "Responsibilities," an easy sigh expels with a head toss back to take in the sky, "I could do without responsibilities for a while. Or feelin' guilty for bein' me. I could do without all of this for a while, but..." More sober, though there's still a warm glint in her dark gaze, "I don't think I'd rather be anythin' else at the end of the day."

B'net eyes the gold for a moment, either not completely convinced that she is to blame, or just displeased with her decision. He stretches his legs out and sets the heel of one foot atop the toes of the other as he watches Breide's sighing and wishing. "I invited you in, didn't I?" B'net responds to all that stuff about getting away from responsibilities. As she goes on, he watches her keenly for a beat, then nods: "That I believe, sugar," he replies, "You love being Weyrwoman. The attention, the power... no chance you'd give that up."

It's unfortunate dragon eyes can only evoke moods in color, for the swirl of blue and green in Rielth doesn't convey the askance for her rider's behavior. "You did. I 'ppreciate it, love. I do. But I like bein' Weyrwoman in more'n just name and more than seeing how firm your new bed is." Breide reaches a hand across to play fingers in the air about B'net's damp hair, longing. "You're an awful pretty man, y'know."

B'net is unswayed, even more skeptical, now, one brow curving down as the other arches. "And you're somehow not going to be Weyrwoman anymore if you were to come inside?" he says dryly, "I'd no idea I had so much power." Her fingers around his head are ducked away from, and he stands, shaking his head then running a hand through his hair to tame it again. "Did you come here for a reason?"

"No." Breide notes quickly, then adds to reinforce that quick negation oh so well. "Not really." The goldrider's dancing fingers fall, regretful. "You'n I both know too well what'll happen if I go in there." Least, she knows what *she'd* do and her irresistible charms and all that. "Just wanted to see if your bed was to your satisfaction and if you'd gotten sheets'n stuff."

B'net still looks baffled, since it's completely unclear what Breide meant by 'no'. "Look," he says, gesturing briefly towards her, "I've got no idea what you're trying to say, all right? If we're going to fuck, then great. If there was something you wanted, or wanted to say, spit it out. If not?" He shrugs, palms facing each other, "Then I'm not really in the mood for games."

Breide's nose wrinkles, another glance shot back to the insides of B'net's weyr and there's -some- thinking going on in that pretty little head of hers. "I guess I should go then. I mean, since you're not in the mood for games. I'm glad y'like your bed." Despite her constant fidgeting and her seeming flighty and chaotic choice of words now, the goldrider still sums it all up with a quick, apologetic smile. "See you later, Ben."

B'net watches her thinking with little expectation that she will choose to change her mind, instead just nodding to re-confirm that he is not in the mood for games. "I do like the bed," he relents briefly, sincerely, "Thanks for that. It's a lot nicer than a hammock." Her farewell gets a nod, and a brief lifting of his fingers in something of a wave. "See you later."

Breide's fingers lift and then drop again in a gesture that never completes of fondness for B'net's pretty face, and then with firm determination written on her brow, the goldrider climbs atop the strapless Rielth and the large dragon spirals off the ledge to her own.

Oh, Angst.

Wed, 07 Mar 2007 08:56:23 GMT

Location: Benden Weyr - Council Room
Time: day 26, month 7, turn 448
Players: Al'zay, Sh'van, and Breide
Scene: Breide puts herself on an even shorter leash with the fear of sending Zaorine a ribbon-wrapped present of the Weyrleader. Oh, and Al'zay and Breide angst some more. There's also talk of who to Search and whether to Search outside of the Weyr as well as Breide's choice to stand for the gold egg that'll inevitably come. Of course.

Council Room Summer. Cloudy. 78F / 26C.

Like many rooms at Benden, this cavern was made to be ornate and has since fallen into sad disrepair. The smooth walls boast numerous places where tapestries should hang, but there are now only bare swathes. In the center of the room is a large table with room for a Weyrwoman and Weyrleader from each of the Weyrs to sit; the cushions are missing but the emblems of the Weyrs are carved into the stone table, though dust has sunk into the cracks and carving. In addition to the table, there is room for an additional twenty or thirty people to stand along the walls though there is no further seating available.
The cavern is perpetually hazed in dust and gloom, wanting for glowbaskets. Just off to the side is a niche-like room with a smaller table in it, the walls lined floor-to-ceiling in carved shelves. Here are most of the records of Benden Weyr - public ones, at least.

-- Players --
Breide.........Energetic, confident, curvy. Pretty in a very obvious/common way with silken hair bound in a loose bun.
-- Exits --
Bowl.....................[W]

Al'zay works on hidework here for a change. There are charts spread over the table, and he's dragged the glowbaskets closer to see what he's writing. An untouched dinner tray sits to one side, though there's a skin of his own wine half full atop the nearest stack of hides. Usually when he works, he's the embodiment of concentration. Now, however, he's impatient, distracted, and taking frequent drinks from the skin. With a faint curse, he shoves the hide before him into the smaller stack to the left.

There's no rule that the council room is her personal domain, and yet when Breide steps silently through the doorway with her own work tucked beneath her arm, the shock at finding Al'zay there is apparent. At first, a smile rises, but is quickly clamped down on as recollection sits on her knitted brows. "Lots to do?" The goldrider's voice, so familiar to him, is oddly distant as she settles on a safe topic. "I didn't think anyone used this room 'cept Sh'van'n me."

Al'zay twists abruptly, the reaction of a cornered animal. His eyes flare over her for a moment in a movement that, while not common, is easy enough to place: a lost flight. His jaw clamps shut, and then he shrugs, draping one arm over the back of his chair, still half-turned to face her. "Needed the fresh air. I'm disturbing you?"

Breide's lived in a Weyr long enough to recognize those telltale signs, and her dark eyes shift quickly to take in the half-finished dinner and the skin, then lands on the brownrider. She can't help herself, swift steps bringing her by Al'zay's side and after discarding her work carelessly to the table, two warm hands drop about the man's shoulders. "No. Don't go. I'm sorry about the other day. It's not... my business who you choose to live with."

Al'zay's skin is fever hot, the fire felt even through his riding jacket. "You're... sorry?" He looks completely confused, as though those were the last words he expected to come tumbling out her mouth. "Sorry for the meeting-" even as strung out as he is, he can't call it a quarrel "-sorry for doubting Yhanth, or sorry for doubting /me/?"

Breide's hands knead with gentle pressure. "I'm sorry," she clarifies in a oddly toned confession, "For... Zaorine. For getting upset. For getting jealous. It's not my place to do that, I know. You should take your jacket off." Her advice has little to do with flirtation, as much as a concern that dawns faint in her eyes. "Have you taken a cold shower yet? Is Zaorine not around?"

Al'zay ignores the advice, shifting back slightly to look up at her. All the better to see you with, my dear. And those eyes are still on fire. "You were jealous? After you walked out on me? Left me high and dry? Admittedly, from your view it likely looked like I deserved it, but damnit!" His voice harshens, and the hand accross the back of his chair is curled suddenly about her wrist. "I wasn't about to have him win you /again/." Not 'the flight', not 'Rielth', /you/. "He doesn't deserve to breathe your air."

Breide may be many things that fit the whore description, but even they have some odd standard of ethics when it comes to another woman's man (at least when they know), and beneath his hand, her wrist and arm tighten. Girding herself up, she says flatly, "You should find Zaorine. Flight's gone to your head, Zaly."

Al'zay doesn't let go. "Oh /really/." He drawls softly, viciously "Damned girls have no business being riders. Yhanth's chasing more -" Those hot eyes are still on her face as he breaks off. "And here I thought you were sorry."

"Is Yhanth oka-... I am sorry!" Breide blurts out, emotion rising beyond her ability to keep her voice flat and distant. A vehement tug attempts to wrestle her wrist away again. "But you're flight addled and you're saying things that you shouldn't be saying especially if you're weyrmated to someone else. It's in your eyes." Her own dark ones find Al'zay's fired up gaze, shrinking somewhat beneath the scrutiny of them. "You don't really know what you're doing right now and I /won't/ give Zaorine another reason to hate me. Please, Zaly. Please?" Plaintive that last plea, Breide makes one last try, this one more gentle, to wriggle her arm away.

Al'zay doesn't let go, though he does give a little on the pressure so she won't break anything important. "And what about you, Breide? Sh'van's got you on a short leash. Never thought I'd see the day."

"Sh'van...," Breide's lip tucks behind her other, caught apparently by her teeth for the length of time it manages to stay there, and when released, there's ruddy marks where teeth *have* caught. "Does what he thinks is good for the Weyr. He says the Holds won't tithe if they... if they can't respect us." Meaning her and her 'ways.' "He doesn't have me on a leash though," that one sparks some fire in the goldrider, "I do what I please."

Al'zay practically spits, "The Holds won't respect us as long as those /girls/ are here." You know, the ones who did this to him. "Besides," that hellish madness dances in his eyes again, "You know I'm not the weyrmating kind."

"Could've fooled me. /I'm/ not the one living with Sh'van. Or Zaorine." Breide points out, straining at the exertion it takes to remain the level-headed, non-flight addled one of the pair. "Go drink, go shower, go find Zaorine. You're sooooo not getting any work done in the state you're in. I'll finish it for you."

Al'zay growls softly, "Like hell you will." He finally lets go, rising up out of his chair. He doesn't make another move, to leave, instead reaching out to touch a golden curl. "I tried drinking," he admits, a low purr. "Can't drink enough to fall down yet."

Her relief is obvious, clearly sketched across her pretty face when her wrist is released. Breide focuses on it, turning it about a bit, returning feeling to her hand. "That hurt," petulant now that she can feel in her hand again, she shakes her hair and sways backwards so the lock of hair moves out of reach.

Al'zay smirks at the movement away. "I never thought I'd see the day when you'd be afraid of me, pet."
"Never thought I'd see the day you'd go off and weyrmate /Zaorine/." Breide fires back, somehow finding her tongue with the release of her wrist. So, yeah, the jealousy is so not gone.

Al'zay's smirk fires those green eyes of his again. "And I told you: I'm not the weyrmating kind, pet. You know me better than that." He tsks softly, reaching out for her hair again, a swift gesture with the grace of a big hunting cat.

"Then what are you doing with her?" Breide can't bring herself to say Zaorine's name again, instead shifting her lashes elsewhere other than Al'zay's green eyes. Notably, she doesn't move away with the hand that approaches her hair.

Sh'van steps in from the bowl.
Sh'van has arrived.

There are a fair ton of today's hidework on the table, charts spread out, things in nice neat piles. What's odd is Zaly hiding himself in here. Continuing in that vein: a half full wine skin - no cups - sitting perched atop a stack of hides. And odder still, two people close together, standing before the table, near the head, but not usurping the place.

Al'zay's hand tangles gently in Breide's blonde curls. When it wraps around that silk, he breathes out a breath that is almost a groan. "You didn't want me. You didn't need me."

Breide's shifted away eyes lift, lashes thrown wide as what Al'zay says sinks in. "So you go off and live with her, but don't weyrmate her, because I yelled at you for doing something you know was stupid? You're such a man," the goldrider's remark isn't taunting, but filled with that roll-of-the-eye resignation: men will be men and go off and do rash things. With his hands sunk in her hair it's hard for her to pull away without causing herself much pain, so Breide curls the back of her hand against Al'zay's cheek instead. Gently, she says, "You're also very silly to think I don't want you."

A third person enters the picture, soft steps easily overlooked by the pair so tangled together. Sh'van halts just inside the entrance as Zaly's fingers tangle in Breide's hair; a second later he retreats into the shadows.

[DTU] To Rielth and Yhanth, Lanmith stretches out lazily, flicking an extra glittering splash at Rielth. Hey babe. << Sh'van comes. >>

[DTU] To Lanmith and Yhanth, Rielth basks in that extra glitter, lavishing the bulk of her attention on her mate, except one begrudging sliver that passes on his words to her errant rider. Then surges forward to deliberately envelop only Lanmith's mind in a bright swirl of colors.

[DTU] To Lanmith and Rielth, Yhanth is still sulking over that green, even if he can't remember her name at the moment. He does nothing to warn his rider, and Rielth's deliberate snub only makes him that much more moody.

Al'zay murmurs softly, bringing her in close for a kiss. "You've certainly done a wonderful impression of it up till now. 'Sides, it was better than her reasoning," he admits, his free arm coming around to pull her in closer. Thank you, Yhanth for the whole no-warning-thing.

Warning or not, Breide is as self-centered as they come and then the likelihood of a kiss looms on the horizon, the blonde helplessly gives in, despite a flicker of apprehension that cuts quick to the door. As Sh'van's shadow isn't looming there as far as she can tell, eager arms slip up around Al'zay's neck to deepen that kiss. "Mmmmmmm. Missed that. Missed you. Sh'van's coming," she murmurs softly to the brownrider, doing Yhanth's duty for him.

Sh'van even goes the extra mile - isn't he thoughtful? - by clearing his throat before he steps back into the room. "--You're a popular man, Al'zay," he comments, voice and manner mild as milk. He drops the pair a nod as he moves past them for his chair, pulling it out and dropping into it without his usual grace.

[DTU] To Rielth, Lanmith's happy to be enveloped, matching her colors with bright salt spray of his own.

Al'zay is still flight addled. He has time for a confused, "He's what?" Before - oh lovely. His attention is taken from Breide to Sh'van. And let's face it: pretty blond vs. scarface. It goes a long way towards dampening his brown's injured ardor. A blink or two, and his hand slips from Breide's hair, though curls politely - and indeed, decorously - around her waist. "The smaller pile," he notes the pile of hides to his left, "Are the ones you should take a look at before the sevenday's out, sir." When you can't think of anything to say, business is best.

Breide takes Al'zay's decorum another level and visibly takes a step away looking only a little bit guilty. After all, she did gain an awesome kiss out of it. If only Sh'van hadn't shown up. He wasn't in the /door/ just a second ago; life truly isn't fair with its awful timing. Not quite as smooth as the brownrider when it comes to covering her tracks, the blonde casts a glance for those hides on the left and then up at the Weyrleader, "I was just finishing the letters to the Craftmasters."

[DTU] To Lanmith, Rielth's colors curl about the bronze possessively, drawing him closer mentally if not in the physical with the sleeves of purple touched crimson that reverberates with hints of ardor drawn from the green flight of before.

Sh'van looks between the pair of them, studying first his 'second's face, then his Weyrwoman's. "Breide..." He looks about to add something more, then shakes his head and looks to the pile of work Al'zay's so helpfully pointed out. "I didn't expect to find you here - either of you. I'd suggest the Weyrwoman's rooms, but they're unfortunately close to Zaorine's." He waits a beat before looking back up at the brownrider. "As it is, I do need to speak with the Weyrwoman. Go cool Yhanth down in the lake." It's not phrased as a suggestion.

Al'zay inclines his head to Breide first, and with restraint even makes it within the bounds of propriety. "My apologies, sir," he turns to Sh'van. At first, it seems he might be apologizing for nearly bending the Weyrwoman over the council table, but he clarifies, "I needed the room for the charts, and I didn't expect to disturb anyone in here." He catches up the skin - one bearing Tillek's seal - and gives a precise nod before making his way out. As he crosses the threshold, he takes a backwards glance. His eyes, however, don't go to his Weyrleader, they instead linger for a moment on Breide, and then he's gone.

Al'zay steps out of the room.
Al'zay has left.

[DTU] To Rielth, Yhanth rouses from his irritation at the entire female species enough to send through a completely sober and completely worried request from his rider. << Please, please, /please/ - ask your Breide not to mention Zaly's family! Please! >>

[DTU] To Yhanth, Rielth is long silent before a flutter of blue, the tiniest concession, is sent Yhanth's way. << We have kept the secret long. She will keep her tongue further for the sake of your rider. >>

[DTU] To Rielth, Yhanth's relief is likely a result of his rider's intense relief. The barest image of Al'zay, sitting and /gulping/ the wine by the lake is given, before he fades out.

Al'zay's lingering eyes find equally googly ones in the goldrider's until the man is all but out the door. "He didn't listen to me when I told him that." Breide notes abruptly on the heels of Al'zay's departure. Quite put out that she doesn't have the sway the Weyrleader does when commanding his forces, the blonde turns to survey Sh'van with a look that quickly dissolves into the wary. "Told him to go find Zaorine, told him..." Excuses, excuses. "He says she's not his weyrmate." There's a note of dancing glee there, in spite of the berating that seems on the horizon.

Sh'van, were he another man, might say something like 'didn't try real hard, did you darlin'?'. Since he isn't, though, he merely returns her wary look with a bland one of his own and extends a hand to her. "Ah? I'm sure Zaorine is simply getting back at me, and Al'zay wasn't, hmn, aware enough to avoid it. I am, however, a little disappointed in you. I -did- have something for you for being discreet, but... well. First B'net, and now Al'zay? Anyone could have walked in, dear."

"Getting back at you?" Clearly, the idea that Zaorine might be doing this to target anyone but herself never occurred to Breide and this is enough to stun her into silence, allowing Sh'van's disappointment to wash over unnoticed. Blink. "Are you sure? I thought she *liked* you." Unlike how she likes Breide. But wait. "B'n... how did you know about that?" Large eyes turn onto Sh'van again as what he says sinks in. And then, perkier. "Present?"

"For unfairly - as she puts it - punishing Al'zay for his part in Rielth's flight and ignoring I'neph. Which I haven't done, but..." he shrugs, offering a slight smile for her question. Which he doesn't answer. "Should I count our agreement over, Breide? My monogamy for your discretion, and you haven't exactly been. /Better/, yes."

"Present?" Breide repeats, as if a repetition might change what Sh'van says into something far more flattering for her position. But the light dies from her eyes, her shoulders wilting. "Zaly was flight addled, I *did* try to make him go to Zaorine, but he caught my wrist," said wrist is lifted, still slightly red for the tight grip around it just moments before, "And I couldn't shake him free and... it's been so long, Sh'van," the last said on the breath of a pathetic little exhalation. "I have been trying though. Truly." Repentant eyes look up through equally admonished lashes.

Sh'van may not be flight-addled, but neither is he granite. He softens under that look and beckons her closer. "I'm sure you have been. -Do- you want to break our agreement? I'm sure it's been very hard for you. I think your discretion will be better for Benden - and you and I both know Benden needs all the help we can get - but if you want to stop..." Alas, no mention of presents.

There's still hope yet for the presents, though, especially when Sh'van softens up and sensing that in a way only a woman like Breide might be able to instinctively _know_, the blonde sidles closer, lashes still dropped for his disappointment and she curls into the Weyrleader's side, though doesn't rest her head against his chest. "Do they talk about me?" Then clarifies quickly, with: "Your holders, I mean."

Sh'van says, "Everyone talks about you, Breide." His arm curls about her shoulders. "Which is just the way you like it, I'm sure. But you still haven't answered my question.""

She has no response for that, no denial. "No." Because breaking the agreement means the Weyrleader goes back to Zaorine: even Breide's pretty blonde head can do that much calculation. Abruptly, without even a bat of her lashes towards the archway Al'zay just walked out of, she asks, "Would you like to weyrmate with me?"

Sh'van lips pause on the top of her head. After a few seconds he withdraws, leaning forward so he can study dark brown eyes. "I don't think that would work, Breide," he finally says, touching her chin with his free hand. "I'd require monogamy of my weyrmate."

"Is that all?" Seemingly disappointed in that answer, Breide takes a sidle out of the crook of Sh'van's body she's curled in towards, thus making it easier for her chin to be touched. "I always thought weyrmating required actually liking the other person. Do you like me?" She forges on, frank in her concession as her blonde hair tips to one side with a head tilt, "Cause I can't do discretion."

Sh'van smiles one of his rare, full-mouth smiles. "And I'd have to like her, too. I'd thought that was a given." His fingers curl along the soft skin under her chin, then his hand drops into his lap. "I do like you, Breide. I'm never sure which Breide I'll get, and sometimes you're so... so /you/ that you tire me out, but I enjoy talking to you. You make me smile."

"I can't do discretion," Breide repeats again, emphasizing the flaws she knows all too well. "But if there's no one to be discreet with. If...," she flashes one of her trademark smiles, a dimpling of her cheeks reaching to light her eyes brightly with his kind of compliments. "Y'know. We could try that instead, and maybe the Holds might respect us more. I could try that better, I think. And I could make you smile all the time!"

"You'd have to listen to me complain," he points out, still with that smile. "I'll make you a different deal, Breide. We'll both be monogamous until the hatching. If you can do that, we can discuss weyrmating then, all right? I don't want you to jump into something you might not want. I'm not half as pretty as that bronzerider, or even Al'zay."

"Ben is pretty," Breide agrees with only a touch of a dreamy smile remembering B'net's prettiness. She returns to the crook of Sh'van's side, and slips an easy arm about the scarred man's waist. "Zaly is... trouble." Firmly spoken, it's followed by a shake of her head. "It's not the first time he's had Yhanth chase a gold. I... told him not to last time and I don't know what got into him this time. He said," she slips Sh'van a quizzical look, though her arm only tightens as she swings herself forward to face the Weyrleader, "He did it for you."

Sh'van doesn't answer while he gets her settled more firmly on his lap, his arms around her waist lest she go sliding away. "I don't care why he did it," he answers. "He did it, and that's problem enough. Yhanth may be large, but he's not bronze. --When Jasmyth rises," he adds more firmly, "I want Rielth to keep Yhanth grounded. Or I -will- have to punish him, and we can't spare him away from the wings."

"No, he's not bronze." Breide's reflection carries a note of regret for Yhanth's state of color and lack of shinyness. She shifts, getting herself a little more comfortable and curls herself forward to sink her blonde head against the bronzerider's shoulder. "It's been a tiring, trial-filled month, 'Van."

[DTU] To Lanmith, Rielth voices what her rider refuses to. <> Swathes of red and black set in a patchwork quilt background lift in ill-humor. << And she will not want to see Zaorine twisting with Al'zay so will remember for me. >>

[DTU] To Rielth, Lanmith automatically soothes his queen in a rush of sundrenched warmth. << Good. Yhanth should not chase. >> Unspoken but easily read is the bronze's easy arrogance - Benden's queens are -his- queens, and if some other bronze thinks he can outfly him, they're welcome to try.

Sh'van pets her head, smoothing what Al'zay's fingers so lately tangled. "It has, hasn't it? I wanted to talk to you about your father's proposal, but I don't know if now is a good time. I'm hesitant to use... well, traders, as our eyes and ears."

Breide is all supple curves in Sh'van's arms and is quite open to be coddled as such with his hand to her hair. Her, "Why?" is much clearer than the succession of words that mumble into his shoulder as she turns to rest her forehead tiredly into the man's shoulder. "You don't trust him? Them?"

He says, "I don't know," again. "It has nothing to do with him being your father, Breide - though that adds another wrinkle. I'd like you to think about him - them - not as family and friends, but as strangers." A beat. "As Zaorine's family, perhaps. Is it still a good idea?"

That certainly stirs a reaction, the blonde head lifting to spare Sh'van one, very flat eyeball look. "That's hardly fair." Breide turns to shake the blonde hair out of the line of sight of her other eye and fixes both onto the Weyrleader.

Sh'van pulls his hand back lest it get bitten. "Who, then? Geneve's family? At least I know if you think of Layten's caravan as Zaorine's father and still say it's a good idea, I know you're approving of the concept and not the man."

Breide squirms, physically unwilling to accept what Sh'van says, though the reluctant touch imbued in her expression says it all. "I don't trust her," she finally says, not bothering with niceties, lip coming out to wet her lips. "She ignored Benden for months and the first thing she does after coming back to life is give her ruby to E'drai to sell. I wouldn't trust her father, I don't think."

Sh'van's eyebrows lift, but he ignores Zaorine and her ruby to focus on the main point. "Geneve's family, then. Or... or Adria's."

The reluctance pulls at Breide's cheeks, drawing that bright smile upside down. Her sigh-laden, "I understand," is followed quickly by a cajoling look and a caress of the back of her hand against Sh'van's cheeks, "But I... he's /my/ daddy. Don't you trust me to know?"

Sh'van, his old smile flashing in return, mirrors her movement, his hand against her cheek. "I trust you to be able to help me decide if this is best for Benden, and not merely something good for Benden and fabulous for your daddy. His normal route's over at Fort, Breide. What brought him all the way over here? -And- with such a fantastic price on just what we needed? I spent far too much time watching Fort's weyrleaders to assume it's all wild coincidence. Everyone always gets something, and I'm trying to figure out what Layten got." His hand lifts, a single finger tapping the end of her nose. "Besides the joy of seeing his daughter as Benden's Weyrwoman, of course."

"Making me happy." Duh. Breide rolls her eyes at Sh'van's suspicions but doesn't quiet down the caress of her hand, one last pat to the cheek then dropping her hand to splay fingers across the man's chest. "He'd have given furniture too if I asked, but food is more pressing and I'd hate to cheat him out of too much profits. Though," the blonde spares a glance for the empty cavern with most of its furniture in disrepair, "I should've asked him for some help with this room and... the gallery. I was noting yesterday everything looks so shabby. Rielth," she notes dryly, "Isn't pleased."

"No one will be looking at our shabby galleries when they'll have Rielth and her unborn daughter to look at," he promises with another nose tap. Then he leaves off, hand settling around her waist again. "Which reminds me. I want to Search well outside the lower caverns. Invite the family of those brought in to the hatching, too. It'll be a strain on our stores - though hopefully not as much once the rest of the Weyrs provide - but we need to get the Holders involved in the Weyr. They're more likely to support us if their families are here."

"/Raine/ will be looking at our shabby galleries." This is a distinction that matters to Breide, expressive eyes sulky at the thought of the Fortian Weyrwoman's mental critique of Benden's state under Breide's care. "She-." A confused pause leads to her fingers playing idle swirls about Sh'van's chest, then: "Is that wise? Will they even want their children Searched for a dragon at a Weyr where they know they probably won't get fed as heartily as at home?"

Sh'van, mildly, "Would you have listened if your daddy had said no?" More briskly he adds, "I expect some resistance, yes. But the honor lies ultimately in those Searched. We might as well ask for older boys, too - fifteen, sixteen. The younger ones may adapt better to Weyr life, but they won't be old enough when Thread returns."

"My daddy wanted me to Stand." So his arguments don't work here. Breide fidgets again and draws back just enough to get a better, more open look at Sh'van. A small smile forms, pleased with whatever she finds as a hand lifts to curve gently about the scars on Sh'van's right cheek. "Does it ever hurt you still?" She doesn't disagree with what he says, her lack of negation enough, or so she thinks.

"These?" He reaches up to gently trap her fingers beneath his. "Rarely. I hardly notice them. It's the others that bother me, and much as I hate to ask it, I need you to stand up." He even lets her go so she can. "You ought to talk to Weaver Blue about getting the galleries spruced up. I'm sure she could make some cushions or something for the lower seats at a minimum."

"I will." Breide nods her agreement with his suggestion, unable to stop the spread of her bright, charming smile as her fingers are trapped beneath his. "If you feel it best to Search outside of the Weyr... Geneve and I will figure out how to make it work. The girls," for the gold of course, "Will come from the lower caverns only though, yes?" Eyes widen for emphasis for the answer she -expects- out of Sh'van.

Sh'van tips his head, considering. "Hmn. Why? Is there someone you have in mind? Otherwise, I'd like to keep an eye out for likely girls. As much as your average holder would like to see his son on bronze, he'd like to see his daughter on gold more. Only," he holds up a hand to forestall protests, "The best, though. I don't want any accidents happening. Four or five girls will be plenty of choice."

"Geneve," Breide is prompt in her approval of the brash Headwoman. "But I'd rather she not be 'Searched' until the eggs are ready to hatch. I couldn't lose a Headwoman to a gold and she seems satisfied with where she is now. I concur on the numbers, but holdbred girls?" Eyebrows lift, dubious clear without words. "I'd rather avoid more... girls in Adria's wing." Curt that, it also concludes Breide's desire to dally further in the council chambers as she shifts herself about so instead of straddling Sh'van, she's seated with her legs dangling off one side. "We haven't talked about... *them* either. You should make B'net a wingleader again, unless you did sneakily without me knowing." Only scratching the surface on the Connellites.

Sh'van shifts underneath her, a more subtle request for her to move. "B'net -is- a wingleader," he says patiently, his voice only skimming the edge of 'I can't believe you didn't notice'. More urgently, "--You'll need to stand, Breide, not just shift your weight." Another shift: now, please. No, /now/.

Breide blinks stupidly and then eyes her seat before getting up quickly. "Is it your leg? Did I hurt it?" Then, a beat later, more suspiciously: "Do you need to -go-?"

Instead of leaping to his feet and dashing for the necessary, Sh'van leans over his scarred leg while wearing a pained half-smile. "I don't have to -- yes. I mean, no. You were just sitting wrong. Give it a few minutes and it'll be all right." He twists the smile up at her. "I don't think I'm up to anything else tonight, though."

"I can walk with you home." Breide seems relieved she wasn't sitting on a timebomb ready to go off and is kinder in offering an arm than when she jumped off his lap. "I could use a pretty ornament to escort me home, Weyrleader."

"I'll call for B'net." Sh'van's not above poking fun at himself, even if his delivery is dry as dust. "Why don't you show me those letters first, and then I'll walk you there?"

Scene closed out with them looking of the letters and Sh'van -not- limping home with Breide on his arm.

Could've

Tue, 06 Mar 2007 22:24:41 GMT

Location: Benden Weyr - Gallery
Time: day 23, month 7, turn 448
Players: E'drai and Breide
Scene: E'drai happens on Breide for the first time since rifling through her things. They talk, rather than flirt. Subjects that come up include Adria, Zaorine, Quinley and how people Impress.

Gallery Summer. Windy. 76F / 24C.

One of the most elaborate caverns at Benden Weyr, the Hatching grounds are huge overall. The sands themselves are almost an eight of a mile long with a slightly raised dais in the back, all of it visible from the galleries. Handsomely carved tiers of seating retain some of their ancient beauty despite the hundred turns of disuse. Places where cushions for visitors once rested are bare, most of the benches covered in dust and the walls in need of a scrubbing. The room has an abandoned feeling - a once beautiful scene left in disrepair with ornate pillars faded by dust and handsome carvings hidden by spinnerwebs and shadows.

OOC: Use "+look sands" to see the hatching sands.
OOC: Use "+look sands/" to see something on the sands.

-- Players --
Breide.........Energetic, confident, curvy. Pretty in a very obvious/common way with silken hair bound in a loose bun.
-- Exits --
Anteroom.................[O]

With the influx of food into the Weyr, Breide's taking advantage of what she can by a late night snack of sliced apple pieces with mashed peanut butter while lazing about in the galleries. Rielth is notably absent from tending to the sands as she's still skulking about the bowl, her poor memory only reinforced by the lingering distaste of her rider's thoughts in regards to Iopeian and Elayne.

Someplace quiet, unreasonably warm, usually abandoned: So seeks E'drai. He carries with him a bundle of hides tucked under his arm, with a flask (notably the one given by Breide's daddy) in the opposite hand. Scaling the steps, tipping a drink, he's unaware of the snaking Breide till he's already at the upper landing of the galleries - and there's no way to politely withdraw at that point. So. "Who you hidin' from, blondie?"

"You." Breide doesn't even have to look up from her silent contemplation of the sands and the galleries at large to know who it is that's speaking. Crunch goes an apple smothered in peanut butter. "Well," the blonde tips her head to one side and spares E'drai a sunny smile, a flickering glance for the hides tucked under his arm, "More like work in general, but looks like you're bringin' work in here so I guess you still holds true."

"Ain't your work, so don't you worry your pretty li'l head over it." It's hard to say whether E'drai puts the stress on 'pretty' or on 'little' in that statement. Either way, it's a dismissive thing to say to a /Weyrwoman/. Still, striding up the rows of seats to where Breide is, looking over her snack passively, he offers a tilt of the flask toward the goldrider in a mute mockery of an olive branch. "Never reckoned you for a daydreamer."

"There's a lot y'don't know about me, E'drai," Breide drawls, clearing her mouth behind a scrunched face. "I like peanuts, but it stays so sticky in th'mouth, y'know?" The little plate before her is considered, then held out to the approaching brownrider while she waves off the flask. Bygones being apparently bygones, and dismissals or not, it seems to all flow down Breide's back like a duckie. "Can't drink much tonight. What are you up to?" A chin jerk indicates those hides. "Never thought you much the type for work."

E'drai answers back, predictably, "There's a lot you dunno about me." Same gist, different accent. Straddling the bench down a ways from Breide, screwing the cap back on his flask, he answers more directly, "Maps. Always maps." After pocketing the flask, the brownrider gives Breide a more sober look (for someone who's been into the whisky). "You /can't/ do something? Howcome?" With appropriate incredulity.

"Can't drink right now 'least. My letters get skewed if I drink before writin'." Clearly an excuse, but one Breide has the decency to punctuate with a charming smile at least, toothy and near flashing her dark eyes. "Have to write out th'last letter for one of the time travelling crafters, confirming they were, y'know, from the past." When her offering isn't taken up on, the blonde returns the plate of apples to her lap. "Whatcha lookin' at maps for? Daddy's thinking of planting a family along the east coast more'n more lately."

E'drai says blatantly, "Lies." But who's he to give someone grief about lies? "'Cause I like knowing where stuff is." He shrugs, rolling open one of the maps and weighting one end with his finger. The other end, the end nearest Breide, he elects to weight with the flask - retrieving it from his pocket. "Gotta question for you," he begins, making himself sound like he might be distracted by contemplating his map. Which is, incidentally, of the Benden region.

"Never been a good liar," Breide returns as easily as he accuses her, a shrug punctuating her statement. "Go ahead. Can't say I might answer it well. Sh'van," brown eyes flick over the map, "Might know better." Another apple slice gets tossed back and chewed.

"You pissed at me 'cause I called you a whore?" E'drai looks up at Breide for the question, trying to catch any giveaway in her expression for truth-or-false on his guesses. "Or 'cause we ain't still fooling around? Or just 'cause there's another girl?" He smiles whimsically at the end of the question, quirking a dimple in his left cheek alone, the map forgotten completely. "'Cause this one's been bothering me."

"Ain't pissed 'bout nothing," Breide returns the reply and his accent back at him. "Just banterin', enjoyin' your company for as long as you'll spend it with me." Somehow, she manages to say it without sounding like a plaintive little girl. "Wait, that's your question? Not about the maps? Want an apple?" Again, she presses her wares.

Distractedly, "D'you know how many damn apples I ate in the past six months?" That'd be a no. E'drai's eyebrow knit at the lack of decent answer from the goldrider, or maybe the answer he's reading between the lines. "Well, don't say I didn't ask. Sorry about the diamond thing. Got my heart set on that one, and it was a big let-down." With tragic eyes cast down toward the map.

"Why'd you want th'diamond anyway? And don't-," Breide holds up an apple holding hand waving the peanut butter coated fruit about idly. "Say it's for Benden's good." The goldrider's lashes flicker high inquisitively.

E'drai says, "Ten percent." Lies all around! "Or maybe I just wanted to rifle through your delicates. Damned if I can remember now." Shaking his head at his memory lapse, such bad timing for it, he eyes the waving apple just 'cause it's there, tracking the movement. "Don't matter. You don't got it, so there's the end of that. Nice panties, though." Wink.

Noting the glance to the apple, Breide takes the opportunity for one last wave and brings it to rest idly on her lips. "Mmmmhmmm," she sounds, dismissive of his claims though a pleased smile lifts above the apple curve. "Thanks, I try hard to cultivate my panties to your enjoyment. Catch a look at the nighties too?" After winking slyly, she pops the slice into her mouth and sets the empty plate to the side. "Guess I deserve the whore comment though, doesn't bother me much really. I am, what I am and I like what I like."

E'drai has the tact not to stare at Breide's mouth and the lucky apple thereat. Instead, he chuckles appreciatively at the turn of conversation, remarking, "Just a glance. Couldn't get myself all hot'n bothered lookin' at your nighties while I had /business/ to look after." He does reach across after that, though, his fingers toward her chin, his thumb poised to wipe stray peanut butter (real or imaginary) off the corner of her lips. "If it helps any, I didn't mean it like it was an insult. 'Side from being diamond-free, I wouldn't change a thing about you." Pause. "Well, maybe covering for I'neph so much it's apt to get me killed come 'fall, but that ain't /really/ your fault."

Breide's smile curves a touch smug for the finger that wipes away and for her next words: "Nef has his uses." And with the blonde, clearly it's only one thing, especially coupled with a girlish little head tilt back and a delighted shrug. "And he might surprise you." But even the Weyrwoman can't help the note of dubiousness in that. "Still, I wouldn't change a thing about me either, doll. People need a distraction sometimes from what goldrider's *should* be. Like Zaorine. Like Raine. Like," she purses her lips, "Adria. Y'know they wanted her on gold back at Fort. Over Zaorine. Poor Zao."

"Maybe he's got his uses, but workin' hard ain't one of 'em. We - whole damn Wing - gotta take a step back. After harvest, me'n I'neph decided we're done." E'drai nods to the map, which notably has the names of all the little farmholds scattered around Benden Weyr all marked on it. Getting his hand safely clear of Breide's lips, none the worse for the wear, he walks his fingers along the map's coastline, chuckling at Breide's assertion. "Knowin' both of them, they'd've been better off with Adria. But that's just my opinion. Rumor has it as you shoved some girl to get at Rielth?"

"Maybe," singsongs the blonde, another cute headtilt afforded E'drai. Still feeling stickyness on her lips, a tongue pokes out to sweep over her mouth, then Breide rubs her lips together, smacking them a bit and wrinkles her nose before continuing. "Rielth would've Impressed me anyway. Dragons pick th'best on the sands for them, and obviously, Quinley wasn't it. Adria might've been better'n Zaorine, true," the concession of the greenrider's capabilities is frankly spoken, "But I can assure, sugar, I've left that healer girl in the dust."

E'drai, emphatically, leaning his head in his hands for a second, reports, "You're killin' me, blondie." That for the lip-smacking. Obviously. He can't even address the matter of Breide > Quinley, let alone Adria > Zaorine.

That's her plan. Smug, Breide again smacks her lips, except in more of a puckery shape this time.

E'drai busily rolls up his map, doing a damn good job of it, too. "Cutitout." For a guy who doesn't even care about hides, the map is sure looking very straight-and-narrow as he furls it up properly. "Havin' a nice conversation and there you go." He manages to scowl at Breide, albeit sidelong.

Smug again, Breide tosses her loose hair about and brings up her feet to the bench she sits on. Idly rocking back and forth, she notes: "It's too bad Adria didn't Impress that gold." A sidelong glance takes in the brownrider a long moment, dark eyes devoid of any flicker of flirtation, replaced instead by rare solemnity. "Might've gotten along better with her than Zaorine. It's a pity she rides green. She could've been Weyrwoman now I bet."

"Yeah, but Adria without Chiyath? That'd be like saying you'd've been better off on green. Don't work like that." E'drai shrugs helplessly, unable to really defuse her point. With the hide all situated, held in both hands and both those hands hanging loosely off the end of his knees. "'Sides, goldriders don't make things 'work' with brownriders, so I'd be up a damn creek."

Breide's nose wrinkles. "Chiyath might've been Jasmyth." The logic behind what dragons would be if they paired to different people apparently hurts her head for her chin drops to rest on the tops of her knees as she rocks. Then tilts. Then the area between her eyes knit together perplexed until finally the thought is shaken away: whatever. That is, until more bewilderment touches her pretty face. "What d'ya mean by that? Goldriders don't make what work with brownriders?" Cause clearly, she must be doing something wrong then.

E'drai smiles tellingly, the quirk to his lips lacking the customary layer of charm, bent more on whimsy for the moment. "Nothin'." Back to lying. Seems to work for them. "Chiyath wouldn't've been Jasmyth any more'n Rielth would've been Chiyath. Which would've been weird, but I could fancy you as a greenrider. In fact, that's the thought I'm takin' to bed with me tonight," he promises.

"Good," Breide returns, still confused for his earlier statement, piecing together what he says in her own, poor, fashion. "Cause it's a sight better'n thinking of Zaorine and her new Weyrsecond twistin' about in their sheets. Me, that is. Ridin' green. And," she winks as she gets to her feet, "You? Have a good night, 'drai. Sweet dreams'n all."

E'drai grinds his teeth together, saying venomously, "Why'd you go'n put that idea in mind, sugar? Not a nice thing to do." On his way past, he grazes the backs of his fingers across the apple of Breide's cheek. "Back atcha." He and his utterly ignored hides stroll down the steps, still friendly and dressed. Congratulations are in order.

Breide turns towards the finger that trails down her cheek, her smile growing bigger for the touch and then watches E'drai's butt as he walks away.

E'drai's groove thang fails to shake, bummer.

Sneaky Bronzeriders

Mon, 05 Mar 2007 08:25:36 GMT

Location: Road Outside Benden Weyr
Time: day 13, month 7, turn 448
Players: Layten and B'net
Scene: B'net seeks out the traders to do some sneaky trading of his own. Backdated before the traders left and after Ben got his bed.

Mid-day brings clouds but no rain to the Benden area, and the traders just outside the Weyr are busy preparing for a darker storm that seems to be looming on the horizon by unrolling the canvas tops to their wagons and stowing away the more expensive fabric strewn about. The person in charge, a tall, broad-shouldered man directs traffic flow while keeping an eye out for any potential customers that might find their way out of the Weyr.

B'net heads across the bowl, no dragon or knot to give away his identity as he heads towards the traders. An eye up on the sky, then he lifts a hand in greeting to the man who seems to be in charge. "Oi, friend," he calls as he approaches, "Got time for a bit of business, before the rain comes?" He smiles, "You all do any buying, along with your selling?"

The man pivots about, a hand completing his initially verbal order for a girl to head that way, towards the far end of the caravans. A slim hand comes up to shade pale eyes, a head tilt bringing the distant thunderous clouds into his line of sight and then swings back to B'net. "Aye, that we do, for the adventuresome who brave some pifly lil' clouds. Layten, head of this fair family," his introduction made, a suave arm extends punctuated by a charming flash of teeth. "And what can we do for you today?"

B'net swings another glance to the clouds at the almost-audible thunder, then turns his attention back to Layten with a grin. "Well met," he replies, giving the hand a firm shake. "Ben," he introduces. "I was wondering if I could take a look at your stock of jewelry," he begins, "Rings in particular, if you have any."

Layten appraises B'net in one quick drop and uplift of his lashes, the smile firmly entrenched on his face regardless of what conclusion he comes to. "Ben," his own shake is firm, "Thought you were gonna pitch the buyin' to me." Not that it matters to him as he begins to stride leisurely towards a locked wagon, preceding his movements with a little gesture for the other man's benefit. "For men? For women? A special girl you fancy?" He teases as easily as he smiles.

B'net could not possibly have missed that appraising look, but he smiles through it as if completely unaffacted. He similarly fails to react to the mention of the buying he said something about earlier, just following the trader towards the wagon and nodding at the questions. "Woman," he replies, then grins at the last, "Exactly. Gold, with a stone. A small one, but good quality."

"Gold, eh?" As fleeting as his appraisal was of B'net, the same sort of expression claims Layten's eyes as they seem to ruminate over a mental list. From a loop on his belt, a ring of keys is jostled forward as they approach that wagon, and with a careless, devil-may-care wink for the two guards on duty, the trader head unlocks and opens the door with a tiny flourish. "After you, sir." The insides are well-lit, rings of glows positioned all along the inner perimeter of the wagon and several glass-covered shelves slanted to point downwards starting at about waist high to chest line the two longer walls. "We've trinkets with danglin' charms if you'd prefer in another wagon."

B'net is patient, giving a nod to the rhetorical question and waiting in silence as Layten unlocks the wagon. He heads inside in front of the trader and moves immediately to the cases lining the walls, perusing more quickly than your average buyer. He's looking for something in particular, that seems clear. "Maybe later," he replies about the dangling charm trinkets, running a finger just above the glass until he stops, and leans closer. A moment, and then he nods, pointing again, at a gold ring with a pretty but very small diamond set in it. "Can I see that one?"

Silent when he needs to be, the trader simply watches B'net as he looks midst their rather abundant wares. "Y'know your girl's ring size?" Layten asks the obvious, his fingers rubbing idle along his jaw. "The funny thing about girls. They like it when their man knows their sizes." From his chest, a smaller key ring is produced with tinier keys that he fits into the side of the glass encasing, lifting it slightly and then reaching in to quickly withdraw the thin gold band with its small diamond inset.

B'net rakes a hand through his hair, and shakes his head. "I can estimate?" he offers, turning away from the chest as Layten opens it. "What size would you say my little finger is? She's probably a half size smaller than that?" He watches as the ring in question is withdrawn. "How much would that one be?" he asks.

"Size four," Layten guesstimates after a multi-angled study of B'net's pinky. "We can get this resized for you if you're sure this is what you want. Maybe just a little bit larger for your sake." The sandy-haired man flashes another glimpse of those pearly whites. "Better slightly big than a smidge too small."

B'net nods along, not seeming particularly interested in the sizing question, though he does return Layten's smile almost reflexively. Another nod towards the ring, "Not counting a re-size, how much would that one be?"

"Small diamond, but flawless cut," Layten's teeth dwell over his lower lip in careful consideration. "The resize I'll throw in for th'sake of future business. Five marks half."

B'net nods thoughtfully as Layten names his price, and thinks about it in silence for a moment or two. Then he reaches into his pocket and produces a ring that is almost identical, except that the stone is perhaps a bit bigger, and not quite as flawlessly colored. "I'll give you this one for five marks, then," he offers with a hint of a potential grin.

It's rare to surprise a man such as Layten, but when it happens it's a sight to behold as the teeth that ruminate over his lower lip pause and the man's pale eyes are suddenly framed by the wide throw of sandy lashes. A moment later, when his thoughts are collected once more, a hearty laugh rises into the air, trapped from echoing by the wagon's size and contents. "Well played, man, well played. Let's have a look see of your trinket." A hand clasps against Ben's back and the other reaches forward to appraise the ring himself.

B'net was perhaps not entirely certain of the reaction his trick might provoke, so it's a tense moment until Layten laughs, and Ben allows his mouth to curve into a wide grin. He hands the ring over easily, scratching at his jaw as Layten appraises it. "I figure it's a touch larger than this one here," he says, gesturing at the ring he was pretending to buy, "But I don't think the quality of the stone is quite comparable, so I'll drop my price a bit below yours, even accounting for markup."

"Mark up?" Layten is all kinds of innocent as he tosses B'net another bemused glance. "Y've trader blood in you, lad?" It might be a rhetorical question, for all the man becomes involved studying the ring and the stone contained within immediately. But the blue eyes flick up again expectantly.

B'net just smiles at Layten, nodding, "Aye, the markup." It's a charming smile; he knows how things work, but he's not going to press Layten to drop the innocence just yet. He seems to take the question as rhetorical, glancing around at the cases again before catching the flicking gaze and turning back with a shrug and a shake of his head. "Not a bit," he replies. "Vintner," he adds, as if this clarifies, "Ran a bar for a while."

Layten's face only betrays what he wants it to and here the smile he affords Ben is still marked with innocence coupled with a: such is life glint in his eyes. "Nice. Could use a good waterin' hole in these parts. Know of any we might drop by on our way out of here?" The ring is hefted lightly. "Can't see why you'd want to part with this gem. Gift it to a girl maybe, lots of 'em seem to enjoy this kind of stuff here." As if Benden women held an exclusive market on pretty trinkets and clothing. "Four marks and three quarter. You're right, the diamond is flawed."

B'net shakes is head, "Nah, can't help you," he replies, apologetically, "I'm not from around here, myself. Just arrived a couple days ago, haven't had a chance to get out and find a good spot. Certainly like to know one," he replies with a grin. He watches as Layten finishes his appraisal, and shrugs at the question. "Sure they do," he replies, "But unless they're going to offer me better than 5 marks for it, I'll give it to you, instead." He grins a bit, takes in this new price, and nods. "Throw in a pillow and a set of sheets, and it's a deal."

"Oh really?" Taking interest in B'net another moment for another of those quickie appraisals, Layten turns the ring over from one hand to the other. "Unusual request. I won't ask. If you just moved here, makes sense." The trader skips a beat and rakes his free hand through his hair. "Daughter's a rider at th'Weyr." Which is his way of saying, round about, that he understands Benden's predicaments. "Deal. Y'got a bed to match those sheets with?"

B'net grins a bit and nods as Layten chooses not to ask. "Short on just about everything around here, it turns out," he supplies before a daughter is mentioned and he raises a brow. "Is she?" he asks, "And who's that? I might know her. I've met a few." He smiles again, and then chuckles and nods. "Aye, I've got a bed. Just arrived. Lucky it's warm, I've been making do without, but eventually I've got to get some sheets and such."

"Y'might know her," Layten returns that toothy grin popping out oozing over with charm. "She's hard t'miss, my girl being Weyrwoman and all." Sure there's fatherly pride there, or something pride. "Blue do you good?" For the sheets presumably, as the trader pockets the ring and closes all the glass shelves and then turns to open the door.

B'net grins, and nods, "Aye, she is hard to miss," he agrees with a chuckle. "I've met her a time or two, your Breide. Seems a nice girl." He turns away from the cases towards the wagon door as Layten locks up, nodding. "Blue'll do me just fine, thanks."

"And the marks." The door swings open allowing the musty air of a potential storm to seep in - still better than the confines of a wagon. Layten inhales deeply, gesturing for Ben to take the lead. "Jallie," the clear tenor lifts out towards the wagon's entrance, barking the name to precede his order, "Set of sheets and a couple pillows."

"Blue," he adds belatedly, as he wriggles a pouch off his belt. Upended slightly, Layten counts out six mark pieces, branded to the Weavercraft, and holds them out solemnly to B'net.

"And the marks," B'net echoes with a faint smile. He follows out of the wagon, peering up at the sky again as he exits, then heading after Layten once the trader has exited as well. He glances towards this 'Jallie' as the order is barker, and grins as the color is called after. Marks are eyed as Layten counts them, then he reaches to take them with a nod, and tucks them into a pocket with a smile. "Well, it's been a pleasure doing business with you," he says, friendly as ever.

Jallie turns out to be an eight year old boy, a lanky kid with a goofy cowlick that upturns his sandy hair. "M'son," Layten spares, as if the Bendenite might care. "Good boy." The kid garners a scruff of his hair and pull back of his collar as the man inspects his neck for his troubles. "Tell your ma to get you cleaned up better 'fore dinner." The package he's brought, carefully folded sheets with a pillow are given a cursory inspection before being held out to the other man. "They'll last you a couple turns at the least. Not the softest out there, but we don't deal in household goods. Much."

B'net seems faintly surprised that Jallie is a little boy, and a brow rises as Layten claims him. He watches the interaction between the pair with a faint smile, then turns back to accept the goods. "They look like they'll suit me just fine," he agrees, giving them a cursory looking over." A nod, and another smile for the trader. "Well, thank you, Layten. And good luck finding a decent bar on your way back. I certainly hope there is one, somewhere!"

Jallie waits about a moment, makes a scrunched face up at the man who takes over the pillows and sheets and then scampers off before another hand can grab him by his collar. "Will do," Layten responds cheerfully, "And if we happen by Benden again, I'll drop you a line, tell you the haunts we've found. Could always use another buddy to drink under the table."

B'net chuckles a bit at the face Jallie pulls at him, tucking the package under one arm as he nods at Layten. "I'd appreciate that," he agrees with a smile that turns into a laughing grin, "That's a challenge I'll take, if you happen by again," he agrees. The package is patted, and he nods again, "Well, I'd best be getting back before this rain starts up. I hope we'll see your lot again around here, sometime. Well met, Layten."

"Never drank with a vintner," Layten muses. "Bet it'd be worth the trip out there somewhere," he waves idly to the great beyond, "Get a rider to take us, buy 'im drinks to keep him satisfied and then see who outlasts the other." But when Ben gives his departure greetings, the sandy-haired man shakes himself out of thoughts of drinking anybody under the table and lifts an arm. "Well met, Ben. Good doin' business with you and we'll find a right nice home for this ring of yours."

B'net laughs at Layten's plan, shaking his head. "You find a spot, we'll see about it," he agrees, nodding as the trader promises a good home for the ring. "Sure you will," he agrees, "Good doing business with you, too. I'll see your lot around." He smiles, lifts his hand once more, and heads off back across the bowl.

Jewels

Sun, 04 Mar 2007 22:34:29 GMT

Location: Queens' Weyr anteroom
Time: day 20, month 7, turn 448
Players: E'drai and Breide
Scene: E'drai rifles through Breide's things looking for the diamond Zaorine spoke of.
Notes: I have to laugh because of this scene E'drai's dubbed Breide a harpy. XD An evil one at that. XD

Breide's Weyr Summer. Light Rain. 80F / 27C.

Featuring high-sloped walls leading up towards rounded out ceilings, this mid-sized cavern is situated in the center of the row of personal weyrs - right in the thick of things. What the weyr lacks for in size, it makes up for in details, the little things that make it charming: from vertical protrusions at intervals, with delicate leaves carved up along each side with hooks made for glow lanterns and hollowed out blossoming flowers meant to hold candles, to the slim mantel constructed over the hearth.
A wallow near the opening, deep and smooth despite disuse and clear of rodents' nests, has been thrown over with sweetened fresh rushes for Rielth and close by this draconic bed sits a bare desk and simple chair. Situated between two of the vertical wall ornaments, far in the corner of the weyr, lies a rotund bed, thrown over in sheets and furs of warm colors: autumn golds and sensuous reds. The sleeping area, with its antique wardrobe, are sectioned off by layers on layers of filmy fabric of semi-expense, trader goods from the looks of them. A large rug warms the center of the weyr near the hearth both with its vibrant colors and the way it helps heat up the cave.

-- Players --
Breide.........Energetic, confident, curvy. Pretty in a very obvious/common way with silken hair bound in a loose bun.
E'drai.........Roguish-looking, ne'er-do-well type with a muscular build.
-- Exits --
Out......................[O]

One might expect to find the Weyrwoman at home in the middle of the afternoon, so maybe that's what drove E'drai in here in the first place. Maybe he wanted a quickie and was disappointed. Maybe he staked the place out until he saw her leave, and darted in once she was gone. Whatever the case, he's now parked on the end of Breide's bed, leaning back on his hands, facing the way in expectantly. Around him are sure signs that he's been rifling through her belongings: A few clothes are strewn from the wardrobe, things are amiss on the desk, and the vanity? Jewelry jewelry jewelry, all of it cast carelessly wherever it landed, a few pieces even near to hitting the floor.

One might expect a lot of things when it comes to Benden's Weyrwoman, but fact of the matter is Breide is nowhere in sight, no where near to protest the manhandling of her things, or to watch in askance as her delicates are rifled through. Timing is everything, however, for shortly after E'drai's parked himself at the end of her bed, watchfully waiting, the blonde's arrival is announced by a jovial and rather bawdy song that echoes tunelessly in the antechamber without even before her head ducks beneath the curtain to her weyr.

E'drai calls, so as not to come across even freakier than it would be to walk in and find your weyr in some disarray and some misanthrope there waiting for you, "Don't quit your day-job, blondie." He doesn't get up, to meet her, doesn't do anything but plaster on his most winning grin and wait for the songbird (cough) to appear.

"Are ya done kickin' yourself then? Come so I can tend the bruises on your ass?" Recognition of that voice draws out eagerness in her call and quickly moving steps to bring herself on the right side of that curtain. Either Breide's overly fixated on an end goal than noting the disturbances in her weyr or messes are nothing truly unusual for her. A bright smile greets E'drai and his notable presence on her bed. "Don't you look a sight."

"Man's only got so much willpower, and I guess I done exhausted mine." E'drai's winningest grin stays right there in place, damn near inviting - considering it's her bed and all - as he watches the pretty goldrider with half-lashed eyes. "Truth be told, I want something." Deja vu, much?

Keeping E'drai within sight, Breide shoulders out of her riding jacket and unpins her bound hair so the blonde locks fall free. Gloves, jacket, and helmet are tossed carelessly onto her vanity, more than a few jewelry pieces completing their precarious drop to the floor with a clink, which in turn causes the goldrider to slant a quick glance to the noise. Briefly, with puzzlement knitting her brows together, Breide's mouth purses, but it's not enough to keep her from gaping the distance to hop her knees onto the bed by E'drai. "S'only reason y'ever come to visit these days." Sulk.

E'drai watches Breide from across the room, and it's obvious that he's not completely outside the realm of her charms; he is, after all, a man. He points out, "You're a busy girl, sweetheart." He probably means that in more way than one, but he's clever enough not to do more than level Breide with a look complete with amusedly dancing eyes. Cleverness and self-preservation often go hand-in-hand. "A little birdy told me you gotta big diamond in here somewhere. And I looked damn near everywhere, and it just doesn't seem to be turning up."

Charmingly spoken, there's even a little laugh imbued in her words, mocking as she completes what E'drai didn't say. "Y'mean to say a whore." From her knees, Breide drops to a sprawl where her weight's balanced heavily on one arm. "Nef told me. Nef tells me everything." An airy hand waves about, flippant dismissal of whatever anger or anything else that might've been, and then pauses mid-motion to drop flat to the covers of her bed. She's heard his words, the glimmer of fleeting keenness not trampled down on fast enough not to be noticed, but chooses a different road. "Flew Rielth about the Weyr today 'fore she gets too egg heavy even that becomes a chore for her."

E'drai offers her the chance: "You wanna beg to differ?" For what it's worth, he doesn't seem to be judging her on the matter, nor looking at her with any less - whatever it is that he looks at Breide with the rest of the time. Let's call it 'simmering lust' for now. "Good for you. Sure it does us all a world a good to see our queen. Now about that diamond..."

Clearly, she needs new lessons on changing the subject verbally and turns slightly, enough so that both arms have to carry her weight and she arches her back ever so fluidly. "Don't whores exchange something for their talents?" Sure, Breide's not denying it (her pose itself would negate any denial), but the way her lashes throw up and her gaze goes sidelong to E'drai, she's tossing out an idle challenge. "Don't recall the last time we got a fair exchange."

"I figured we did pretty good last time." E'drai sits up more appropriately himself, though he's not doing much for his posture with his own weight resting on his hands, his hands resting on his knees. Let it be noted that he's not actually looking anywhere but at Breide now, his forehead flickering with the hint of a browknit that he's quick to smooth aside. Smiling perfectly but damn if he's not obviously /taken/ with the pose, "Y'know, when you looked the other way, and I set your daddy up to make a fortune in a matter of weeks? S'a fair exchange, ain't it?"

"For daddy," Breide concedes, "But don't think I got anything out of it. Not even a kiss." She's good at pouting, especially at this angle and in this position. "And," she shifts her weight, finger lifting to waggle disapproval at the brownrider, "A kiss isn't a fair exchange for lookin' th'other way and not tellin' Sh'van at what you and your wing are doin'." Now about that diamond. "Who's your little birdie? Th'one you're doin' instead of me?"

E'drai drawls lengthily, "Noooo." He reaches with one finger to hook the waggling one, moving to pull it down from in between himself and the goldrider. "Zaorine told me. Right after she gave me a big damn ruby to sell. For the good of the Weyr." Which makes him smirk even broader than Breide striking a pose. "So what're /you/ doing for the good of the Weyr, sugar? Gettin' scarface to buy you pretty dresses?"

How easily one finger takes down another, her own hooking to keep their two fingers interlocked even as it drops to the covers. Just as easily as her finger goes down, Breide brings her torso forward, either to compensate or the subject of Zaorine drawing her spine straighter. "She gave you Corinne's ruby?" Out of everything he says, this is what she fixates on.

E'drai mmmhmmmms. That this actually catches Breide's attention amuses him, as much as the now looped fingers that he glances at for all of a second or two. "Think the idea was to get me to stare at her chest, but I seen better." At which point, he looks directly at Breide's, smiles winningly, and adds. "So. Diamond. Where?"

This is a no-brainer, no response needed, not even an obligatory chest thrust to emphasize who has the better body of the two weyrwoman. Still wrapped up in the idea of Zaorine giving up her ruby, it takes Breide a few moments to let that smile and question to sink in. When it does, she returns with a tart: "So. Diamond. Why?" Along with her finger twisting to get the vantage to pull his finger and presumably the rest of him forward onto her.

E'drai's pulled, yes, and he leans over her with his uncaught hand flat against the bed next to her shoulder, bracing most of his weight so the bedclothes sink there. Still, he presses a little against the goldrider beneath him, thigh and hip along hers."'Cause, if you sell it'n use the marks toward buying stuff we /need/ around here, you come out lookin' good. And I fleece ten percent," he answers, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. "Or you keep it, and Zaorine'll remind everyone that you're incompetent and selfish."

"Can't give y'the diamond, doll. Wish I could, but can't." As regretful as she sounds, Breide certainly doesn't look it, what with the smile that's quick to her lips for their newly attained position. "Can't say I don't like this much either. Should do it more often. Y'comin' around lookin' for a diamond, 'n me beneath you." Still, there's business at hand, and after she steals a pecked kiss off the tip of his nose, she notes, "Zaorine can tell everyone what she likes. Fact of the matter is, she didn't care much about Benden b'fore, never left her weyr for over a month after Rielth flew and my gold isn't a dud like hers."

E'drai tries one more time, not so willing to surrender without a little bit of a fight. He looses his hand from Breide's, the finger that she had a minute ago brought up to trail along her lower lip lightly. "Why can't you?" he asks pleadingly, lowering his lashes at the kiss to the end of his nose, shifting his hips to fit snugly against the goldrider's for the moment. "Let's not talk about Zaorine. She ain't here."

More than happy to oblige, the final comment on Zaorine elicits a wrinkle of her nose and an agreeable nod. "Can't, doll," a teasing nip tries to capture his finger, though she doesn't try too hard. "Cause I'd have to have a diamond t'be able to give it. Y'ever see me flashin' a diamond around?" The released hand comes to rest in the middle of her chest, a finger delineating the line clearly should he glance down again. "Would've looked stunning right. Here."

E'drai does indeed look down, though it might have to do with the fact that he's actually hanging his head for a moment. He presses his whole weight against Breide for that same moment, as heavy as he looks, before he slides off the goldrider and lands on his feet at the end of the bed. "Whyn't you say that a half hour ago?" he asks irritably, the smoldering look replaced with something like a scowl.

"'N miss a chance to be a whore?" If she's surprised at his departure from the coziness of bed and position, it's not as apparent as the petulance that darkens her klah eyes. At odds with those shadows, Breide smiles brightly and hops herself on her bottom to the edge of the bed. "Sorry can't oblige you like Zaorine can, but I'll be on the look out for a diamond. Maybe we can make a fair trade then."

E'drai, with nostrils flared, "Zaorine said that Raine gave her a ruby'n you a diamond. She never gave you the diamond, or you got rid of it already?" Not that it's any of his business, but he's irritated as hell after all that effort. "And quit being pissed about the whore-thing. It ain't like it's a big damn secret."

"Raine never did tell Zaorine much of anything." Breide sniffs disparagingly. "She might've given the diamond to Adria for all I know. Once," the blonde shakes her hair loose and gets to her feet leaving E'drai on the bed and drifts idly to her mussed vanity. "Adria was her favorite. Y'gonna stay all hot'n bothered or are ya plannin' to clean up after yourself in here?"

E'drai answers, "Adria don't got a damn diamond." Straightening his attire, his eyes trailing after Breide even if the rest of him doesn't. "Whyn't you just say that when I asked? Seriously. You could've saved us both a lotta hassle." He swipes his hand across the bed where there's a wrinkle in the blankets from the two of them, then hitches his thumbs in his back pockets and heads for the exit, looking distinctly put out.

Breide's laughter follows E'drai out, bemusement for his agitation mocking in the light, airy tones. While giving him enough time to leave, she begins to replace her trinket jewelry into the right boxes, tossing jacket, gloves, and hat onto the floor as she does so and even going as far as to pick up the jewelry that's dropped to the ground. It's not until E'drai is out of immediate earshot that she gives way to her own irritation, mumbling to herself as she slams her drawer shut. "Course she doesn't, that cow." Not that she's going to do something stupid like bring the diamond forth now from whatever little hidey hole she's secreted that and other more valuable pieces in.

And she got the last word. How lame was that?

Last words only count if someone can hear.

Hos don't care.

Fri, 02 Mar 2007 21:30:19 GMT

Location: Queens' Weyr anteroom
Time: day 14, month 7, turn 448
Players: Al'zay and Breide
Scene: It's inevitable that Breide and Al'zay would happen across each other, especially what with him shacking up with Zaorine and they share a very awkward sort of interlude.

Queens' Weyrs Summer. Light Rain. 80F / 27C.

A large but often ignored anteroom, this chamber leads into the weyrs set aside for queens. There are several cavernous openings here, but most of them have long since been covered by a tattered and ignored curtain so that their bare interiors are hidden. There's a long hearth along the interior wall, but it looks as though it hasn't seen use in generations: There is no tinder nearby, not even a poker to stir the non-existent embers. What were once elaborate tapestries are now bare swathes of empty black wall.
Smaller tunnels, still large enough to easily admit a queen dragon, lead into the ten personal weyrs. The larger opening, high enough to allow a dragon to glide to an easy landing in the high-ceilinged chamber, heads to the anteroom of the hatching grounds.

-- Players --
Breide.........Energetic, confident, curvy. Pretty in a very obvious/common way with silken hair bound in a loose bun.
Al'zay.........Ice green eyes, auburn curls, average build.
-- Exits --
Weyrs....................[WE] Hatching Grounds.........[E]

Al'zay is just coming out of the empty weyr Zaorine's appropriated while hers is cleaned. His hair is wet and he holds the remains of a tray - one with more dishes than would be the norm for just one person's meal. He also has the casual air of abstract ownership - as though exiting one of the queen weyrs when he so recently moved out were an every day occurance.

Breide's arrival into the anteroom is on long, easy strides, a certain girlish flair to her walk as she forcibly causes the pretty blue of her dress to swirl; certainly this fascination distracts her enough from noticing Al'zay immediately. Once coming within ten paces of 'home,' she halts, vanity winning out as she begins to smooth out the skirts and test twirl them again with a light pivot. It's in the middle of that pivot that she comes to a stop, the brownrider noticed, and the weyr from which he steps out of studied. "Zaly," breathless for her exertion (pivoting takes a lot of work), and startled for his presence, when the goldrider's gaze returns to Al'zay, she's blatantly staring.

Al'zay is just as startled, though it's covered far better. "Weyrwoman," he drawls. "What a lovely dress. Been down to see your father?" He palms the tray, balancing it easily and freeing up a hand.

She doesn't ask the question that's most certainly on her lips, from the way she's staring at the brownrider, practically drinking him in. No, instead Breide's hands flutter about like a startled deer until they finally drop to entwine fingers in the folds of that lovely dress. "Sh'van did," is her half-second too late answer. "I like blue, you know. Do you like it?" Another reflexive twirl, then a pause where a smile hints in the bracketed impressions of her mouth.

Al'zay, in contrast, seems perfectly at ease, once the initial blink is past. "Of course I do, my pet - pardon. Weyrwoman." He inclines his head slightly. "It's lovely. And you certainly deserve it." His expression is one of polite deference, an unfamiliar, detatched mask dropped over his well-known features. "It's good you two are getting on so well. I hope he's managed to find some free time to rest with me taking up the bulk of his hidework?"

The smile is on the verge of blossoming, beckoned forth by the pet name, and then dies a bewildered death at the polite correction. She's silent for a moment, the only sounds rustling up from her fingers twining about her dress. "His leg bothers him more than-," Breide's mouth quirks to one side, a fleeting flicker of concern in her dark eyes. "I try to take care of it when he's too tired to protest. I'm sure he appreciates you helping him."

Al'zay shrugs. "He asked. What you two are getting now is the ebb flow." That's him, Zaly the Grand Coulee Dam. "A lot of the little things are being taken care of without you having to worry your head about them." A pause and he says neutrally, expression still distant, "It's good of you to be so concerned for him."

Breide's answer is simple, almost unthinking: "He's my Weyrleader." The brownrider's shrug is mirrored, and finally her hands release her dress, crumpled prints appearing in the fabric as she does so. "Are you-... is that...," another glance flicks to the other weyr, assumption dawning shadows in her dark eyes, "Did you have lunch with someone?"

Al'zay says, "Brunch?" A slight difference to lunch, but maybe it was just a hint of that Istan twang in his voice. "Yes, ma'am. Just returning the tray to the kitchens. I had dawn sweeps," - again - "And only jut had a chance to get cleaned up. Now after a bite, it's back to hidework and reports before an evening drill. Only for about four in the wing though. Extra practice session. Can't even catch firestone sacks properly." A pause and he asks, "Why?"

The shadows in Breide's eyes flare. "Sh'van?" The assumptions rise, though her gaze cuts across quickly to the weyr the Weyrleader's claimed, which is most certainly not the one Al'zay just exited and then to the weyr Al'zay once laid claim to. She could care less about his actual day, or the reasons, or what he plans to do. Gossip has clearly gone straight over her head.

Al'zay mms. "No, I think he's down with Lord Benden today. Lanmith mentioned to Yhanth they'd be out for lunch, and to work on the extra drills this afternoon."

Like the dress she just held, Breide's pretty face is on the verge of crumpling with every what if scenario running through her head, of which one is quite prominent. Gamely, however, a mask surges into place, a false projection of warmth retained in her tightly held features. "Oh. I...," lacking for another tangent to prolong this conversation, the goldrider glances towards her own weyr and then back. Never known for her tact, she stares at the weyr a long, long moment. "Are you living with her?"

Something flickers alertly in Zaly's eyes - a flare of eagerness, interest, watching her face and body language as she looks at the weyr, as though he were starving and could devour her with his eyes alone. His voice, however, is still that smooth, impersonal drawl, "Would that bother you? I thought you made it quite clear your... opinion of me." Should she change to look back at him, the expression is swiftly hidden behind that cool mask. Both emotions, or lack thereof, are so foreign to him that it might be difficult for her to catch, even she who knows him so well.

Stung by the impersonal inflection of his voice, especially as she's still watching the other weyr entrance rather than him, Breide tosses her pale hair about easily as she pivots back to find Al'zay as cool in look as he is in voice. "No. Why would it bother me? You know me?" A crooked smirk of self-aware deprecation rises. It's a self-mocking smirk. "I'm too much of a whore to care much, right? You enjoy your day, Weyrsecond. And your," she skips a beat to shoot an inscrutable look at that newly occupied weyr, "Zaorine."

Again, that faint movement of his eyes, tightening in the corners at the smirk and then narrowing slightly at the word 'whore'. He's silent a bare moment and then says easily, "You expressed no desire for my company, my pet. And as I can hardly barge into your weyr and your bed, I've found other diversions." Al'zay smiles then, a flash of that heart-stopping, devilish grin he does so well. "You're the one that changed the rules, pet. You can hardly blame me - there are other beds, my dear, and other entertainments."

"I've hardly ever begrudged you other beds." The structure of her words deliberate, and Breide's careless smirk drops. "I hope you're happy, I have... work to do." Unable to keep up her facade for much longer in light of the grin he flashes her, the goldrider turns after a polite little nod, to disappear into her weyr. There is, however, a betrayal in her turn, a certain lip wobble she normally does so well on purpose that manifests before shrouded by the loose locks of blonde that swing to frame her face.

Al'zay gives her a bow as she turns, a movement so smooth and graceful it's almost like a slap in the face. "And you as well, my dear... Weyrwoman." He makes no move towards the living cavern with that tray, however, instead waiting until she disappears.

This time, she manages to make it through the curtain without looking back, a swirl of blue skirts and shiny blonde hair.

Somethings never change

Fri, 02 Mar 2007 06:09:39 GMT

Location: I'neph's Weyr
Time: day 11, month 7, turn 448
Players: Breide and I'neph
Scene: Despite having realized the true meaning of the word discretion, Breide is emboldened by Sh'van not scolding her or anything about another sexcapade and decides it's as good a time as any to drop in on her favorite.
Note: I use this icon way too much and this icon is way too fitting too often. And log stolen shamelessly from the master ninja log cleaner brazenbronzer

I'neph's Weyr Summer. Cloudy. 75F / 24C.
The ledge to this weyr is unremarkable, as it is the general size and shape of the weyr inside. It's the decorating scheme that deserves all the attention. Whoever decorated I'neph's weyr apparently thought it needed to be some kind of den of iniquity, for that person has left touches here and there in reds and ambers and purples that really just scream Love Shack.
All of it is salvaged, but arranged artfully so that frayed corners and occasional stains aren't immediately visible: little kerchiefs of sheer cloth to drape over glowbaskets paint the whole room in a reddish haze; upholstered throw pillows here and there in patterns of red, gold, and deep purple; a hearthrug woven in geometric pattern of the same predominant colors.
A few other little touches here and there--sheer red curtains to drape the bed, a chipped glass candy bowl with colorful candy beans, a bottle of brandy and two glasses to go with it. Of course, the piece de resistance is that crushed velvet crimson coverlet she procured for the bed, exactly the kind of furnishing that any decent young woman would recognize as a 'bad sign.'

-- Players --
Breide.........Energetic, confident, curvy. Pretty in a very obvious/common way with silken hair bound in a loose bun.
I'neph.........6', athletic; olive skin, dark brown eyes & hair; mid/late 20s. Cute but worthless.

-- Dragons --
Dioscuth.......Bronze dragon.

-- Exits --
Sky......................[O]

Evening is getting on, and I'neph and Dioscuth are just coming home, the bronzerider stripping the dragon's straps off before he heads inside. They're thrown in a haphazard corner while he heads to his bed to flop down amidst the velvet coverlet, arms and legs sprawled out comfortably, with a sigh.

Perhaps Breide was hoping the weyr's owner would be too tired, too distracted to notice her presence by the hearth, seated, legs curled beneath her in a slinky little outfit. It helps, the being sneaky thing, when your dragon isn't present on the ledge outside. "You're late," she chirps, adding a moment later all helpfully, "I've been waiting for you for hours." Slender and quite remarkable legs drop off the chair, bare all the way up past her thighs.

I'neph doesn't even have to lift his head, though he misses seeing all those bare legs for that; he knows that voice well enough without the visual. "Sorry. Got hung up talking," he answers. "What're you doing here, anyway, Breide?"

"Waiting for you." Duh. Breide's unfazed by his lack of a glance her way, stunning red lingerie and all, and pushes herself up to begin her running leap up onto the bronzerider's bed, and presumably to straddle and drape herself all over his prone body. "Missed you. Wanted to see you. Y'know, talk, spend time together. Stuff."

I'neph oofs but doesn't protest upon finding Breide abruptly on top of him. His brows don't even arch in surprise; he just smirks slightly and looks up at her. "Nice of you," he remarks lazily, sliding one hand behind his head and the other to rest on Breide's thigh. "Talk about what? Me an' E'drai were talking about you, earlier, y'know."

Breide busies herself with the business of 'stuff' immediately, nipping lightly at I'neph's ear and finding other 'stuff' for her hands to be doing. The subject of E'drai puts a pause on the persistence of her lips if not her working hands. "Oh?" Head lifts, eyes fix, and a quizzical arc rises dominantly over one of her dark eyes.

"He asked me if you'd always been a whore," I'neph volunteers helpfully, with a smirk as Breide starts in on her usual business. For his part, he pretty much just lays there and lets her. "I told him pretty much."

Those working hands stop and abruptly Breide straightens so she's perched on I'neph's belly. "Sometimes, 'neph," a hand rakes back what of her blonde hair spills into her face, "You're a jackass."

"Now you sound like that stupid Al'zay," whines I'neph, eyeing Breide as she pulls away. "Sh'van made him come act like he was all sorry."

There's a lot to eye, though nothing I'neph hasn't seen before with a barely there piece of sisal, and in her pursed lip sulking, Breide hops a leg from around I'neph so she's seated by his legs instead out of arm's reach. Idle fingers plays itsy-bitsy spinner up the bronzerider's pants. "He's a jackass too," the goldrider is quick to point out. "Should've apologized. You shouldn't accept. Did you?" For now, she'll allow the subject of her whoredom to rest.

"Told him 'fuck no,'" I'neph paraphrases proudly. "He got all snitty but I'm above that."

Whatever mood brought Breide up here dressed like this has clearly dissipated, her idle fingers mere rote movements that remain steadfast below his knees. But despite her lack of 'mood', it doesn't stop her from sinking her weight back into one arm, sprawled with her legs stretching out until her feet find a nook beneath I'neph's arms. Lucky for him, they are clean, perfumed feet. "I didn't come to talk about Al'zay." Beat. "Or E'drai."

"What'd you come to do, then?" asks I'neph, propping himself up on one elbow to peer at Breide. "'Cause I'm pretty sure you ain't doing it." Pointed look.

"Oh," the blonde flounces, swinging her legs abruptly off the bed's edge and bouncing off. She bounces rather nicely. "Up until you called me a whore, y'know, I was all about makin' your world go round tonight, doll." On the chair she vacated rests neatly folded clothing, a loose blouse shook free and pulled over her head, though the matching pants are left untouched. "Didn't think *you'd* be mean like that to me ever."

"I meant it in a good way!" I'neph defends himself, sitting up more. "And we were just joking anyway. Why you gotta take everything so personal?"

"Why y'gotta ruin a girl's good mood?" Breide returns in a mocking mimic. Still, no pants are in sight of being pulled on. Shirt covering her naughtier outfit, the goldrider ambles back to the bed, perching herself at the far end. "Don't think it's anythin' to joke about. Haven't even come to see *you* in months now. And y'know, you're always m'favorite, Neffie."

"You say that and then you don't visit," says I'neph, sniffing. "Don't say favorite to /me/."

"I've," Breide's lashes shift, and she tenses a fraction as if it requires all the muscles in her body for her pretty little head to think, "I've been busy." It's a reasonable enough excuse. "Sh'v-," and though the name isn't said, there's not many people with that syllable initially in their name, but thinking better of completing that thought, the goldrider instead shrugs simply. "Haven't really been much in the mood, y'know. What with *them* here, and Rielth getting fussy about some older queens hanging about. It's been a long month, Nef."

"Sure," says I'neph, unsatisfied. "Well, guess I'll still be here, when you get around to it." He sounds bored and moves to turn over, away from the goldrider.

It's a good thing he's turned over, Breide's dark eyes rolling expressively to the ceiling and puffy cheeks exhaling a silent cloud of breath to the walls. Her entire face scrunches, pulling together as if coming to some disagreeable decision, before it smooths back into collected and all too pretty again. With a final back tip of her head, she turns about in her perch and crawls on her fours to wriggle herself up alongside I'neph's chest. "Doll, don't be like that. Y'know I wouldn't stay away so long if I could help it. Mmmm? Hmmm?!" A bit more insistent that last, pleading and earnest, she plays an idle, repentant finger down the lines of the bronzerider's chest. "Neffie... I just wanted to have fun, talk. Got no one to talk to about somethin' that's been botherin' me."

I'neph sighs exaggeratedly, but does obligingly turn back over. "What's that?" he asks in resignation, peering up at Breide again.

Breide lavishes a quick succession of kisses all over I'neph's face, playing fingers against his buttons again to try and undo them. So quick does her lusty fires ignite again. "Oh, lots of stuff." Pleased with his seeming capitulation, the goldrider nuzzles into his side, one arm draped loosely about his half-buttoned shirt. "Zaorine's been wallowing when Benden needed her the most, those new comers, the Weyr Council, they've shoved all the weird greens on us, and Adria-," the weyrwoman hesitates at the last, lips pursing foward petulantly. "She'll never be the wingleader you are."

"Well, really," says I'neph. "She's a woman. A greenriding woman. She tries admirably, and she's good, considering, but..." He's rather passive, really, in all this, letting Breide wallow on him and unbutton his shirt, with an easy smirk.

A half-unbuttoned shirt means Breide can muzzle her face and warm his chest with her breath all the more easily, which she, of course, promptly does. Then, after another lazy sweep of her arm about his belly, her fingers work again to undo the rest of I'neph's shirt buttons. "It's unfair, isn't it?" With a safe ear to complain to, Breide's voice infuses with the whine of a helpless girl, "A girl can be a wingleader, but you didn't get to for so long until now."

"Faranth, yes," I'neph agrees moldably. "I had to suffer under that stupid J'tei for so long... He always held me back, you know? Couldn't do nothing with the man."

"I know." Sweetness and light, all mollification for I'neph, Breide's voice rises absently. She's too busy working his pants off now, though every so often she'll lean forward to rain more kisses to the man's, now, bare shoulder. "It's too bad none of the wings want to take the girls in that we have to make one or even two of 'em now that there's so many, wingleaders. Really," somehow she manages to time a quiet sigh to tickle the bronzerider's ear in between trying to get him naked.

"What would we do with them?" I'neph asks, looking up while Breide works on him. He's quite agreeable, if not exactly helpful with the process. "Drill with 'em? Send 'em up to fight Thread with us?"

In the process of disrobing I'neph, Breide's talentedly discarded her shirt to the ground and it's in the midst of tugging down his pants that the bronzerider's suggestion penetrates her self-centered head. "Oh," bow lips purse as if enlightened. "I would never have thought of /that/. See," the smile she flashes I'neph is carefree and all too satisfied, "I mean, I know those new people seem to think girls should fight Thread and Adr-." Perplexed again, the ministrations of Breide's hand just trail idle between the bronzerider's thighs. "How many of 'em do ya figure will survive first Fall?"

I'neph pauses, raising a hand to rub his cheek idly. "I dunno. How many of all of us you think will?" he returns. "Huh. Well." He pauses a long moment to consider that, and to glance up at Breide idly. "Guess they'd made good... fodder? padding? filler for the rest of us?"

"Do you really think so?" Breide's hand falls lax between I'neph's legs and then as if remembering their purpose begins to move suddenly again: climbing up along his torso, even as she follows in a crawl after that questing hand to land atop his body again, lightly. "Arms," she insists, wiggling a bit to nudge his arms a bit into action so they might hold her tightly; it's an oft heard directive at least and as she cozies herself into his embrace, she can't help but to ask all inquisitive-like, "I mean, honestly, 'neph, you'd rather have female greenriders in your wing, takin' orders from you than all off in their special wing takin' orders from Adria or Carys?"

"You got a point there," I'neph notes as he absently moves his arms to slide them around Breide. "We oughta split up the wing and divvy 'em all up between the rest of us competent leader types."

"Mmmm," Breide's satisfied, the arms about her mollifying whatever lust that's risen again briefly. "You always have th'best ideas." But the speaking is now very short-lived, one goal accomplished, another is just about to start as she begins to try to distract I'neph thoroughly from conversation to pleasuring her.

"Don't I know it," says I'neph, before he gives up talking, too, in favor of being ever so obliging to Breide's whims. Same as ever.

Women are like wine...

Thu, 01 Mar 2007 02:59:16 GMT

Location: Road Outside Benden Weyr
Time: day 8, month 7, turn 448
Players: Sh'van and Layten
Scene: Sh'van hunts up a dress for Breide and drops by the trading caravan parked outside his Weyr. He comes away with two dresses and the promise of dinner.

The caravan situated just outside the Weyr's walls is a festive thing: bright-hued lanterns strung between the loose circle of wagons, even in the day time. The canvas covered wagons have their covering rolled down to one side, exposing their wares while the two built of wood and covered with a tin roofing are locked shut with two sentries posted in front of them at all times. It's a thriving temporary settlement with people milling about, showing the few Weyr residents who have ventured out to things of interest, and laughter interspersed between the clink of dishes as an early supper is being prepared. Layten makes a striking figure, as he watches off the edge of his personal wagon.

The Weyrleader comes incognito and on foot, no rush of bronze wings to mark his arrival nor fancy knot on his shoulder for his rank. Instead he walks out of the tunnel just like any other resident, drifting in and about the wagons while he eyes the offered goods. "No thank you," he says politely to an offer of ribbons, their rainbow hues threaded through the young woman's fingers. "I'm looking for something... do you have any dresses?"

The head trader's elbows rest on the edge of his wagon as he continues to glance down, a casual look cast towards the variety of people who come out the tunnel exit. There's smugness etched all over his well-tanned features, a certain delight as he begins to delineate just who might be a buyer and who's been lured out by the scent of a roast being turned slowly over an open flame. Slow steps bring Layten down the stairs from the elevated wagon as he begins to roam the grounds. "The ribbons would complement a dress perfectly, sir," polite, charming, the young woman begins rotating the ribbons about her fingers, circling and releasing on repeat. "And we always have the finest gowns though," the flashing blue eyes of the teenager tease overtly, "Nothing that might be in your measurements."

"First I need a dress for them to complement," Sh'van points out amiably enough. "--Hah. How about a woman about so high, then?" He holds out a hand at roughly Breide's height. "Blonde hair, brown eyes. I'm thinking something in blue. Have anything like it?" A little distance off one of the lower caverns women gasps as she reaches out for a glittering necklace. "It's beautiful! How much do you want for it?"

"For you, sugar," drawls the man to the woman with the necklace, "I'll give ya discount. Mark-quarter." They continue to haggle, with the woman's longing eyes doing her more disservice than her bartering skills. The young woman, despite being clearly new to this and tied to her ribbon stand, doesn't skip a beat as she flashes Sh'van a bright, dimpled smile. "Let me see what I ca-," - "I'll take it from here, Neira." Smoothly interjecting, Layten places a light hand on the girl's shoulder. "You go and help your momma get dinner set. Don't," he winks and ruffles the girl's dark hair, and then pats her bottom so she'll scoot all the faster, "Get the wares dirtied. Now," Neira gone, the broad man turns to decline his chin deferentially to the scarred man. "What can I do for you, sir?"

"--I'm looking for a dress," Sh'van repeats after a surprised blink after the girl. He turns to Layten easily enough, perhaps recognizing that the other man is less likely to try and sell him ribbons he doesn't want in favor of the dress he does. He goes through the quick description for Breide's father again, ending, "Red might be more striking, but I'd like to see what you have in blue first."

Layten's brows tweak together and a casual hand extends. "Yea high, nice figure?" His question is purely professional, truly, don't mind the slight leer that hints about the man's crows feet. The hand that tries to discern what this blonde haired woman looks like drops in a purely coincidental curve as if beginning to delineate the shape of a woman and instead reaches out towards Sh'van. "Layten. Our duties to your Weyr." He quips, lips quirking faintly to favor one side, "I figure gentlemen should introduce each other b'fore exchanging marks and goods."

"Very nice," the scarred man agrees with no leer whatsoever, just a hint of a smile. At the introduction he grimaces but covers Layten's palm with his own. "Sh'van," says he after a quick glance 'round for possible eavesdroppers and with his voice pitched only for the trader's ears. "The Weyr's duties to your caravan," he adds at a more normal volume. "I've heard enough that I thought I might stop by and see what you have to offer."

Part of being good at his job is noticing things, and keenly Layten observes the sudden low tones, the name meant for only him, and then the sudden rise of Sh'van's voice volume. The sandy-haired man secrets a smile behind thin pressed lips and after the traditional exchange of greetings, his hands clasp together audibly, a roaming glance passes about the various wares still open to the air. "Our pleasure is to serve, much like the Weyrs," he notes idly, as a small flourish points out a direction to go towards. "I only regret we don't have items of more use to you." A beat. "Other than that dress. Ah, this way."

True, and combined with the Weyrleader's nondescript entrance to the camp and his utter lack of shoulder knot, it doesn't take a genius to suss out a desire for, if not secrecy, then at least temporary anonymity. "I look forward to seeing what you have to offer. I'd bring the woman in question, but then it wouldn't be a surprise. Hopefully we'll be able to find something acceptable for her."

Layten makes his way through other pairs in the middle of negotiating prices: mostly women who hang about the scarves and jewelry, a neat path available between the caravans, until they reach one of the wooden ones with sentries. "Some women," he explains, "Like to try on the goods before buying, and we'd prefer they change in privacy. Jayven?" One of the guarding men perk up from his slight slouch. "Can you roll out," he pauses to think, though there's a dry smirk shaping his mouth, as if this is all part of the show, "The third rack in there for us." Order made, guard off to do his bidding, the tall man turns to flash Sh'van an easy smile. "Th'things we do for our women folk."

Sh'van trails the other man with only incurious looks for the commerce being plied all around. A rack of brightly-hued skeins of yarn catches his stride, though only for a step, and he's caught back up by the time Layten's guard is turning to disappear within. "Much appreciated," he calls to Jayven, then for Layten's words, "Indeed - but they'd never believe it if we told them. I suppose you have your own woman troubles? The wingleaders would probably have your caravan on sweeps, if you only asked." And if he didn't ask - highway robbery and accidents being only to easy to happen and as easy to prevent.

"Never," Layten returns, his grin toothy as he turns to face Sh'van, hands clasped behind his back. Rocking easily back and forth on his heels, a wry tease reflected in his clear eyes, "Women are to be handled with care. Delicate, like a nice wine to the palate, and with the assurance that they are in full command of what they believe to be the world." Breide's father tilts his cheek to one side, deferential again. "We'd appreciate if your wings kept us in sight as we return to our regular trade routes." Jayven returns shortly, pushing a heavily laden rack of women's clothing, varied lengths and all in myriad shades of blue. "Placatin' or giftin'?" As if that makes a difference as his fine hand begins to push through the rack with the eye of a connoisseur.

"But watched over and tended carefully nevertheless," the incognito bronzerider agrees. "Ah, those are just what I was thinking of. Thank you." A nod for Jayven's efforts, and he steps up to the rack, fingers tracing the air just above the pretty fabrics. "Hmm. No pattern, I don't think. Something simple. This one's too dark... Short sleeves, too, so she can wear it in the summer."

"Women are there for men to dote on, after all. We buy 'em gifts and let them think they have us by our proverbial jewels." Layten pauses, slanting the Weyrleader a quick look for his own crassness and infuses apology in his gaze, just in case. "Y'know what I mean, sir." Cataloguing Sh'van's various desires in a dress, with a lip twitch that betrays his interest in who the intended woman is, Layten's hand hovers at the other end of the rack, opposite of Sh'van. With a purse setting his lips thoughtful, two dresses are pulled followed by a third. They all fit the short sleeve criteria, though some have no sleeves just straps. The first, a summery shade, is simply sculpted but drapes low down the backside in excess folds that should rest below a woman's waist; the second, an earthier blue that'd complement dark browns better than khakis, flows in layers of lace over sisal and is considerably more elaborate; and the third, ice blue, shimmers with the intricate beading that delineates a low neckline in leaves and floral patterns. All three are hooked again, so the dresses are displayed fully. "Any of these suit?"

Sh'van looks over sharply at the title, but evidently decides not to protest save for a murmured, "No need to call me sir." As Layten pulls out the three dresses he steps back, fingers tapping lightly at his lips. "Hmn... I don't think so. They're all lovely, but... more suitable for a Gather than everyday use. Though she'd adore that first one. She'd have every man in the place panting after her." A twitch of his lips. "Better set it aside. I'll have to see how healthy my purse is feeling."

Another smiles secrets itself visibly, first for the sharp look and then for Sh'van's description of the woman he buys for. Despite the hidden smile, Layten maintains the charm of his expression in frank eyes and a jaw that works every so often into crooked smirks. "Somethin' for every day use, hmmm," he drawls, bringing his hands up to scratch idly about his working jaw, a backwards step considering the racked dresses again. "For a woman who enjoys attention." Knowing sparks in the man's blue eyes, and as he reaches over to dance fingers over the tops of the hangars again, one dress is pulled: princess seamed with a band sewn in to delineate the waist. "She likes blue," he remarks as he drapes the dress over his arms for Sh'van's benefit.

Sh'van returns to the rack as well, moving through the offerings with the air of a man who knows clothing. "Positively revels in it. Hmm. This one?" His own choice is one barely off from white, cloud blue, with fluttery sleeves and skirt. "I'm not sure about the color, but there's always dye." Then Layten displays the princess-seamed one and he turns to look, though with another narrow-eyed glance for the blue comment. "Most of her clothing seems to be, yes. That's a lovely dress."

Knowing clefts the tiniest dimple in the crooked smirk that deepens on his face, and a series of little nods paces his words. "We have her measurements on hand. This," the trader waves the dress by its hanger, "Would garner m'girl a bit too much attention." Not that it stops Layten from considering the merits of the dress he holds. "We've a seamstress who can make the necessary adjustments now if you'd care to join me for dinner. Porcine roast with an applesauce dressin'."

Trust the bronzerider to zero in on the important part of the conversation. "Your girl."

"Blonde, brown-eyed. Yea high?" Layten's free hand manages to pinpoint Breide's height, and when it drops this time, he's not as casual about drawing a one-sided silhouette of the curves of the Benden Weyrwoman. Feigned askance inches one brow higher for his presumption: tell him he's wrong. "Mirror of her ma. Hard t'resist that type."

Sh'van doesn't; can't. A quirk of his lips grant Layten the point. "What do you want for both of them? --The dresses, not the women. One is quite enough for me."

"A women, lad, you can't buy for all the marks in the world." Layten reflects as he considers the first dress he picked and the last, shifting pale eyes back and forth between the two. "Five marks. Two-half each, however," his hand lifts quickly to stay any beginnings of arguments. "Three marks quarter and one of your wings to accompany us down to Keroon. And my invitation for you to stay for dinner. Or," fancying a myriad of choices cycling through his clear eyes, "Perhaps something private with you and the weyrwoman later."

So much for being in disguise. "A wing /and/ dinner?" Van scratches at his jawline while he studies the trader, no longer bothering to try and hide his identity. "What did you have in mind for this... private meeting later?"

Layten flicks a glance over to the guards, the younger of which is straining to look down from his post at the outted man curiously. Jay's curiosity is quelled when the trader's charmingly bright eyes pinpoint him out, and the young teenager snaps back into far more attention than he was at before. "Just t'get t'know you," professionalism drops in favor of a leisurely drawl, "And her 'gain. Been a couple months, the business of th'Weyr keepin' her busy and all. Maybe offer our further services to you and yours." A sharp wave captures Jayven's attention again, and the young man, looking slightly repentant makes his way down again. "Get Gessie to look over this one for m'girl," the dress in his arms still, "And pack both and bring it round my wagon later."

"Two and a quarter, dinner, and the meeting," the Weyrleaeder returns, arching a faint smile for Jayven's discomfiture. "/And/," this is aimed directly at the guards, "No 'accidentally' telling Breide about her presents."

"Th'dinner's a favor to you," Layten notes, his grin turning wide and toothy. His hands now free of their dressly burdens, one reaches up to scratch idly at his jaw. "Can't part with that first one for less than two marks. Wheedled it out of a weaver," the innocent uplift of his eyes implies a particularly nice form of wheedling, "But not for much of a discount. The second-." He considers. "Three even, 'n dinner to meet with the both of you. Heck, I'll even throw in the adjustments and a round of ribbons for free."

Sh'van sticks his hand back out. "Three, and done." His eyes go briefly vague. "She says she can be here in about an hour - that will give me time to do a little looking around on my own. I'd like for her to be able to wear the darker one tonight, but if that's too much of a rush, I understand. The other... can I pick it up in three days?"

"Tonight?" Obvious surprise claims Layten's features, and though he shakes his head slightly, it does little to dislodge much of the involuntary reaction. "I'll have a table prepared in my wagon then and the adjustments won't take too long. She's well beloved around here." He almost sounds genuine in that last dry remark. "I'll have them delivered to you, and thank, sir, for your business."

Sh'van's not oblivious to the surprise. "If tomorrow would work better...? I just assumed tonight, since..." He spreads a hand. Probably assumed since Layten had already invited him to supper tonight.

"Tonight's perfect." No excuses, no explanations. Just a crooked smile for Sh'van and a flutter of his fingers at his scruffy chin. "I'll see to Gessie's progress with the dress and have the ribbons and gowns delivered to your weyr." Layten holds out his hand again, blue eyes latched onto Sh'van's gaze.

Sh'van hesitates, studying Layten's face, then covers the other man's hand once more. "Done. Lanmith's usually on the ledge - only bronze near the queens. Now if you'll excuse me? I'd like to do a little more shopping before it becomes common knowledge just who the scarred man without a knot is."

"If people do find out," Layten slants a telling glance to where Jayven left, "Just let me know. Enjoy your shopping." His hand, after crossing the bronzerider's hand, moves back so his thumbs can jam into his pockets. The towheaded man waits on rocking heels and watches for Sh'van to move off.

Breide's New Dresses
Breide's dress is pure blue, the color of the springtime noon sky. The clean lines and lack of trim only emphasizes simplicity while calling attention to the brightness of her hair. Small cap sleeves expose her arms, while the neck scoops just to the top of her cleavage. The dress self-belts, while princess seams run the length of the dress. The hem drops just to ankle-length, long enough to sweep while remaining off the floor.

Summer blues in silken sisal sculpt a dress of simple lines, wide straps dropping into a round collar that grazes Breide's collarbones . Fitted about the torso and waist, the folds of the dress flow seamlessly down to her feet, unornamented and clean in its lines. The modesty of the front, however, is made up for in spades by a plunging backline where excess folds drape girlishly beneath her waist and -just- above the curve of her bottom, exposing the entirety of her back.

Cliched Rendezvous

Wed, 28 Feb 2007 06:18:40 GMT

Location: Benden Weyr Stores
Time: day 5, month 7, turn 448
Players: B'net and Breide
Scene: Cliche of all cliches: B'net and Breide make out and then some in one of the abandoned storage closets/caves. Somewhere in there, Breide, procurer of all sorts of things, promises to find B'net an actual bed for his weyr.

Located somewhere off the inner caverns, the storage caverns at Benden are, to say the least, sparse. Currently, they're holding what food is in reserves - unneeded, for now, and what the Weyr doesn't want to have just sitting out in public on kitchen shelves, some bolts of fabric, incredibly organized pull drawers of various other "stuff", and a random piece of furniture here and there. The stock of blankets are slim, and there is almost no workable leather. It's in the middle of this vast, mostly emptiness that Breide stands, looking a bit lost as dark eyes flick over the state of her stores. A hand to her hip, her other grasping a clipboard, the sigh she exhales echoes off near empty walls.

B'net is just a little bit dusty as he wanders in from the lower caverns, but he brushes most of it off as he rolls up a sleeve. He's whistling absently under his breath, a rollicking sort of tune that could only have lewd lyrics to it, and he doesn't cut off when he spots the Weyrwoman, if anything, he whistles louder. He heads into the store room and right past Breide, copping a feel as he walks behind her, headed towards the random furniture section. "Afternoon, darlin."

Two hundred some turns might have passed, but lewd songs are lewd songs and will be passed on through the ages, long after cockroaches die. A hint of familiarity draws a slow smile to Breide's lips and the goldrider turns to greet the whistler, only to find her butt groped. "/B'net/!" Summoning as much indignation as she can manage, it's still not enough to suppress her incorrigible laughter at his audacity. "I told ya. Trouble." With a definitive nod at that, the young woman follows after the bronzerider towards where random furniture lies about. "Nothin' much here."

B'net doesn't seem the slightest bit repentant, shooting Breide a little eyebrow waggle over his shoulder at her attempted indignation. "That's me," he grins, in response to 'trouble'. The furniture gets a cursory glance-over before he begins picking through it more thoroughly. "Not much at all," he agrees, eyeing a two-legged... something, that must have once been... something else. He turns it this way and that, and finally sets it back down and moves on. "Figured it was worth a look before I went elsewhere."

"Abandoned." Breide reminds, none too lightly as she steps by the bronzerider to also inspect that two-legged something. A notation is made on her clipboard before she observes, "Think it must've been a mirror holder," sans glass, "It'd make good kindling at least, unless you can rustle up some glass from your own abandoned Weyr." When B'net moves on, the weyrwoman isn't quick to follow, watching the man's back and then dropping way down to study his butt as he walks. She can't help the smile that emerges and quickly, with a lighter bounce to her step, she follows after the man. "Whatcha lookin' for? Maybe I can find something for you?" A casual arm reaches about the bronzerider's waist and just as easily, Breide's chest gloms onto B'net's side.

B'net doesn't seem to feel the need to reiterate yet again the fact that Benden was abandoned, glossing over it as he moves on, picking up a couple of chairs and looking them over, wiggling the wobbly legs and picking at the distintigrating caning before setting them apart from the rest and moving on again. "Should just chop it up," B'net agrees, before looking over his shoulder to add: "Who says I'd have to go all the way to Connell to get it? There's stuff all over, sweetheart." He caught a bit of her staring at him, too, and just grins before bending back over to smack at a table, testing it. Whether it is found worthy or not isn't clear, because that's when Breide choose to press up against him and he straightens, slinging an arm around her waist and letting a couple fingers trail just up under the hem of her shirt. "Anything, really," he tells her, "Got a big old empty weyr, need some furniture for it."

Breide's bemused, "You're awful," doesn't stop her from arcing her back just enough to make exploration of that hem all the easier. Plus, it has the added benefit of allowing her tiptoe up to kiss B'net's chin. "Most of us," she notes when her lips are done seeking out the less prickly spots of his five-shadow, "Brought our furniture with us. Couldn't bring this huge wardrobe I had at Fort though." There's regret there for the left behind furniture. "Brought m'clothes though." A touch brighter then turns into a quizzical lift of her brow. "You're sleeping on the floor?"

B'net slides his hand a bit further up that hem, tracing the edge of her skirt from the small of her back around to her navel and then back around to settle at her back, his palm under his shirt and the tips of his fingers inching under the waistband of her skirt. He grins at the kiss, and shrugs at her. "Couldn't bring furniture with us between. Dragons couldn't handle anymore strain. Never had much furniture to begin with, either," he admits, "Tiny weyr, back at Connell." The brightening and the question earn her a wolfish smirk. "You going to offer me something better? I'll trade you my floor for your bed. Or maybe we can just share them both," he adds with another suggestive twich of his brows and a wink.

Breide exhales a happy sigh, maneuvering herself fluidly to make any exploration of her waist all the easier for B'net and when his hands settle beneath her shirt, she flashes the bronzerider a coy little smile that indents one dimple. "I 'magine that'd be a lot more trouble than it'd be worth." Sh'van notwithstanding. "Two hundred turns ago, who knows what men thought good enough for a woman." Winking to balance her pointed tease, the goldrider eases herself back, though not far enough to dislodge the arm around her waist. "Can find you a bed at least, or a bed roll to line your floor with. Must be weird. Y'know, to be sometime else one day, and then another in ten, fifteen minutes?"

B'net arches a brow at her, his own smile crooked, and smirky, still. "Don't sell yourself short, darling, I'm sure it'd be worth it." As for two-hundred turns ago... He just laughs, and doesn't let her escape, that hand sliding a little further up her shirt to draw her back, and to find out what sort of undergarments women from the future wear. "Who knows?" he echoes, "Well, you could. Anytime you wanna find out, sweetheart...." He grins at her again, then shrugs. "I'll find myself a proper bed. Til then, I've got a hammock does just fine." The last, he just shrugs. "It's weird," he agrees, "Not that much seems to've changed, though. Places are different, of course. People, not so much."

Surprisingly, Breide wears all the undergarments good little girls wear, though his questing fingers find something far lacier, skankier and probably more expensive than what most other women might. "Places different, people...," she spares B'net a lash-filled glance up, quizzical, "Your harper seemed t'think girls were about to charge in and fight Thread. And Iopeian," the pretty mouth thins distinctly. "She's in a class of her own." Much like Raine, not that B'net knows Raine. "But," the thinned lips purse, and a promise carries forward in dry tones, "I'll see what I can rustle up for my favorite bronzerider. I've a few favors that need to be followed up on." She's silent long enough so it seems she's stopped talking and doing whatever thinking goes on in her blonde head, until: "You're not goin' to snap th'strap are you?" Her drawl coincides with the dare of her dark eyes; do it, she dares him.

B'net ignores the opportunity to discuss the relative merits of allowing greenriding females to fight Thread, and moves on to Iopeian, grinning widely: "Oh, you met her already? And I missed it? Damn. I wanted to see that." He snaps the fingers of his free hand, and then grins as she promises him a favor, and taps her nose with a finger. "Thanks, sweetheart. I appreciate it." He's feeling around her bra now, arching a brow at her, and making an impressed sort of face at the quality of the material. "Nice," he drawls, before her question earns a grin, and sure enough, he tugs the straps out... but instead of snapping it, he deftly unclasps it, instead. How's that?

He acts like a man would, expected behavior and all, and at /that/, Breide rolls her eyes, pulling herself away just enough so she can reach back to resnap the pieces of lace together. "Met her, don't want to see her 'gain, and I'm glad she's been sent to Igen. Pyli," the blonde, having some trouble putting her bra back together again, grunts the name out a bit, "Can have her. I've my hands full with Zaorine at any rate."

B'net grins at Breide and her eye-rolling, just shaking his head about Iopeian. "I'm not too broken up about it either," he replies, reaching up as she seems to be having trouble with the clasp and flicking her hands out of the way to replace them with both of his and do it for her. Once the clasp is closed, he keeps his fingers underneath, dragging them across her back and around to her sides. His inevitable goal is rather obvious, especially given the way he's watching her as he does it, but he moves slowly enough that she can stop him if she really wants to. "Haven't met Zaorine," he tells her, "But I think I'd rather have my han--" He stops, and grins. "Nevermind. That one was too easy."

The gratitude of Breide's eyes as B'net acts further manly and redoes her clasp for her, shines brightly up until his hand begins to move. /That/, causes the goldrider to glance furtively about the deserted caves before her body visible acquiesces: relaxing and even leaning forward. A breathless catch seems to halt her breathing though just before his hands complete the rotation about her torso, and though she speaks of the plaguing goldriders again, it's clear her mind is somewhere else completely. Like, exploring B'net's waist band with idle fingers, and hooking her two fingers beneath the band to pull him backwards into a darker corner. "Mmmmm, Zaorine's been disappointin'. 'N Iopeian..." Her opinion of the Connell Weyrwoman fades out into another of her happy sighs as the idea of serious conversation flies out of her pretty little head.

B'net watches Breide's reaction, and grins as she clearly chooses to go along. Permission gained, he leans forward to nudge her hair away with his head and press a kiss to the goldrider's neck as his hands meet at her chest. The fingers in his waistband (which won't find any undergarments of his own) earn another grin, and he takes that tug and steps forward, backing her into the corner until he can get a knee between hers. Hands get to work as his mouth finds her ear to whisper: "Y'know who's not disappointin'?" A roll of his palms, another step forward, and he bites lightly on her earlobe: "Me." Other goldriders? Pfft. Later. For now, he's going to press his advantage while he's got it.

Poor Sh'van. Though guilt does flicker fleeting in Breide's gaze, it's dampened quickly by the kiss to her neck that makes selfish need win out in the end. Once backed into the corner, using the wall to brace her weight, the blonde gives into lust, busying her fingers along the waist band, circling them around to the front to unbutton what needs to be undone to loosen his pants before sliding hands up beneath B'net's shirt, smooth against his back to bring him closer. Her breath catches again at the nibble and the magic of his hands, before she expels fervently to his confidence of his skills: "Oh Faranth, I hope not." How cliche: boy and girl making out and them some in the storage closet.

Silly Sh'van. What did he really think would happen? B'net certainly doesn't seem to have any similar misgivings, working his way along Breide's neck, throat, and across her collarbone. He doesn't bother trying to remove her top, even before she pulls him closer they're too close for it to be easy work. Instead, a hand leaves her chest reaches down to pull one of her legs up around his waist. He waits a second, to make sure she'll keep it there on her own like he wants, pulling his head back briefly to grin at her again. "Promise," he says cockily, before his hand starts moving up her skirt, and he leans forward again, this time to kiss her on the mouth.

Always a sucker for a charming grin, cockiness a plus, Breide is all pliable in B'net's more than capable hands. Flexible, with her tendencies it's almost guaranteed, the leg lifts easily, wrapped about the bronzerider's waist and does stay there quite nicely while long fingers bury themselves in his hair. The kiss is prolonged, her teeth finding his lower lip to bite down on gently, and as she pulls back, impish in her smirk, she challenges: "Prove it."

B'net doesn't even really need that much encouragement, but he takes it anyways. And so... he does. Or he thinks he does, anyways. Unless she has some sort of bizarre, impossibly high and completly unvocalised standards, he does. He's not -psychic-, after all. When it's done he leans his forehead against the wall behind her for a second before leaning back, running a hand through his hair and straightening his shirt. "So. Disappointed?"

Unfortunately for B'net, Breide is perhaps just a touch too aware of her surroundings and that thrilling fear of potentially getting caught so doesn't vocalize just how nicely he's making her feel. But fortunately for B'net, the aftermath finds her flushed with her blonde head tipped up so she can catch her breath with cooler air. In the short time he leans his forehead against the wall, there's a nuzzle for his cheek before she too gathers her limbs, dropping her leg to the ground and begins to straighten her mussed clothing. "Never, doll. Y'ever wanna do that again," breathless, she flashes a quick, pleased smile to the time traveler, "Y'come find me." Sh'van's naive promise be damned.

B'net doesn't seem put off, so long as she seems pleased now, and since she does, he grins at her, stepping back to fix and fasten his pants. The collar of his shirt is tugged at, and his hand goes back into his hair as he watches her straighten up, giving her a little tug forward so he can reach up her back and refasten her bra for her a second time. "There y'go," he grins, "The Weyrleader'll never know." He winks at her, gives her hip a pat, and backs away, turning to reply: "I'll do that," and grin at her again before leaving.

Oh yeah, him. Breide pales briefly, but a quick shake of her head throws those concerns away. Course he'll never know, but she's, oddly, silent as B'net departs, eyes fluttering shut again before a slow, languid smile spreads across her mouth. She'll just stand here for a while, basking.

Timeline

Wed, 28 Feb 2007 01:40:18 GMT

OFF CAMERA/FWM

420.04.16	Breide was born.
432	Breide leaves Fort with her father's trading caravan. Before she leaves, she gives Ironeph a night to remember.
433	On their first meeting, Breide and Al'zay hook up at High Reaches Weyr. Blame a flight. Breide Stands for the first and only time at High Reaches but fails to Impress the gold.
441.11/12	Fort's Fedayth rises, making Raine Weyrwoman.
441.12	Breide returns to Fort.
442.07.06	Breide Impresses gold Rielth after pushing Quinley over.
444.12	Rielth rises and is caught by Dioscuth resulting in a clutch of 29 eggs.
446.11	Breide scolds Al'zay for thinking too big and chasing after a gold, but is mollified once they do it.
447.01	Rielth rises and is caught by Dioscuth resulting in a clutch of 30 eggs.
447.12	Breide decides to join the transferring riders to Benden. Maneuvers I'neph into moving as well.
448.02	Breide arrives with other Fortian riders at Benden.

RSP ON CAMERA

448.02	Breide begins poisoning Zaorine.
448.02.19	Breide meets E'drai. Adria is there too somewhere. An ugly arm chair is marked to be thrown out.
448.02.28	It's Celebrity Death Match: Fort versus Ista. Breide's marks are on Sh'van.
448.03.01	Breide makes a friend of Geneve by manipulating her (transparently).
448.03	Breide gives up trying to manipulate E'drai and just sleeps with him.
448.04.26	Zaorine and Breide share a moment where they discuss the future of the Weyr.
448.05.07	Breide catches up with G'avon (a clutchmate) and welcomes Andoran to the Weyr in her own particular way.
448.05.25	Rielth somehow manages to surprise everyone and rises only a little over a turn since her last. ~~Sh'van~~ Lanmith wins. Sh'van somehow thinks he can control his floozy of a Weyrwoman.
448.05.27	Andoran drops in on the new Weyrwoman post-flight and extends his congratulations.
448.06	Breide eases up on the poisoning slowly. She's not /that/ bloody stupid.
448.06.06	Breide and Adria are civil enough though Adria hints at something pressing (for later though).
448.06.08	Breide finally gets around to visiting I'neph after the flight. There is much boosting of egos.
448.06.09	E'drai drops in for a favor, while Breide tries to one up his request.
448.06.15	In the interest of the Weyr, Breide promotes the young Istan, Geneve, to be Headwoman. Just moments later, Breide finally explodes at Al'zay and a fifteen year relationship breaks. Then, she has to regain her composure in order to meet with Sh'van, Adria, and Andoran, when a bombshell drops.
448.06.21	Coincidentally, just four days later, invaders descend on her newly claimed Weyr.
448.06.22	B'net and Breide get to know each other much better while washing their dragons.
448.06.24	Breide teaches Alshain a few things about the present while Alshain enlightens Breide on Connell's purpose.
448.06.25	The favor E'drai's asked for follows through and Breide's daddy comes to Benden.
448.06.27	Thinking herself more than fair, Breide finally drops in on Zaorine after a month of pretending she didn't exist. An ultimatum is presented: shape up when I ask nice or we'll order you to (and thus humiliate you more)
448.06.28	MILESTONE: Breide survived a month of not sleeping with anyone other than Sh'van, though not for lack of propositions she made to E'drai and B'net.
448.07.01	The Weyr Council meets on what to do with the Connellites.
448.07.02	Breide finally meets the lunatic, strange(r) goldrider, Iopeian.
448.07.05	Breide offers to procure a bed for B'net, and then they complete the cliche by making out (and then some) in the storage closet.
448.07.08	Sh'van buys some dresses off of Layten. Breide and Sh'van meet Layten for dinner and entertain some of his ideas.
448.07.11	I'neph comes up with some brilliant thoughts as to the female greenriders.
448.07.13	B'net finagles a deal out of Layten by surprising him.
448.07.14	Al'zay and Breide happen across each other for the first private time since their fight.
448.07.20	E'drai has a fruitless search amongst Breide's things for a rather large diamond.
448.07.23	Breide and E'drai chat about what could've been.
448.07.26	Al'zay and Breide sort of make up, and Breide puts herself on a short leash for the 'good of Benden'.
448.07.27	Breide visits B'net's weyr and reflects on responsibilities.
448.09.18	While boy watching, Breide deals with her sister Maddy, or is it more Maddy deals with Breide?

Crazy Old Goldrider Lady

Mon, 26 Feb 2007 20:48:08 GMT

Location: Benden Weyr Infirmary
Time: day 2, month 7, turn 448
Players: Iopeian and Breide
Scene: With everything else going on, Iopeian finally awakes driving Adria away and with the warning the green is so kind to pass along, Breide goes out to determine Iopeian's craziness for herself.

[DTU] To Ayerpheth, Rielth's touch, hued in a cold black and inky blue stretches out. <> Statement, not a question, the queen is not entirely welcome in her clipped contact with this strange queen. In fact, pulsating in the swaths of gold that flicker in and out, Benden's senior queen is marking her territory.

[DTU] To Rielth, Ayerpheth is calm, in contrast to her rider's nervous state. << She is. She had asked the greenrider wingleader to speak with your rider and Lanmith's as soon as you both had time. >>

[DTU] To Ayerpheth, Rielth misses a beat, silence on the other end speaking of either a conversation elsewhere or at least a not so subtle checking in, before the inkiness returns with: << We come. >> A royal we at that.

Breide heads in to the infirmary.
Infirmary Summer. Thunder. 77F / 25C.

The infirmary cavern is actually two connected caverns with a short but narrow tunnel leading between them. The larger of the two has fifteen beds in it, each one with a curtain suspended from the ceiling that can be drawn around the bed entirely to provide some privacy, though must of the actual curtains are crumbled and holey. The walls are lined with shelves and counter space, most of them filled with empty jars covered in dust. There is a hearth with a screen drawn around it completely and a rusted kettle abandoned nearby.
The inner cavern is much smaller and only has five beds. These beds can also be made more private by similar crumbling curtains, but there's a much more somber feeling.

-- Players --
Iopeian........Tall and thin. Frizzy auburn curls, nervous brown eyes, muscular.
Breide.........Energetic, confident, curvy. Pretty in a very obvious/common way with silken hair bound in a loose bun.
-- Exits --
Lower Caverns............[O]

Iopeian has finally managed to find her clothes, though they are rough riding leathers, and is sitting in a chair by her bed in the inner infirmary. She still has a pinched, white cast to her features, but she's gamely eating some stew from her tray.

Breide's stride is easy, her laughter casual as its clear sounds are heard in the inner cavern hallways before the weyrwoman pushes through the infirmary door. Once there, the easiness diminishes slightly, an uneasy twitch igniting the once over dark eyes cast about the room. However, with purpose in her amble, the blonde woman heads over to the seated Iopeian. "You should be in bed," a quick smile accompanies the advice, "And wearing something softer for your skin than that. Don't tell me," a hand lifts to stay any immediate response as the woman's thoughts ruminate expressively in her brown gaze: shrewd appraisal flickering beneath the warmth, "You told the healers off and now they're too scared to come over to you."

Iopeian's lips twist. "Just that greenriding wingleader of yours." There's the barest hint of disapproval in that title - wingleader. She puts the tray aside and rises, offering out her palm. "You must be Breide? Benden Weyrwoman? I'm Iopeian, as you've no doubt been told by now. I apologize for collapsing on you. Ayerpheth had to hold the images for the wingleaders after we lost a wing in the first jump." Her eyes flicker at that, but she rallies and says, "And I apologize for descending on Benden out of the blue like that. It was the one neutral place I could think of to get information once we discovered Connell abandoned."

The warning Breide must have received certainly didn't prepare her for any kind of reasonableness, and as such, the goldrider blinks, mouth rounding into a slight purse. Then, it's back to flowers and fluttering warmth, a dismissive hand lifted in regards to Adria: "Don't mind her, she's like that." Still, there's no apologies for whatever the greenriding wingleader's behavior might have been and while the smile has returned, steadfast in its welcome, the suspicion lingers in layers behind her warm eyes. "Benden's duties, Iopeian," dutiful in returning the greeting, "And your timing was either fortunate, or un, depending on your take of the situation."

That same bitter smile twists the Connell Weyrwoman's mouth again. "I think it's likely a combination of both. We have a great deal to discuss, but first to the practicalities. Benden is being resettled, yes? And can scarcely afford to feed the hungry hoardes that have descended upon it." By couching the terms all in third person, she very carefully avoids any personal feelings on either side. "Allow us to help, Weyrwoman. I understand your concerns of discovery. We knew there would be issues with arriving in the future. So let us contribute by going to our own hunting grounds back south - surely there was livestock left behind that has gone wild and flourished over the years. Our wings know the area. We can hunt at Connell and no one from the north will be the wiser. It will also give us a chance to go through the ruins," another flicker in her eyes, her hands clasped tightly before her, "And see if we can discover what happened there."

In contrast to Iopeian, Breide maintains her wholesome smile, even-tempered and open to suggestion, as the succession of nods throughout the other goldrider's comments begins to indicate. Thoughtful, considering, but no words of agreement. Instead, the Benden weyrwoman tilts her head to one side, continuing her not so subtle appraisal of Iopeian and her bitter twist. "The south is...," beat, then a correction, "/Has/ become inhospitable since the abandonment of the settlement there. There is no promise that something had not wiped out your settlement and that -that- factor does not still linger there. I'm afraid," her smile pulls down crookedly on one side, "Until the Weyr Council comes to a decision on... this," an aimless gesture punctuates her words, "It'd be unwise to leave the area."

Iopeian says mildly, "Interesting. The south was thought inhospitable in our time as well. We proved that wrong. It was difficult, please don't misunderstand me. But we managed to carve out a safe and secure weyr. Frankly, it may have been the loss of the queens that was Connell's downfall. They never believed as strongly as I that thread would return." A pause and she asks, "Will the meeting occur quickly? Ayerpheth tells me our beasts are still hungry - the last jump was the longer, and it took a great deal of their energy."

"So your queens were lost?" Interested, Breide perches her hip against the side of Iopeian's discarded infirmary bed. "Tomorrow," the goldrider says definitively. "Our plight," and here her mouth twists much like her counterparts at the inclusive pronoun, lacking a large chunk of bitterness though, "Has finally appealed to the better senses of the other Weyrleaders."

Iopeian shakes her head. "No, I fear they were. Zelinci and Ulana. Half sisters. And very young. They never believed as thoroughly as the older riders that Thread would return. They were the ones Connell was entrusted to." She stops, nodding. "The council was always slow to act." A slight, thin smile, "It seems that, at least, has not changed." She blows out a mildly frustrated sigh. "As impossible as we seem to you, it seems just as impossible that Benden, Telgar and Igen were actually /closed/. Frankly, this seems like a horrible nightmare."

Sympathy smooths out the various twists of Breide's face and she takes up a more permanent shop by slipping down from just perching her hip against the bed to scooting her bottom against the bed's edge. "Isn't it so difficult when people fail to believe as wholeheartedly as you do?" The subject of the council and the speed with which they move is merely smiled at tightly. "So you were unaware of our situation? And yet still jumped forward? B'net," she slants the seated goldrider a curious look, "Mentioned a message from the future which propelled you into action. We have," her hands spread, palms up, "Sent no such message. But we'll speak further later. The healers will care for you until such a time as the Weyrleader and I," there is emphasis there, "Come to a decision. Good day, Iopeian."

Awkward much?

Mon, 26 Feb 2007 02:50:23 GMT

Location: Zaorine's Weyr
Time: day 27, month 6, turn 448
Players: Zaorine and Breide
Scene: Finally having had enough of Zaorine's wallowing, Breide attempts to make nice by coming to feed Zaorine and get her out of whatever self-pity rut she's in. She doesn't quite succeed.

Zaorine's Weyr Early Summer. Partly Cloudy. 71F / 22C.
Large by even queen weyr standards, the most dominating features about Zaorine and Jasmyth's weyr are the high ceilings and natural archways. Foremost in the weyr is an area for Jasmyth. Consisting of a stone couch near the entrance of the bathing chamber, it is in the warmest corner of the weyr second to the hearth.
Kitty-corner to Jasmyth's couch, the hearth is defined by a simple woven rug and a low bench. A makeshift desk rests not too far away and atop this are a small number of hides. More hides and various personal items are found in the many nooks and crannies found throughout the weyr. Beneath the smallest of archways is the sleeping area. Curtains situated around it provide privacy and shelter from the glow of the hearth when drawn.

-- Players --
Breide.........Energetic, confident, curvy. Pretty in a very obvious/common way with silken hair bound in a loose bun.
Zaorine........5'3", green eyes & brown hair. Pretty. Quiet presence.
-- Dragons --
Jasmyth........Gold dragon.
-- Exits --
Out......................[O]

The evening light spills past the partially open curtain leading into Zaorine and Jasmyth's weyr. A low fire is present, despite the warmth of the summer day. Mostly clean and smelling of faint incents, a pleasant air hangs about the interior of the Fortian pair's new weyr. Zaorine is situated with her back to the fire, her face and neck are coated in a light sheen of sweat as she works on a pile of fabric gathered in her lap. Stacks of hides lay abandoned and discarded atop a makeshift table while Jasmyth slumbers atop her couch.

"Knock, knock," singsongs Breide's sunny voice, her booted toe kicking the stone wall by the entrance to Zaorine's weyr. Uninvited, the goldrider pushes through the partially opened curtain and stands just within the entrance. Occupying her hands is a tray filled with a bowl of some stew, a slice of crusty bread, and a plate of sliced fruit. "Hungry?" The brown eyes skip over the stacks of abandoned hides, the state of Zaorine's weyr, though her nose twitches a bit at the scents, and alights onto the woman before the hearth. "Isn't it too hot for a fire tonight?"

"Possibly," Zaorine replies to Breide's last, her tone as stiff as her shoulders. A shake of her head denies any hunger, as well as Breide's offer of food before Zaorine asks, "Help you with something Breide?" She's not looking up, making no effort to break her focus from the dark purple fabric laying in her lap

"You're going to sweat yourself into nothing," notes the curvy woman, her hand resting on her hip once she's set the tray onto the other goldrider's desk--careless for just what the food is placed on top of. Breide tugs uneasily at her collar and then makes a few more intrepid steps forward, though she steers a good arm's distance (and then some) away from where Zaorine sits. "What're you making?"

"Helps me feel better," Zaorine remarks, looking up at the other goldrider for the first time, "Don't know why, but it does, so I'm sticking with it." Her attempt at a smile is passable at best: strained and thin. "A skirt. I thought it'd be nice to have one, and I had some fabric left over from when I had my gather dress made last turn. Care to sit? Stay a while?"

"You're as crazy as them," Breide murmurs, the collar tugging hand reaching up to rake through her blonde hair. "I'll stand, thanks. I-," a quick look darts to the fire, beads already gathering on her brow, and flicker over to take in Zaorine and her thin smile. Gently, "You don't look well. Won't you eat something? There's fresh fruit." As if the temptation of exotic produce might make the displanted goldrider feel better. "Has...," she hesitates just long enough to give the semblance of actually doubting whether to speak up or not, "Sh'van come to see you, yet?"

Zaorine's domestic efforts deteriorate, and before Breide even finishes speaking, she's quit trying to pretend they're more important than the new senior. "We've spoken. A day or so after your flight, he stopped by." Setting the fabric aside, Zaorine twists around to poke at her fire, causing it to collapse on itself and snuffing the fire. After a moment, she stands, dusting her hands while stepping around her fabric pile, "I have wine - would you like some wine? I can't promise its very cold, but it's wine."

"No. I don't need wine." Breide declines, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. "Well, no, I need wine, but I need wine in massive buckets funneled down my throat to make up for the past few days." Her admission comes with an uneasy smile flashed Zaorine, uncertainty reflected in dark eyes. "But I don't want to deplete your supplies. Sh'van doesn't drink much, does he?" Abruptly, veering back to the subject of the new Weyrleader, the blonde begins to move about, rolling her shoulders and swinging her arms a bit as she does so to circulate the air about her more. "I offered some brandy, but a sip, two, he's not much of a drinker I'm learning."

"Sh'van doesn't do a lot of things," Zaorine agrees, mildly, as she moves to fetch herself some wine, "Sorry to hear the past few days have been so hard on you, though," Sincerity evident, but not guaranteed genuine, Zaorine turns with small cup cradled in her hands, "I can't imagine the pressure you're under now. I only wish I were able to help."

Point blank with her bluntness given an opening, Breide questions: "And why can't you?" The subject of Sh'van and what he does or does not is discarded.

Zaorine's smile is slender, her expression most contrite, "I wouldn't dream of stepping on your toes, Breide. Besides, Raine always did think highly of you." Rubbing her finger along the rim of her mug, Zaorine adds, "I'm sure you'll manage until I'm feeling myself again."

The guffaw that never was dies an inaudible death on Breide's lips, but doesn't fade out until her disbelief is clear. "Raine," the new Weyrwoman begins quite delicately, "Was a woman in a class of her own. I can manage, but really, Zao," the blonde tilts her head characteristically, blonde hair sweeping heavily to one side, and fashions a charming little smile. "Are you waiting to rescue the Weyr from the mess I'll surely make?"

"Hmm," Zaorine agrees, tipping her head in a conceeding fashion toward the blonde, "Raine certainly was. I apologize, it really wasn't fair of me to suggest anything." Zaorine takes a delicate sip from her mug and cradles it against her chest, pausing to first savor the aftertaste of wine upon her lips, "I think you'll do a wonderful job, Breide. Benden will be in your debt when you see them through the first 'fall."

Breide's dry, "You are too kind to me," could very well be replaced with: you are too cruel to me. Still, the goldrider's expression never deviates from aiming for simple charm. "Zao. Zaorine," a note of pleading hints in the carefully cadenced voice, "You do realize no one woman can handle the entirety of the Weyr herself, right? I can wait for you to come around a few more days before," teeth lower to gnaw her lower lip during the thoughtful pause, "Before I'll have to order you to your duties. Please don't make us do that."

"Us," Zaorine repeats thoughtfully, "Your Weyrleader or your Rielth? Honestly, Breide, I'll need a few more days and that's all. This move has been hard on us all and I feel absolutely horrible for slacking off like I have," Her smile is self depreciating.

"My Wey-... Sh'van," Breide purses her lips at her own correction. "And me." To her credit, there's absolutely no smugness in the -tone-, though the mere mention of Sh'van possessively spoken in the same sentence as herself may counterbalance her supposed kindnesses. "You should be aware they've brought queens with them, Zaorine. Our visitors from the past."

"Sh'van," Zaorine confirms, edging a little possessiveness on the man's name herself. "I'd be glad to discuss this with him myself, just so he understands I'm not abandoning the two of you. The last thing I want is for Benden to fail - for either of you to fail," Zaorine corrects her last. Her smile fades, though, at Breide's mention of the visitors. "I'd heard as much. Have you met them, then?"

"I have." But any further explanation to Zaorine of the visitor's presence and/or what Breide has done specifically with them is cut off. "We have. A few more days, Zaorine," the blonde warns, less gently this time as she moves once again, discomforted by the cave's temperature. "I understand your disappointment. No, I don't really," second guessing and correcting herself for the third time this night already, "I would be standing by you had the situations been reversed. I can only hope you'll shake your self-pity, eat something, and represent Benden. Eat. Take a bath." Her nose twitches again at the scents of incense. "And see to your dragon."

"I'll be glad to see you out, Breide." Zaorine says cordially. Setting aside her mug, she approaches the other woman, keeping her steps small and measured, her gaze appraising of her Senior. "I'll stop by in another day or so, and we can discuss what it is exactly that you need my help on. My duties," She elaborates with another smile, "Will that do, Breide?"

"Just take care of yourself," Breide flicks Zaorine a look that edges with hints of the impatience she's kept at bay thus far. "You look pale and I can see you need a few days more, but you have a duty to the Weyr whether you're senior or not. Thank you, but I can see myself out. Eat," is her last directive, a chin jerk to the tray balanced haphazardly on the mess of hides on Zaorine's desk before she's moving quickly to escape the heat.

Zaorine's reply is quick, her gaze still sharp and focused on Breide, "Your concern is appreciated, Breide. Clear skies."

Daddy's Little Girl

Mon, 26 Feb 2007 02:45:21 GMT

Location: Road Outside of Benden Weyr
Time: day 25, month 6, turn 448 (backdated slightly to 4 days after Connell's surprise arrival)
Players: E'drai, Layten (NPC), and Breide
Scene: Breide's daddy is all he seems to be. Yes, he is.

Road Outside of Benden Weyr
[DTU] To Rielth, Taseith, sharing an image which ought to be somewhat familiar by now (the outer walls of the Weyr, the road leading into the entrance cavern, and Breide's father's caravan camped outside it), greets placidly, << We /request/ you and your rider to meet us. >> So polite.

[DTU] To Taseith, Rielth's confirmation is just a canvas of billowing blue and a surge of positive thoughts.

Indeed, by the time Rielth gets out here, Taseith is still circling lazily several lengths above the ground - wide, slow, listless-looking circles that vary little in altitude as he awaits the queen. On his back, in addition to his rider, are bags and bundles that turn a dragon into a beast-of-burden, making him look lumpy and ungainly in his gliding.

Though the confirmation is quick, Rielth's actual arrival is delayed, and once the boxy gold is visible above the broken line of Benden's walls, her gliding spiral down is quicker. She isn't above looping easy circles about the brown beast of burden, a taunt carried in the smug swish of her tail, before landing just below where Taseith circles. Breide dismounts quickly and shades her gaze up with one gloveless hand.

Taseith rumbles disappointedly at Rielth's passage - why you gotta push a man when he's already down? - and glides slowly in her wake, giving plenty of time for Breide to dismount before he lands with a thud. Bags sway and bulge awkwardly as he crouches, letting a much more agile rider hop down. For his part, pulling off riding gear, E'drai looks like hell - exactly the kinda guy you want to introduce to daddy! - but he doesn't seem to mind. "Good to have you at beck'n call, blondie," he calls across to Breide, sparing her little more than a harried grin before he's pulling straps to loose bags. "Your fence all set up?"

The waiting caravan, still in 'traveling' mode with canvases strapped heavily over sturdy wagons and a variety of milling people who define the phrase: livin' in luxury, is gestured to, the approach of a scruffy-faced, aging man drawing out a big grin from the Benden goldrider. "Naturally," she tosses back to the brownrider, a toss of her blonde hair fluttering all too nicely in the wake of her movement. "Daddy!" Excuses to see her father slimmer now that she lives an entire continent away from their 'usual' trading route, the blonde flies towards the open arms of the older man and after all the usual family reunion stuff, leads him back to E'drai. "Daddy, this is E'drai. He's cranky even if he has a cute smile. 'drai, this is my daddy." Who has no name until the bemused tenor offers one, a hand, and a cheeky greeting: "Layten, mebbe you've heard of us. And you're the boy doin' my daughter." No hard feelings, really, *none* in that casual, easy smile.

E'drai neglects to answer the question by way of a friendly, "Gentlemen don't kiss'n tell, sir." He stops trying to unburden Taseith, who looks a touch cross about this, to pull off his gloves and offer a handshake to Daddy/Layten. Quick on the draw when it comes to making friends of allies, even in light of the fact that he looks like a man who hasn't had a shower or a night's sleep in - oh, four days, he adds, "'Preciate all this. Dunno how much comes off the top, but it's better than us starving. Raised a clever girl." Cough.

"I know what I've helped raise." And oddly enough, Layten looks proud of the fact, in spite of Breide's derisive little sniff. The man's handshake is firm, his gaze questing for something betrayed in the brownrider's expression, and from the shake to his mouth his hand shifts to expel a high-pitched whistle that signals a few of the bulkier men to come forward, cautious eyes for Taseith. "He won't buckle up if we get close, will he?" Breide takes a step back, waving a dismissive hand for E'drai's concerns and flattery: "You worry too much. Everyone wins."

Whatever there is to glean from E'drai's expression seems focused mainly on the matter at hand. All the more he had to say about whatever he did or did not do with Layten's daughter stays encapsulated in his gentlemanly response. "Nosir. Dragons ain't skittish like runners, but thanks for asking," he answers with a seemingly good-natured chuckle. To Breide's dismissal, with a dart of his eyes from his burdened dragon to the blonde, "You don't worry enough. You told Sh'van yet that you set up this sugar-coated deal?"

Satisfaction with what he sees or doesn't see sets Layten's lips pursed in a more casual appraisal of E'drai and with a barking order for the men, the unburdening of Taseith's bags begin. Cautious, wary, these are men who don't handle dragons often. "Easy there, lads." Breide flashes E'drai a smugly sunny smile, "Don't worry 'bout Sh'van either. I can handle him." Emphasized with a little one-shoulder shrug. "The lower caverns and the feedin' of people are mine and Geneve's domain. He'll be good as long as the deal doesn't drain our coffers overly." She skips a beat and flicks a quick look to the brownrider, voice lowered for him only (and not those traders out of earshot now): "Y'still cranky?"

E'drai keeps an eye on Taseith, who keeps an eye on the people coming to unburden him, as curious about them as they are wary of him. Helpfully, the brownrider calls, "Don't mind him. He don't spend a lotta time around traders. They're novel." Chuckling, about to take a step over to help unload (or maybe help defuse the tension), he pauses to answer Breide with a mellow, "Just tired, blondie. How's things on the home-front?"

The men, emboldened by E'drai's words, begins to work at a more hurried pace, some of the more curious ones looking into the tops of the bushels to suss out what they're laundering, then barked back into motion by Layten's sharp command. Breide's affectionate hand rises to caress down the worn lines of the brownrider's face, then falls when E'drai looks to walk off, paused only by her query. "Things're... we're survivin'. Survived before, almost as bad as things were at Fort for a while, if I think hard enough to remember," Breide notes. "We need this. Thank you. I don't care how you went about it. I don't really wanna know," though she does know, "But Sh'van won't look too hard right now. The caverns are drained. There'll be a Council meeting. They won't be here much longer. Promise."

"What's the Council gonna do? Send 'em back?" If E'drai sounds hopeful, maybe it's forgiveable? He hooks his fingers around Breide's wrist after just a brief pass of her fingers, drawing her hand away gently - or tiredly - or some combination of the two. And he looks toward Breide's daddy pointedly, some stupid sense of propriety having him give her fingers a brief squeeze and nothing more. "What's your dad takin' off the top, anyways? If you don't mind my asking."

"Maybe." But she's obviously dubious about that prospect. "Some of 'em are kinda cute. Some of the girls too." Ever-loving Breide, looking out for her fellow ho at arms. Her tease is warmer for the brief fingers about her waist. "Y'sure you don't want to keep some of them around?" A beat passes, the klah-dark eyes cutting quickly away from E'drai to the active group of traders. Her tongue wets her lower lip and she smiles thin at the former Istan rider, "Does it matter?"

E'drai answers gingerly, "Not especially, but I'd sleep better nights knowing how much we're paying to make stuff I stole come out clean on the other side." Shrugging, moving his hands away from Breide entirely now and shoving them deep into his pant-pockets, he shakes his head in tolerant amusement. "We got plenty of cute girls already, baby." And, not to get derailed, he adds, "You really think they come from the past?"

"Enough," Breide decides to say, the answer readily dropping from her lips. "Enough for Sh'van not to worry himself over its cost, but not get suspicious." Maybe the Weyrwoman doesn't even really know herself, and the narrowed gaze shifts from Layten to a fraction wider as it lands on E'drai. "Daddy won't cheat me." Stalwart in her faith of her father, she doesn't even bat a lash until the subject changes to the newcomers again. "Unless there's been over hundred dragons unaccounted for from the other Weyrs then... I don't know. They talk pretty crazy though and seem to believe they're from the past."

Sighing hard, most of it out of his nose, the brownrider accepts this fact with open disappointment. "I was hoping they were just a bunch of defected Reaches riders or something." E'drai's attention also strays back to the trader, the bags, and the dragon, who seems much more relieved when the bulk of his burden has been unleashed. "Your dad don't /know/, does he?" he adds out of the corner of his mouth.

Absently, the goldrider drawls: "Would've recognized them, B'net 'specially, if they were D'wed's rejects. Y'think dragons could hide out for turns on turns somewhere without the rest of 'em knowing?" Breide blinks away from her appraisal of the unloading situation, the men finally hauling off the last of Taseith's burden, blank for a split second before her expression mutates into one of angelic innocence, complete with a sweet smile: "What's there for him t'know, E'drai? Nothing, nothin' at all." Light laughter rises and an easy arm loops about the brownrider's waist for a brief hug before she's moving again towards the waiting figure of her father.

E'drai mumbles something that sounds a lot like 'you know what I mean, woman,' but it's under his breath enough that Breide's free to ignore this if she wants. (Please!) With nothing better to do, he trails after Breide with steps bordering on leaden, adding toward Layten and his boys, "Thanks for hauling that off. If I were you - and you got anything you could call a luxury for sale - I'd put out feelers. There's about a hundred girls in there that're bound to want something new and pretty." Stereotype away.

Layten's waiting with an easy, overly casual hug for his daughter - that kind of arms length affection that conveys more than he actually feels. "We'll be arrivin' tomorrow," is what he says instead of overt recognition of what E'drai says, "Spend a few days, see what comes of it." Perhaps the man was called earlier, commanded as such or it's his own initiative which is doubtful, but a slim flask is handed off to the trader head, who in turn holds it out to E'drai, with a smug chin jerk: "Somethin' somethin' for you. Don't drink it all in one place now."

E'drai eyeballs the hug, brows lifting in a mental-note expression - that's gone as soon as it had time to appear, all in favor of taking the flask instead. "Well, thank ya, sir. I'll make sure to put it to good use." He turns the flask over in his palm, then over again, then tucks it into the interior pocket of his coat with a grin that would do wonders - if Layten was a woman susceptible to dimples, that is. "If you guys don't need us out here anymore..."

Layten isn't susceptible, but Breide certainly is, and from one man to the other, dark lashes flicker, but it's finally the reluctance of leaving her father to stand by E'drai that signals her own plans to depart. "We should head back," she too voices, "But I'll see you tomorrow." Dismissing the pair of riders with a mocking salute, Layten turns to take inventory of E'drai's thievery, barking orders and putting daughter and brownrider out of sight, out of mind.

"Hope you like bread'n strawberries," remarks E'drai around a chuckle, eyeing the bags of flour and what-not as Taseith starts to move away from them, helpfully providing Layten's crew with ample room to move around in. "Till harvest, anyways, that's about the best I could do. How long're they gonna stay around? Fence this stuff?" That as he's reaching for one of Taseith's straps, all set to make his departure.

Breide is poised to mount Rielth, but her movements pause at E'drai's question. "Two sevenday. He's had to come far out of his way for this," a pointed glance flicks down to the thrum of activity from the traders as they begin to sort things out meticulously in their own way of order. "Gotta make up the lost time somehow." That said, she hoists herself up onto the queen's lower neckridge and lifts a lazy hand in wave to whoever might still notice - though not Layten - before the gold eases up into the sky.

E'drai, in need of a bath and a nap, does not chase after Breide. He hangs around a while longer, actually, watching the traders work from the vantage point of Taseith's back. And adding...

[DTU] To Rielth, Taseith projects, << E'drai's glad for your help. But he says he'd rather tell you that when your rider is already gone. >>

[DTU] To Taseith, Rielth, having monitored the progress of this trade with apparent silence, a flash of brilliant crimson flares at Taseith's belated share. << We did little. She asked, he acquiesced. >> Where her rider's thoughts might be rose-colored and naive, the queen lets slip her own suspicions as she attempts to continue watching through the brown's mind. << Benden dragons should be at Benden, >> is her final tangible thought, however, as her physical form disappears higher into the Benden sky.

Connell is...

Sun, 25 Feb 2007 06:18:47 GMT

Location: Patio
Time: day 24, month 6, turn 448
Players: Alshain and Breide
Scene: Alshain and Breide chat and the Weyrwoman finally understands more about this Connell place. Also, apparently, Lord Benden of yore and Lord Benden of present both have sticks up their respective butts.

Patio Early Summer. Rain. 69F / 21C.

A very small plot of land has been reserved for the kitchen garden. It covers no more than 100 feet by 100 feet, tucked along the wall of the bowl near the lake where water is easy to bring and where shade is available for the more tender plants. There are about ten rows of various herbs here, at bloom or dormant during different seasons. Just off to one side, a set of steps carved into the wall of the bowl leads to an adjacent, slightly raised patio.
Situated on a ledge about twenty-five feet off the ground, facing west overlooking the lake, up a short flight of unguarded steps, the patio is a simple place to get some fresh air. The ledge itself is smaller than most of the Weyr's inner rooms, host only to a few weather-sturdy pieces of furniture. A wrought-iron bench, a chair carved out of the stone itself, two wrought-iron tables, and the occasional wooden bench or chair dragged out by an enterprising visitor.

-- Players --
Alshain........5'9", slender, forty-ish, shoulder-length brown hair and brown eyes.
Breide.........Energetic, confident, curvy. Pretty in a very obvious/common way with silken hair bound in a loose bun.

-- Exits --
Bowl.....................[NE]

L'dor has just left, leaving Alshain sitting by himself on the patio--the other people who were earlier around have slowly trickled off. He has a thoughtful expression and seems mostly engaged in watching the Weyr and the handful of people and dragons visible from that spot.

Breide makes an easy path across the bowl and up the stairs to the patio. With the influx of people, the goldrider doesn't seem noticeably surprised to find somebody up here. Confident strides are at odds with a reflexive movement to bring the pale blue shawl tighter over her shoulders, almost as if she were hunching behind it's protection as she approaches Alshain. "What a day, huh?"

Alshain blinks, then glances up at Breide, offering her a reflexive smile. "Weyrwoman. It has been. Hope yours hasn't been too hassled, though? Oh--I'm Alshain, by the way. I'm a harper--a journeyman."

His smile draws out the one just hiding behind the facade of an aloof appraisal, a mask of what Breide must expect a Weyrwoman to look like. Warmer, the smile widens turning toothy, indenting a dimple, and crinkling her eyes. "Well met, Alshain. Breide. Call me Breide. Please." A hand extends, fished out from beneath the shawl's protection. "Harper, huh? Have you spoken to our Weyrharper yet?"

"Breide," Alshain agrees readily, half-rising to offer his own hand in turn. "Good to meet you. I did, actually, a little while ago out here. He's been talking to a bunch of us, and I finally tracked him down. Going to drop by to see him later tonight, too, and maybe discuss a few things. How are you, though? Here, have a seat and join me."

Breide's shake is firm, a tremble of her fingers speaking of an action not completely natural as her hand withdraws with nothing untoward happening. Really. "It's a windy night," the goldrider notes, the elevated patio shielded from much of the light gusts wafting through the bowl. "Better than rain though, I guess. Has he?" Interested, the weyrwoman perches herself on the edge of the wrought-iron bench and fashions a dimply grin for Alshain. "Hope you've settled some of his questions. He's excited, I think."

"Excited," repeats Alshain wryly, quirking a brow as he looks over at Breide. "I got more... befuddlement, on my end. Which is fine, because I do enjoy sharing that with someone else. I think we just have more questions now, and no answers at all. I think he's planning a trip to the Hall now to look through their records, and good luck with that. I'd like to go, too, to be honest."

"That too," Breide takes Alshain's correction in stride, her warmth undiminished. "I think a bit of both maybe even. And," she blinks, dark eyes glittering as they cut quickly from whatever's captured her attention in the bowl back to the harper. "Is he? You do? I... I'm sorry," the weyrwoman truly does seem apologetic, especially as a hand reaches over consoling towards his shoulder, "I don't think we can allow that."

Alshain glances sideways at that hand on his shoulder but doesn't say anything about it, or pull away. Instead, brows knitting, he looks back to the Weyrwoman. "Part of that discretion he advised?" the harper surmises, with a frown.

Something about Alshain's words cause Breide's face to tilt, favoring the harper with a slight narrowing of large eyes and a clear view of her right cheek. Though it's darker now, the color to her cheeks is still distinguishable by glow and after another thoughtful, and highly sympathetic, pat to the older man's shoulder, the goldrider withdraws again to beneath her shawl. "Something like that. And, he'd have to explain your presence to the other harpers. It'd hardly work for him to introduce you as a harper from the past now, right?"

"I'm sorry," Alshain says, noting that blush. "Didn't mean to sound... that way about it. I understand. I... can't imagine it'd go over very well if I turned back up at the Hall after this long. They'd look quite askance at me. Still, though." He shrugs and offers a small apologetic smile to the woman. "Zakias--my master--and I made copies of the most important records we had at Connell; I gave them to Andoran."

"No, no," Breide's smile flashes quick, as dismissive of his apologies as the hand that's escaped her shawl's confinement to wave about. "Nothing to apologize for really. I just had to think a moment." A skill the blonde doesn't seem outwardly capable of on the fly. "Recall why it'd be a bad idea and... yes, Andoran's discretion on the matter. The entire Weyr's already talking and..." Voice dies off and the goldrider just shrugs, cute and in a hopeful, endearing sort of way. "I... hate to ask the obvious, but how can we verify documents when," her eyes drop, lifting again when her voice bolsters with renewed strength, "We don't have anything to compare them to?"

"I... I don't know," admits Alshain, with a shake of his head. "I don't have much hope at this point of turning up any /real/ records--I think I'd be happy for just some scant mention of us. Anything at all." He watches the goldrider, frown lingering again. "We were so wrong about what we would find here. It's really... A lot of people seem scared, and some are angry, and... It's just not a good situation for anyone, though I'm sorry to bring this kind of trouble on you unsuspecting people, though--" His shrug asks, 'what else can you do?'

For the first true apology from one of the newcomers, what seems genuine, Breide's bubbly good cheer seems to fade out. The first signs of concern worry her brow in little lines and perhaps the shawl isn't just to keep out the weather, for the confident figure seems to wilt beneath its protection. "It's a lot for people to take in. Sh'van, the Weyrleader," she clarifies instantly, "And I hope to quiet some of the rumors and the fears in our people. If we pretend you all are crazy, it's easier to handle weepy kitchen girls." The last tease renews the smile but doesn't smooth out those lines again.

"Now, we're not /that/ terrible, I don't think," Alshain picks up the tease with another quick smile of his own. "None of us have been put on trial for anything in... a few months, at least." Though, he falls silent a moment, then returns with a question of his own: "Forgive me if I'm being tactless, but it doesn't seem like Benden is--well. It's not the Benden I remember," he says slowly.

Breide's smile holds its own for a little while longer before it grows tired on her face and lapses at the mention of a trial. A brow hitches up high. "Trial, huh? I don't think any of us have been held on trial *ever*." With that little emphasis, the goldrider scoots back, way back, into the bench. "The Benden you remember, did they ever stand on trial?"

"Connell had more than its share of trials," admits Alshain with a shrug. "I was only there a turn and a half or so, all told, but the settlement was there a little over six turns, when we left, and from what I understand it was one thing after another--a lot of bad luck, and a lot of people fighting against us. The Benden I remember--" He hesitates, frowns. Finally, with a tight smile: "I didn't know the Weyr very well, but I was posted to the Hold for a while, about a turn. Lord Benden was... not shy of it, if he thought it was deserved."

Breide listens attentively, dark eyes focused on Alshain as he explains of Connell and then of Benden. "Six turns is a long time to just disappear into records," she points out, mild, even gentle. Her hand strays down to play an idle beat on the iron emptiness at her side. "Especially if the settlement was as plagued with bad luck as you say." The loose blonde hair shifts, framing her solemn face sweetly, and though she smiles a tiny little smile, it doesn't trace up to her eyes. "Sounds familiar," is her low mumble on the heels of Alshain's appraisal of the once Lord Benden, barely audible, that's quickly followed by a brighter (false) look, "Tell me about yourself, harper."

"Myself?" says Alshain, tilting his head slightly to study Breide. Then: "Well, let's see. I'm from Fort Weyr originally, back before I apprenticed--I specialized in voice and composition, but I've got a good bit of experience in teaching, which I suspect is probably going to be more useful here. I was posted back to Fort Weyr, then Benden Hold, and then I spent a few years going to a lot of the smaller holds, mostly teaching, before I ended up down at Connell. And now here."

"Yourself," Breide confirms, an easy smile again quickly shaping her lips. Then, she sits in to listen, hands retrieved from tapping against the bench to sit on her knees as she rocks back a bit, girlish. "What was Fort like back then? Why did only riders from Connell come forward if you realized we were desperate for riders?"

"Busy, lively," Alshain admits, with a glance around the bowl that says, 'not like this.' "I loved it growing up, and my family still lives--lived," he corrects himself, wincing, "there. I don't know why, really; I don't know that the North even knew what we were doing. You'd have to ask our Weyrleaders that--Iopeian, and L'ott."

Bringing up Iopeian is a bad thing with Breide and the abundance of warmth suddenly goes cold for a beat. "I'd rather hear what you have to say," the Benden Weyrwoman notes, continuing to explain her opinion with, "It's easier to piece together an image of how things were from lots of sources." From her knees, one hand rises, the elbow positioning itself on the iron-wrought backing so a hand lifts for her head to lean against. Casual, truly. "What *were* you doing at Connell?"

"I'd heard about it," admits Alshain, shrugging casually himself. "And I'd been around most of the rest of Pern. It was one of those kind of... spur of the moment decisions I'm so good at making. Like coming here," he laughs."

Despite her reputation as one of -those- kinds of blondes, Breide is rarely found at a loss for words but this turns into one of those occasions as the pretty woman stares blankly at Alshain for a long moment. "I... I meant, what were all of you doing there?"

"Oh." Alshain blinks at Breide and looks sheepish, glancing wryly across the bowl for her correction. He looks at once mildly embarrassed and relieved. "All of us. Well. I, ah, wasn't there when they founded the place, but it was begun as a place to prepare for Threadfall, when no one else believed it would come back. We were right, of course, just... thinking well ahead of our time."

For all the talk of Connell and the newcomers, the reasons for Connell's existence is certainly something new to the Weyrwoman and reflects as such in the slack of Breide's parted lips. "Oh." Now pursed, her mouth somehow retains a quizzical, confused sort of look. "You were thinking... well, logically. Thread should have fallen around then. Two hundred some turns ago, yes?"

"Right," agrees Alshain with a nod. "They founded it in... 196? Yes. We left in turn 202. We kept hoping it was just... delayed, somehow, but... No." A shrug, resigned. "But it /is/ going to fall now? We didn't come here for nothing?"

Breide's rocking halts, her feet dropping with a muted thud of boots to the ground. "Unfortunately," confirms the blonde. "It wasn't until about five turns ago that most people agreed, Weyrfolk. Most of the holders aren't quite-," the goldrider hesitates noticeably. "Let's just say Benden's current Lord sounds remarkably like your picture of the Benden Holder of old. It's almost believable. But yes, yes-, gold clutches have grown in the past five turns. Rielth's last had thirty eggs." The last is, understandably, proud.

"Oh, Faranth. Good luck with him, then," commiserates Alshain on the subject of Benden's Lord. He was... never particularly fond of me, and that's not a very good place to be." He shrugs, though, brushing off the past in favor of--"Thirty eggs?" A low whistle. "Half that would be an impressive clutch for us."

"None of them Impressed to girls either," Breide tacks on after she basks in Alshain's approval.

"They--oh?" Alshain tilts his head, brows knitting. "That's... a good thing?"

The lack of an appropriate response from Alshain at that dawns surprise in Breide's eyes. "Isn't that why you brought your girl greenriders with you?"
"I don't think I quite follow," admits Alshain, studying Breide again. "They came for the same reason everyone else came: to fight Thread here, now."

Now warier, Breide just eyes Alshain with outright askance. "Why would they fight Thread?"

"Because... they're dragonriders?" replies Alshain, in the distinct tone of guessing.

"They're girls," as if that trumps the dragonrider part. "If any of them fights Thread ever, it'd be Adria." Breide surprises even herself with that announcement, startled to twitch a bit and wrinkle her nose, as if truly considering that notion. "Yes," a slow nod, thoughtful creases across her brow, then quickens into a faster-paced head bobble, "Adria would be the only one I'd trust to not completely lose her lunch in the middle of a Fall."

"Ah," says Alshain, in an enlightened tone. "I see. Well." Tactfully: "I suppose that's something that's a misunderstanding that will have to be sorted out later, then."

"No misunderstanding." Breide states, emphasis on the -no- part. "But I'm sure Sh'van will figure something out. He's a good Weyrleader. A good man." Teeth ruminate lightly over her lower lip. "So Connell was the only Weyr to prepare for Thread's return? You all are trained to fight Thread? I mean, the dragonriders. But ground crew too?"

"There were hides," says Alshain, "a good... twenty turns or so before we went to Connell. Benden's Weyrleader turned them up, and they said there was no Thread coming, ever again. And everyone believed that, except the ones who left for Connell. They were the ones that prepared for something else. Though, U'dav was at least partially right." He grimaces. "They're trained for 'Fall, though, as best we can. Ground crew, not so much, really, but it's always sounded easier to me?"

"Ironic that." Breide's smile shadows and she tightens the shawl about her shoulders. "Benden's Weyrleader says there's no Thread and-," she flicks a look to the harper, "You should mention those documents to Andoran. He'd find that interesting. But, oh, anyway I meant to say, Benden's Weyrleader says there's no Thread and turns later he loses his Weyr for that very reason. Perhaps," her gaze quests for some agreeable reaction in Alshain's face even as she gets to her feet with an invitation dropped lightly, "You could join me for a quiet drink some time to chat some more?"

"I'm going to stop by to see him later tonight," Alshain agrees, nodding to Breide as she rises. "so I'll be sure to do that. And I might be able to oblige one evening, Weyrwoman--Breide. It was good to meet you, and of course, if you need anything, I'm happy to help out with what I can, too."

"I'd like that." Breide's smile is sunnier yet for the acceptance. "Sh'van would like to hear your perspective too. Thank you, harper, for your time." Nodding once, the blonde watches Alshain sidelong even as her steps carry her back down those stairs to the bowl.

Back to Old Habits

Sat, 24 Feb 2007 22:53:53 GMT

Location: Benden Lake
Time: day 22, month 6, turn 448 (backdated, slightly to the day after the Settlers' arrival)
Players: B'net and Breide
Scene: So much for discretion, at least Breide didn't go further, right? Still, B'net and Breide exchange questions that neither are truly willing to answer, and exchange information - baby steps towards trust. Then there's the kiss.

Southern Bowl(#10RHJM4) Early Summer. Rain. 69F / 21C.

The primary feature of this end of the mile-long bowl is the Weyr's lake, which takes up nearly a quarter of the bowl's capacity by itself. About two dragonlengths deep at the deepest part - which is safely nestled along the wall of the bowl, far from the shore - the water is fairly clear for all that it's warm. Even in the winter, the water never really dips below "chilly," heated as it is by the Weyr's internal thermals. Occupying the southwestern corner, the southeastern finger of the lake dips into what would be the feeding grounds if the fence were still standing.
The tunnel to the weyrling barracks opens on the eastern side of the bowl, just north of the patio-like overhang that serves as the Weyr's stables - for all that the Weyr has stables at the moment. Almost directly across from this on the eastern wall is the tunnel leading in to the lower caverns, meeting up with the road out of the Weyr.

-- Players --
Breide.........Energetic, confident, curvy. Pretty in a very obvious/common way with silken hair bound in a loose bun.
-- Dragons --
Rielth.........Gold dragon.
-- Exits --
Northern Bowl............[N] Weyrling Barracks........[E]
Feeding Grounds..........[S] Patio and Garden.........[SW]
Lower Caverns............[W]

B'net has arrived.
Hafizth has arrived.

What comes effortlessly to some dragons, and other queens, takes work with the not so pretty Rielth. Strange dragons, strange people, tightened supplies or not, Breide's been recruited into bathing and oiling her dragon, and the pair have claimed a spot on the lake's shore with the rider knee-deep in the water. A light rain drizzles, cooling what would be a more humid afternoon.

B'net and Hafizth meander across the bowl towards the lake as if they're not mysterious visitors from another time, ignoring any attention they attract, unless it's from a pretty girl, in which case Ben waves and smiles. They make it to the water eventually, and Hafizth wades in, offering a gentle rumble of a greeting to the queen. His rider drops the bag he's carrying and strips off boots and shirt, rolling up his pants to wade in with a heavy brush and some clothes in hand. "Mornin', blondie," he calls in friendly greeting, lifting the brush-hand at Breide.

A different face for every occasion, and for Rielth, Breide's posture, her head bend and the slightest smile crooked on her mouth conveys devoted intimacy. Low murmured words for the tarnished gold lapse into silence when Rielth first notices the approach of B'net and his bronze, the dragon gracing the other pair with a regal little head nod and rumble. A beat later, the blonde turns, a careless smile flashed to the bronzerider and a lazy wave of her own brush. "More like afternoon, B'net, but I'll forgive you not knowin' what time it is. I'll even forgive ya for yelling at me the other night if you come join us."

Hafizth waits until that acknowledgement comes from the gold before completely leaving the shore to head out into the water, B'net close behind him. "Afternoon?" B'net cranes his neck back to look at the sun in the sky, and then shrugs at Breide, "I think you can understand if I'm a bit confused about time at the moment," he jokes, "Plus I feel like I ought to've slept for a seven or so." He rubs the back of his neck as he reaches the bronze, who obligingly crouches down into the water. B'net reaches into the bag and pulls out a handful of soap to begin lathering the dragon's hide. "Well, I am sorry about yelling at you, love, but it'd been a trying sort of day, you know? Jumping a couple hundred turns into the future'll take it out of ya."

Breide's furtive drop of lashes, and the shifty look that casts about is hard to miss, but when those lashes throw wide again, only the slightest hint of her anxiety betrays itself in a slight tightness that gathers about her smile. "Understood, which is why I'll forgive you so easily." Clad in a brightly printed sarong that gathers high above her knees and a halter top that wraps about her neck, the weyrwoman returns to scrubbing idle circles into Rielth's side, focusing particularly on the square build of her stocky haunches. "Different sun too, I 'magine," notes she, following B'net's gaze up belatedly, "Especially if you were from... the south. Looks different."

B'net shoots Breide a grin over his shoulder as he scrubs at the bronze, a very thorough wash in the offing, it seems. "Glad to hear that," he tells her, briefly taking in the outfit before turning back to his work. "Not the sun I'd got used to," he confirms, "But I was only down south for about six turns. Born and raised up north, so it's not a sun I'm unfamiliar with." He continues his scrubbing, humming tunelessly under his breath. As he switchs to rinsing, he turns another glance on the goldrider. "So what's with you people not having any food?"

"You have soap," Breide is quick to note, a sidelong glance allowing her a view of B'net with his bronze. "Have anything else you're holding out on us?" Her blunt question is offset by another one of her dimpled smiles and a sudsy hand that rakes through the dampness of her blonde locks.

"I have soap," B'net confirms, almost warily, "I brought a little along in case we needed to clean and re-oil between jumps. I got what's in this bag and that's it." He smiles back at her as he ignores her other, blunter question, and asks his own: "What are you people? Rebels? How come you haven't got any supplies?"

The smile widens at his return, Breide's brows arcing: touche and the dance of avoiding questions uneasily answered continues. "I hardly think you're in any position to be demanding answers out of us, B'net," the blonde returns a moment later, her hair toss falling short in whatever effect she'd intended, most likely flirty, given it's damp state. "Harper seems t'think we oughta quarantine the lot of you. Keep you in one area, off limits until the healers check you up and we figure out what to do with you." The sly little grin that flashes over her shoulder conveys Breide's own vote lies elsewhere, at least where B'net is concerned.

"Darling, where on earth would you quarantine fifty dragons?" B'net laughs, "Not to mention, you'd have to be quarantined with us, wouldn't you? I can't think you'd enjoy that very much." He shoots her a winning smile, and begins lathering another section now that the bronze has reemerged from the water. "Besides," he adds, "I've answered your questions, haven't I? The fact that you choose not to believe my answers is no fault of mine."

"Sure, sure." Breide's rolling eyes can't be -seen- per se, given she's involved in scrubbing a rather dusty patch of her dragon clean, but it can be heard in the mild disgust of her voice. The cleaning leads her to dive beneath the water a bit, bubbles rising where she was last, and when she surfaces it's inappropriately close by Hafizth. An admiring look casts up to the fiery bronze. "Doll, I wouldn't mind being quarantined with you. I 'magine," her Boll-infected drawl meshes with the predominant accent of Fort, "We'd find plenty to keep us occupied. Nice bronze. A bit small, isn't he?"

B'net continues with his scrubbing, unconcerned, it seems, by whatever Breide's tone might be trying to indicate. When she swims up next to the bronze Ben eyes her up and down as she surfaces, deftly continuing his cleaning even while his attention is elsewhere. "I wouldn't mind that either, luv, but quarantine didn't sound all that private to me. If we could just be quarantined in, say, your weyr, then I'd have no objection to it." He shoots her a smirky grin and a wink before his eyes are back on his lifemate, and he shrugs in answer to her question, nodding a little. "He's on the small side for a bronze, yeah. He's fast, though, manuevers well."

Leaving Rielth to her own devices, the Benden queen submerging herself to rinse away the suds, Breide stretches out a hand to Hafizth's side. She stops just shy of actually touching the bronze, turning to request permission in the quizzical uplift of one brow. "Y'need privacy to have fun, bronzerider?" A heavy tease lines her drawl, and her brush holding hand rises above the water to beckon.

B'net watches Breide's hand move towards the Hafizth's hide, and looks up at the bronze, who twists his head around to look. After a brief moment, the bronze makes a noise and turns back around, and B'net nods. "He says you can touch him," he relays, wiping some suds off a haunch before laughing at the goldrider's boldness. "No, darling, no I don't. Most women do, though, and I'd hate to presume."

Permission granted, Breide's hand reaches up to play against Hafizth's side, a curiosity that goes beyond admiration in the light pressure of her exploring fingers. "You're a right handsome fella, aren't you?" The soft words are spoken to the dragon, but could easily, especially with a flicker of lashes to B'net, mean someone else altogether. The look back to the stranger lingers, punctuated with her own return laughter, "Mmmmm, you'll find, if y'stick around, bronzerider, that I am not most women."

B'net continues washing, though he keeps an eye on Breide, and catches that flickering glance with a smirk. "Right handsome indeed," he replies, stretching up to reach a patch of flaking hide. "Look even better once he's had a chance to get clean up properly." He runs a hand through his own messy hair, then sets back down with a crooked grin for the goldrider. "Is that so?" he replies, tongue flicking out to lick at his lips, "Well, if I'm going t'be sticking around, now, you'd better show me the place, don't y'think?"

"Later," one of Breide's well-known mantras as she easily puts off his request for later. "Y'might not be at Benden long enough to care where the latrines are are." Her finger inspection of Hafizth pauses, her hand poised just above the fire hide again before it drifts to flick tiny drops of water B'net-ward. "So, why Benden?"

"I just have to find things for myself, then, I suppose," B'net replies casually, returning to his washing. The light spray of water is ignore, and he shrugs. "No idea. We found Connell abandoned, Iopeian took off looking for somewhere to find out what year it was. Next thing we know, she tells us to come to Benden, and here we are."

"And Iopeian's still in the infirmary?" Lilting in query, Breide affects nonchalance by emboldening the swing of her hand as it drops deeper into the water. A wave rolls lightly towards the bronzerider on the heels of the Bendenite's movements. "She's... exciteable, isn't she?"

"Probably," B'net replies, before laughing, "Sure, 'excitable''s one way to put it. 'Borderline nervous wreck' is another. There's also 'of questionable sanity'. Don't get me wrong," he adds, "She's not -utterly- incompetent. She didn't use to be, anyways. But she's sort of fallen apart over the last few turns. Who knows what the stress of all this has finally done to her."

"And Ayerpheth?" Her quest for knowledge, especially of potential competition, alights onto the older gold. "She's still got some turns of clutches on her, or...? Well," Breide shrugs, tucking light laughter in with her words, "I suppose I shouldn't judge from the night before. All of the dragons didn't look too great, color was off. Except Hafizth." Not above random flattery, especially for the dragon of a cute bronzerider, the blonde tosses a wink to the bronze.

"She just clutched about half a turn ago?" B'net offers, "She should have more in her yet, I'd think." He brushes at his hair again, and tosses her a brief glance before patting the bronze's hide affectionately. "We're in good shape," he grins, "But no, color was off 'cause they were all exhausted. It's worse than regular betweening. I wouldn't judge from that. A few days, everyone'll be back to themselves."

"You lost a wing?" Inquisitive (and sympathetic) Breide treads across the water to come up near B'net. Damp hair remains damp, thus won't shift around as cutely as she'd like, but she still has other assets and two arms that have since discarded her brush somewhere to be fished out of the lake's depths later. Two arms that slide up to try to drape easily over B'net's shoulders. "I'd say y'all are pulling yourselves together quite well given... everything."

"We did," B'net replies soberly, "E'dast's wing disappeared after the first jump." He's quiet for a moment, but not so broken up about it as to resist Breide's advances. Her arms go over his shoulders and he slides one around her waist as eyes flicker downwards in an attempt to see into the front of her top. "We're resilient," he tells her, adding, with a hint of a smirk: "You know, flexible."

"How awful." Again with the overt sympathy, dark eyes melt and in the shadow of Hafizth, Breide leans forward and up (easier for his roaming eyes to sneak a peek) to sneak a quick kiss into B'net's five o'clock shadow. In the name of inter-Weyr relations and all that, really. "We like flexible at Benden. Have to be," the goldrider notes more reflectively, "What with everything not going our way at all."

B'net murmurs his agreement in the back of his throat, making no attempt to hide the fact that he's looking down her top as she leans up to kiss his cheek. His hand on her back drifts slightly lower in the water as he nods at her, saying, "I'm sure you do," before putting on a sympathetic expression. "Poor thing. It must be awful never having enough to eat. I don't see how you keep your figure."

Breide's attempts to seduce come to a screeching halt at B'net's words, not -so- far gone into the touching and kissing to not comprehend what he says. "I don't know what you're talking about." As if it weren't completely obvious. "Anyway," her body's reluctance is clear from how one hand maintains contact as long as she can, trailing down B'net's chest, even as she forcibly pulls herself back. "I've work to do." Right, work that isn't slated for later. "Enjoy your bath, stranger."

B'net is not so easily put off from either of his two goals, and as Breide moves away, he reaches a hand to catch the wrist of that trailing arm. "Why are you trying to hide this?" he asks, tugging her back towards him, his grip firm but not bruising, "It's obvious to me and I've not even been here a whole day yet. No wine, nowhere near enough food for our numbers, the looks on your faces when I asked? And that greasy brownrider throwing half a fit about having more mouths to feed?" He takes another step closer and grins at her, "I'm not stupid, darling, and you're a terrible liar. You don't want to tell me yet why you're so hard up, that's fine, but don't treat me like an idiot."

Breide can't be as weak as it seems when she's so easily pulled back into B'net's chest; sure in resolve, in self-control, but not in strength, right? "It's none of your business." Where her body betrays her, pressing up against his (even without any of his added help), her intonation manages to attain short in her terse response. "It's our problem. Benden's. Not yours. I'm sure y'all have more to worry about than our state of affairs. Was a pity though," she does concede, mouth shaping wryly, "Your Iopeian didn't choose the Reaches or Fort to descend on."

B'net keeps his hold on her wrist, holding her arm against his side as she presses up against him. Really not that much for self-control, either, is she? "It's my business while I'm staying here," he replies, but at least she's stopped denying the truth of the matter, and that softens his demeanor a bit, enough even to laugh at her wry remark. "She never has had much taste," he jokes, before looking the goldrider in the face and shaking his head, making a little 'tsk tsk' noise with his tongue against his teeth. "You've really got to stop lying to me, darling. I hate having to be cross with pretty girls; it's such a waste."

"Y'think I'm pretty?" Stopped denying, but not outright confirming - a tiny difference, but one Breide's pride can live with. At least long enough for her lack of self-control to assert control of her voluptuous body. "Not lyin', just protecting my own. And you, B'net, my pretty, pretty man," she slips a small smile upward - a smile that lacks depth or the twinkly eyes that normally go hand in hand with it, "Aren't my own to protect yet. So don't be cross with lil' me, please?" Having finished her swim, Rielth meanders lazily back to where her rider makes nice with the strange bronzerider.

[DTU] To you, Rielth rumbles warningly, << Lanmith's would not be pleased. >> Her conscience, her keeper.

B'net just laughs. "You certainly think so, darling, and who am I to argue?" A hand returns to her hip, steadying, as he grins at her. "Don't have to protect anybody from me, darling. Less you keep calling me 'pretty', that is. I'm handsome, love, girls are pretty. So unless you're trying to say I remind you of a girl...." He trails off, and smiles at her.

Self-control, in spite of Rielth's rumbling warning that trembles the water about them, is further tossed out the window when Breide draws one hand up to curl fingers into B'net's hair. The other is still attached to the bronzerider's wrist, but that doesn't stop the blonde from reaching it up too, expecting his hand to either drop or follow in her upward quest to sink those fingers in his hair as well. Then, with the force of a girl used to taking what she wants, she pulls down his face closer to hers to press in an unrestrained kiss, passionate with the promise of more. Except she's pulling away and treading into the safety of Rielth's side - away from temptation completely thsi time. Still, she smiles, more in her element with flirtation than masking her Weyr's deficiencies. "Doll, you're the last thing that'd remind me of a girl."

B'net must have some self-control after all, since he does not react as aggressively to Breide's seeming invitation as might be expected. His hand lets hers go for his hair, and shifts to rest on her other hip, but he doesn't tug her closer, just letting her kiss him, returning it in kind, and then releasing to allow her to go when she pulls away. He seems undistressed, just laughing, and lifting a hand in a wave. "Glad to hear that."
B'net then turns back to Hafizth and sets to finishing up the bath.

Breide smiles all girlishly, a certain giddiness hanging about her shoulders as she slogs up out of the water onto the water-strewn gold, perched there while Rielth trundles out of the lake.

Understatements

Sat, 24 Feb 2007 05:52:58 GMT

Location: Council Room
Time: day 21, month 6, turn 448
Players: Adria, Sh'van, Andoran, Breide
Scene: The Weyrleaders return to the Council Room and find Adria there with the harper. There's talk of damage control and how to control the flow of information. Sh'van hands out reassurances like candy.

Council Room Early Summer. Windy. 68F / 20C.
Like many rooms at Benden, this cavern was made to be ornate and has since fallen into sad disrepair. The smooth walls boast numerous places where tapestries should hang, but there are now only bare swathes. In the center of the room is a large table with room for a Weyrwoman and Weyrleader from each of the Weyrs to sit; the cushions are missing but the emblems of the Weyrs are carved into the stone table, though dust has sunk into the cracks and carving. In addition to the table, there is room for an additional twenty or thirty people to stand along the walls though there is no further seating available.
The cavern is perpetually hazed in dust and gloom, wanting for glowbaskets. Just off to the side is a niche-like room with a smaller table in it, the walls lined floor-to-ceiling in carved shelves. Here are most of the records of Benden Weyr - public ones, at least.
-- Players --
Andoran........Mid-twenties, curly black halo of hair, brown eyes in a "baby face", about 5' 10, on the plump side. Wearing a Journeyman Harper's knot.
Breide.........Energetic, confident, curvy. Pretty in a very obvious/common way with silken hair bound in a loose bun.
Adria..........Tall, slim, refined; Lovely, unassuming. Early twenties.
Sh'van.........Almost 6', lean. Pale blue eyes & scarred. Impeccably groomed.
-- Exits --
Bowl.....................[W]

"They said that they came out over the South first - so it would explain at least -some- of it, but not all." Adria seems more cautious about the whole thing, leaning against the table with a sigh. "They also said they left because they received some message from the future that they were needed in this time, to fight this Pass." Glancing to Andoran, she quirks a bit of a smile, telling him gently, "You know even if there are female greenriders from the past, that it won't change the way people see us all that much. I'm not even sure that anyone would believe it. Or that we should tell them at all." There's a moment, then decisively, "I've been over this too many times already - I either need to rest - or need to go after E'drai and make sure..." At the sound of footsteps, she trails off.

You sense Sh'van whispers as they pass under the arch of the room, "You've done very well. I only wish we had more to offer them."

Sh'van senses "Breide's hand in Sh'van's relaxes a touch at his compliment, and the shifty eyes that seem to wait for a second shoe to fall settle."

Andoran pushes away from the chair he leans against, only to draw close to the table once more and unrolls one of the hides he brought in. It's a map, appropriately enough, and he stares at it for a long while. "From the South ... there's nothing here but the coastline in places ...." he gestures at the hide. "No one has been there in Turns ... " he gives his head a little shake. "No ... probably not, people don't take too well to having their lives rustled up too much, too fast," he muses. "It's just ... something that always struck me as kind of ... odd about dragons, y'know?" He gives the map a tap and then nods. "Oh ... of course, I'm sorry if I'm delaying you ..." he too trails off as he hears footsteps.

The footsteps belong to Weyrleader and Weyrwoman. The former looks momentarily nonplussed to see the room already occupied. "--Wingleader. Harper. I shouldn't be surprised to see you here. Discussing our guests?"

You post your note about 'Five Saltines + 1 Glass of Wine' in group 3 (Plots and Rumors) as message #11
===< Plots and Rumors >=======================================================
Message: 3/11 Posted Author
Five Saltines + 1 Glass of Wine Fri Feb 23 Breide
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
When B'net and Breide exited sans Adria to join the other arrivals, the Weyrwoman made an announcement as to the conditions of their temporary stay: There would be light refreshments found in the queens' weyr anteroom (the better to avoid questions from the public and quizzical eyes), and that the riders could pick weyrs off the western bowl walls as most of those were still empty, dusty, but empty.

Light refreshments, in fact, is an overstatement. In the queens' anteroom, people would find a few bowls of dried fruit, mushy grains mixed with watered down milk, a kettle of stew for about twenty people or so, and a basket of hard day-old bread. Water, however, would have been in abundance.

Bendenites, the day after, might note that breakfast, lunch, /and/ dinner tend to be slimmer than usual.
==============================================< Day 21, Month 6, Turn 448 >===

"Yes - but I've got a bit of a headache. I am sure the Weyrwoman filled you in." Adria looks over to Breide with a sympathetic glance - so much for tomorrow. Then she offers a nod to Sh'van. "Andoran's already sorting things out - as you can see. If you need anything, please let me know - but otherwise, I need some rest." With a wan smile, she ducks out of the room, expression concerned.

And salutes and all that good stuff, 'cause she's Adria.

Adria steps out of the room.
Adria has left.

"Actually, I came to put these into the Records shelves," Andoran splays his hands over the hides that currently rest on the table, the one unrolled, a map of Pern. "I didn't quite expect the news I found here either, but, yessir, we were talking about ... the visitors." He clears his throat and adds on in a softer tone. "Good night, Wingleader. Rest well."

"The visitors," Breide interjects lightly, her nod to the departing greenrider somewhat warmer than is norm, "Have been sent off to bed with their milk and cookies, without the milk part. Or the cookies," the blonde is quick to note, sidelong glance shifting to Sh'van. "I suppose it'd be ... stupid of me to think nothing of what they've said has made it to the gossip mills?"

Sh'van gives Adria a distracted nod as she departs, his hands opening to release Breide like a falcon from his wrist. "All I know of them is what Rielth told Lanmith, and what little I've learned for myself. That is to say, the strangers claim they are from the past, from a place called Connell." He turns one pale eye on the harper to add, "Considering our talk of the other evening, I find this all highly coincidental. Yet I cannot discount the color of their dragons' hides. Wherever they are from, it is a long way away."

"Indeed, sir. What I heard in the lower caverns was that we had visitors from a long way away ... however the /timing/ part of the story I did not hear until I was here," he gestures around the room. The Harper makes a small sound in the back of his throat. "It is very interesting information to add to our conversation of the other evening," Andoran speaks carefully, though it's clear that the Harper has recently under the grip of some strong emotion, from the heightened color in his face. "It certainly opens up a ... large number of possibilities. To my mind, more research ... perhaps at Benden Hold is all the more urgent."

"At Benden /Hold/?" What Breide means to say is replaced with that incredulous question. "What would the Hold know that we do not?"

Sh'van doesn't repeat Breide's question -- outloud, anyway -- but his eyebrow does rise. Andoran gets a, "Well Harper? Explain yourself," look.

In the hot seat again, Andoran, stands up straight and clasps his hands behind his back almost like one of his students. Probably to hide the fact that his hands are shaking. "Well, ma'am, sir, the hide that Adria found mentioned something about the 'locals' suspecting something. Wouldn't that indicate the /Benden/ locals? I should think we'd leave no stone unturned and that the Hold's Records are our next logical step to unraveling this mystery."

"Good luck with that," is mumbled, but distinctive nonetheless. It's hard to mistake her words for anything else. Sudden exhaustion catches up with Breide and whatever tenseness has kept her going so far flies away as she drops like a stone into a seat wearily. "I wish the Hall would tithe something yesterday."

"Lord Hrotti is, hmn, less than impressed with the Weyr," Sh'van offers, moving behind Breide's chair with his hands on its back, just over her shoulders. Aren't they a model of solidarity? "I don't know how much access you'll be allowed, Harper. --I was able to..." His lip flares in a sneer, deliberate this time, "Negotiate for some additional supplies for our guests. We need to ask for a meeting of the Weyr Council, and soon. We simply cannot support them for long."

Andoran inclines his head. "I understand, sir, however, their posted Harper may be of some assistance in such matters, not to mention the fact that my own father is posted to a local minor hold and has some relationships in the area that might prove useful. If I were to present myself as a /Harper/ and perhaps frame it as a favor to the /Hold/ rather than a request on behalf of the Weyr ..." he's clearly thinking this through even as he says the words. "I am glad that you were able to successfully negotiate for additional supplies, Sir." He casts a brief glance Breide's way. "What would you like to see from the Hall in terms of tithe? I'd be happy to present a request to Master Vinris in my next report. Also ... perhaps ... may I step across to the caverns to get anything for either of you? Some klah? Something stronger?" - "It's been quite the evening." Understatement of the Turn.

Completing the picture of solidarity is a hand that steals up over her shoulder to find Sh'van's, seeking reassurance, offering support. "We've managed to," she thins her lips, "Frankly, harper, we've managed to let these visitors believe we've more means than we do. Before you set off on this chase for information, would you see if there's any damage control you could work for us here?" Hopeful eyes fly up to find Andoran's face, entreating. "Both in terms of people talking about how they profess to be from the past, as well as... what the newcomers become aware of in terms of current history?" His offer is declined with a subtle shake of her head.

Sh'van nods his agreement with Breide's words, his attention on the Harper. "Indeed. We need you more here now than rooting about in the Hold's depths for records that may or may not exist, and if they do, probably won't be legible." His fingers wrap about hers. "We need to know where these people are from. Are they all mad? Where is this... Connell of theirs? -That- is far more important than hides, at least until things have settled."

Andoran looks a little bit taken aback by the request, skepticism in his voice: "Do you think that ... they would listen to me?" His feet shift a bit on the floor. "Though certainly I would be glad to inquire amongst the group about their history, their background, more about "Connell"" His brow furrows in thought as he mulls all this over. "I can't help but think though, that this and the matter in that hide are related ..." Like a dog with a bone he is.

Breide looks earnestly to the harper, her expression frayed about the edges, and nods once, firm, "This is what we'd prefer. We'd like the information that they're from the past be kept as on the down low as possible." The weyrwoman's conclusion twists wry, as if she amuses herself by using such a phrase. "And there's nothing a harper wouldn't be able to discern." He looks like he could use whatever encouragement she can give, and it's punctuated with a tired smile. "Adria can pass on a message for you to the area harper if," she flicks a look to Sh'van.

"You -are- the Harper at Benden," Sh'van reassures Andoran. "Certainly they would listen to you. And as the Weyrwoman says... you need to encourage them to keep their history quiet, at least as much as you - and they - are able. I have faith in your abilities." Despite the fact that he only met the man a few days ago, and then Andoran was bleating about hides from the past. "-We- will speak to their bronzes and goldriders tomorrow and enforce things from that end. But the greenriders, the blue and brown... they will say more to you than they will to us."

"Are these visitors ... very contained then?" Andoran's aiming for tact here. "How many are there, do you know?" He ponders Breide's last about Adria and inclines his head slightly. "Certainly, Weyrwoman, though searches of the type I speak are indeed, my specialty," a few more nods bob his head up and down. "Ah yes, dragon-to-dragon, I should think that would be very effective," notes the Harper with a hint of relief in his tone. "I understand sir, a many-pronged approach to ah ... discretion then, on the part of our guests," he summarizes the situation and can almost visibly be seen to swallow his disappointment about pursuing the hide research further.

Breide's fingers visibly tighten about Sh'van's and the wear'n tear of the evening magnifies when she frowns. "They are no longer contained, those without dragons sleep in the anteroom, those with have found ledges to rest on." The frown deepens. "However, I have asked B'net to order a blanket silence from his riders, as Ayerpheth, their queen," the clarification added for the benefit of the two men, "Was distraught about her rider. Va- Sh'van?" fingers still tight, the goldrider twists in her seat.

Sh'van hmns, but nods down to Breide's uncertainty. "That's fine. All we can do is our best, and we needed to put them -somewhere-. Thank goodness it's summer and they -can- sleep outside, hmm?" Giving her shoulder an encouraging pat, he nods then to Andoran. "The Wingleader said about one hundred and fifty, though I'm not sure if that number is for riders, or their entire... non-riders, did you say, Weyrwoman? So they brought support staff? Do you know if they happen to have brought /supplies/ as well?"

"It ... might be prudent to ... organize them in such a manner that they have minimal contact with the Weyr's residents and riders. I ... assume that the gold and bronze dragons will be able to keep order amongst the other dragons, but the people ... it will be difficult to prevent information from leaking if they are in constant contact with others at Benden." In spite of his earlier hesitation, Andoran pushes through the problem, tackling it as doggedly as the mystery of the hide. "Especially with so many ... "

"Quarantine them." Breide states flatly. Her wakeful state is strengthened by Sh'van's reassurances, though she's long past being able to smile in the face of anything. The Weyrwoman releases the bronzerider's fingers to stand. "If only. There are too many of them and Rielth couldn't even manage to get a count of how many of each color dragon there was, let alone...," she shakes her head in final summation, an unspoken apology for her deficiencies. "If they brought their own supplies, B'net would not have requested food of us. I doubt they have much, if anything." Once standing, she moves to stand by Sh'van, ducking her head slightly to murmur low words.

Sh'van senses "Breide's tiredness reflects more in the huskily spoken words, low and scratchy for their pitch, "If you don't mind..., Geneve and I," pause, "And Zaorine, have a long day tomorrow." She's actually asking his permission to retire."

Sh'van nods along with Andoran's words, quietly encouraging. When Breide stands he steps back, lowers his head for her words. "Of course. Sleep well, Breide." Again to Andoran - "The Weyrwoman is right - it's quite late and we've had a most interesting day. I'll meet with you tomorrow, Harper - say, noon? Spend the morning learning what you can."

"That might be wise in any case, given they are supposedly coming from the South, perhaps Journeyman Will and Journeyman Kazial might have some input on that - health ... concerns," Andoran suggests mildly. "I'll take this with me, when I speak to them ..." he lifts up the map. "For reference ... see if we can plot the place ... perhaps ... investigate? Though I'd intended this as a wall decoration ... for there ..." he points to a vacant space on the Council Room wall and casts the Weyrleaders a wan smile. "I ... had a small trip planned to my home hold, with I'neph for some fresh produce ... items that my family can provide ... though the hold is not large enough to provide enough to feed 150 more riders for long. I thought ... every little bit could help." He straightens as Sh'van effectively dismisses him. "Noon? Yessir. I will postpone the teaching lessons until the afternoon. I wish you both a good rest." The Harper collects the hides and bows.

When Sh'van makes his announcement and Andoran acquiesces to postponing further discussion until later, Breide finally slips a muted version of her trademark smiles and nods to both men. Rather than await escort back to her weyr, the blonde takes the initiative, though her brush past Sh'van, pauses slightly, chin lifted so her gaze can seek out the Weyrleader's a beat, before she resumes her steps out and beyond.

Sh'van waits through Andoran's disjointed babble, spares a moment to turn an honest smile to the blonde. When she's on her way out, he gives the other man a firm nod. "We'll discuss all of that over lunch. Good night, Andoran." And wasn't that a decisive dismissal? He doesn't leave, though, just continues to lurk behind the chair. Perhaps he wants to prevent Andoran from hanging the hide.

You sense Sh'van whispers, "Later," along with his smile.

Andoran ducks out and hurries away, precious hides clutched to his chest, with one last polite nod in the Weyrleader's direction.

Wining and Dining

Sat, 24 Feb 2007 05:52:21 GMT

Location: Council Room, Benden Bowl
Time: day 21, month 6, turn 448
Players: Adria, B'net, Breide, Sh'van, E'drai
Scene: Breide steals two people off to the council rooms to get some answers.

Breide steps in to the council room.
Council Room Early Summer. Partly Cloudy. 71F / 22C.
Like many rooms at Benden, this cavern was made to be ornate and has since fallen into sad disrepair. The smooth walls boast numerous places where tapestries should hang, but there are now only bare swathes. In the center of the room is a large table with room for a Weyrwoman and Weyrleader from each of the Weyrs to sit; the cushions are missing but the emblems of the Weyrs are carved into the stone table, though dust has sunk into the cracks and carving. In addition to the table, there is room for an additional twenty or thirty people to stand along the walls though there is no further seating available.
The cavern is perpetually hazed in dust and gloom, wanting for glowbaskets. Just off to the side is a niche-like room with a smaller table in it, the walls lined floor-to-ceiling in carved shelves. Here are most of the records of Benden Weyr - public ones, at least.
-- Players --
Breide.........Energetic, confident, curvy. Pretty in a very obvious/common way with silken hair bound in a loose bun.
-- Exits --
Bowl.....................[W]

[DTU] To Rielth, Tekmeth seems to have been distracted from something else she's been doing, but she's polite as she speaks to Rielth, an undercurrent of curiousity present in her voice. << Of course, Rielth. Mien is very good with dragons made ill. >> She either ignores or misses the gold's disdain.

Adria steps in from the bowl.
Adria has arrived.

B'net steps in from the bowl.
B'net has arrived.

Rielth> "Wha?" I'neph stops, looking back around at Sofika like she's crazy. "But I'm leading the way. Don't you got, um. Other people for that? I can't carry her and show you where to go, /too/." Sniff. But Breide's offering orders again, and while he looks sulky, he does step back with a sigh toward the goldrider. "You sure we can't just dump water on her? The lake's right there," he points out, even as he reaches to start lifting her. "C'mon, this way." And he sets off with Iopeian toward the infirmary. With any luck, he'll only knock her head into half the doorsides between the bowl and the infirmary.

[DTU] To Tekmeth, Rielth projects, << Good. Then yours is in charge of making sure the dragons do not... well, make sure their needs are met. >> The attempt to pull back on her anger, at least to make certain the green is aware it is not directed at her, colors her next thoughts a vivid, forceful blue. Reassurance. << There is no such thing as dragons from the past. >>

Rielth> Blue has regained some of her color. Clearly directly attributable to the toothpick. She takes a deep breath and edges out behind L'dor to add to that, "I hate to impose but I need somewhere to sit down. And perhaps some water. Oh - and hi," she says, and flashes a weary smile. "I'm Blue, Weaver Journeyman."

[DTU] To Rielth, Tekmeth assures, << He will do that. >> Rielth's easing up on her anger are understood, the green playing reassurance again. << No, there aren't. >> She doesn't sound entirely confident about that.

Rielth> "I feel like," Alshain notes wryly, as he lingers in the bowl to watch the leadership depart, "I ought to tell them Zakias gave me our records to hold on to. But I don't really care to get into all that just now." His nose wrinkles slightly, and he turns to stay close to those he knows, namely L'dor and Blue right now, rather than the unfamiliar Bendenites

Breide strides across the bowl, maneuvering herself about the supposed Connellites and the Benden residents and dragons that have turned out for the show. Up, conspicuously, she goes, leading a small leadership contingent to the council chambers and once there, she fails to take a seat. Instead resting her hip against the edge, arms folded over her chest, and quickly turned about to wait for B'net's entrance. "Breide, gold Rielth's and Benden's Weyrwoman," is her introduction once the bronzerider does come through the entrance. "This is Adria, one of -our- wingleaders."

Rielth> "Sure you can," Sofika retorts to I'neph, frowning a little. "Didn't I already say we probably all are suffering from exhaustion? It's not like she's heavy." The healer girl trundles off behind D'ac, Io and I'neph, mumbling something under her breath about her healer's knot going unrecognised. To I'neph: "How many healers do you have here?"

Rielth> Samarne finally speaks up. "I'm cold," she says, to no one in particular. "Why is it so cold?" She looks around at the other Connellites, trying to count, but gives it up after a moment or two. "Celath is thirsty," she says, "and I'm cold."

Rielth> Lh'gan's eyes narrow for a moment, and a moment later the green rider is stepping forward to speak, cupping his hands round his mouth to amplify his voice. "We need buckets of water for these dragons! Anyone who isn't involved in any, go get some now!" It's a command, not a request, and a few weyrfolk trickle away to do so. Tekmeth turns her head away from Samarne and towards her rider, some silent exchange taking place. Lh'gan nods and then strides towards Samarne, eyes on Celath to evaluate the green's state. "We'll et Celath some water, my dear." Warmth from Lh'gan? Tekmeth turns to look at Celath, crooning. "Any other riders with thirsty dragons, bring them over here!" He calls to the gathering at large.

Rielth> "Ah, whatever," Blue decides after a moment and sits down, leaning against Banyth's front leg with a by-your-leave. She stares up at Alshain and grins, for real this time, "Yeah? Well. Is Zakias rewriting the--" She breaks off, and swallows. "Did Zakias plan to rewrite them?"

B'net follows Breide and Adria through the bowl and up to the records room, looking about him as he goes. First, to see how the various Connell riders they pass are holding up, and then to get a look at this version of Benden. The records room gets an arched brow as they enter, and he moves around to hop up on the edge of the table. "What's happened to this place?" he asks, "Does the future not have cleaning women, or something?"

Rielth> "Um," says I'neph thoughtfully, glancing upward as he counts ever so high. "There's Will, and Kazzy-poo. I mean, Kazial. Right. So... Two. Yeah." He nods, pleased, as he leads the way with practice on down into the interior of the weyr. Iopeian isn't so hard for him to carry, for all his griping on the subject.

He takes another beat to look around, swinging his feet absently before returning his gaze to the two women in turn. "Well, Breide, Adria, nice to meet you both. B'net, as I said. Can call me Ben, if you like." Another charming grin is flashed in their direction.

Rielth> I'neph has left.

Adria's followed along quietly, though the female greenriders along the way get stunned glances. She's taken up a spot along the wall, merely a supportive presence to the Weyrwoman, a little behind her. "Green Chiyath's," she adds to Breide's introduction. Glancing around the room, she adds, "Well met. And - this Weyr has been empty for some time. Until we moved in." Explanation finished, she shuts up to let the goldrider handle it.

Rielth> Sofika has left.

Rielth> Samarne looks at Lh'gan with wide eyes. "Thank you," she says after a pause. "I'm Samarne. Samarne and Celath. Are we here? Is this the future?"

Rielth> One of the lower caverns workers, Geneve would be proud, has since taken stock of the situation and has begun directing people to the living caverns and ordering drudges to pass blankets around: despite the summer heat. Their leadership might be arguing and gossips might start talking about dragons from the past or future or whatever time other than now, but there's a job to be done. Better that than a potential berating from Geneve's sharp tongue.

Rielth> Banyth isn't getting that water just yet, it seems. The blue turns his head to watch Blue. Being leaned on: no problem. L'dor glances at the bundles attached to the dragon's straps. "Might be best to leave your stuff where it is until we know what sort of a reception we're getting here. Shards! Benden, of all places. We come two hundred and whatever turns to fight Thread, and end up at Benden."

Rielth> Residents are returning with buckets filled to the brim already, some so eager to treturn to the bizarre scene that they're spilling water all over the shop. "Careful with it!" Lh'gan bellows. His tone softens as he gives Samarne a once-over. "I'm Lh'gan, Samarne. I...I suppose it is." For a moment the rider looks baffled, but quickly regains his professional air. Two buckets are set by Celath at his signal, while the rest put in a group nearby. "How are you feeling, Samarne?" Tekmeth starts to walk around slowly, looking at the other dragons, picking out the weaker ones to come drink.

Rielth> "We copied out the most important ones," Alshain answers Blue, though her correction makes his smile catch and tighten. "And sent copies. Just in case something... Well. I suppose that's our proof now, that we really do exist? If they've never heard of Connell at all--" He frowns, shakes his head. Then, he slips a sideways look at L'dor, nodding. "Of all places," he agrees.

Breide drops the irritation act a moment, bemused at Adria's addition of her dragon's color. As if girls could ride -any- other color now other than gold or green, or that Chiyath might be gold. This high amusement lingers as the weyrwoman finds B'net again. "B'net," she asserts firmly, though her smile is anything but solemn now as it twists into one that's equally charming as the bronzerider's. "First, I'd appreciate it if, in the absence of an aware queen," as Ayerpheth must not be now, "You would command your dragons and their riders not to speak of the past. Second...," well, a slim shoulder shrugs and she flicks Adria a look, uncertain again.

Rielth> Celath slurps greedily from the buckets, draining one in half a minute and starting on the next. Samarne watches her, and a smile comes to her face; apparently having Celath slake her thirst is enough to perk Samarne up a little bit. "Kind of um. Dizzy," she admits to Lh'gan. "Not spinning-around dizzy, but the other kind. So... is there Thread?" The question comes out abruptly, but she's keenly interested in the answer.

Rielth> High above the Weyr, one last strange visitor appears from Between. His pale, ashen hide and unsteady flight suggests illness or injury, and the rider upon him is slumped over the beast's neck, so bundled in flight gear that even without the distance any features would be hard to make out. More dropping from the sky then gliding, a hoarse, rickety trill sounds presence.

Rielth> Blue accepts water gratefully, shakes her head at the offer of a blanket, and closes her eyes as she leans back on Banyth. "But it doesn't really matter, does it? They can't send us back."

It must be the whole politeness thing. You introduce yourself with your dragons colour - it's the way of things. Adria nods to Breide imperceptibly, though she looks a bit amused herself at the gold and bronzerider's warring charm. The uncertain look finds her speaking again, her tone even. "Second, it would be helpful if you could explain how you came to be here." Apologetically, "You might have to explain it more than once - it's a lot to take in, and the Weyrleader is at Benden."

"Yes, exactly." Relief strikes Breide as Adria isn't as blinded by a goodlooking man's charms, and is able to piece together a coherent question. "Sh'van is at Benden Hold," she adds helpfully, as if Adria hadn't already said as much.

Rielth> L'dor appears rather distracted, until he manages to flag down one of those water-carrying weyrfolk and secures a bucket for Banyth, with a word of thanks to the man who brought it. The blue drinks greedily, and both he and his rider appear more comfortable by the time he's finished it. "Sorry," L'dor tells Blue. "No, I guess they can't. Hope they've worked out about Thread by now, though."

B'net blinks at Adria. "Empty for some time?" he echoes, "Benden?" That he seems surprised by -this- is maybe a little silly, as he moves on quickly, nodding at Breide. He's silent a moment, disconnected, and then nods. "Hafizth is instructing our dragons to please not mention it for now," he confirms, his attention then going back to Adria as she seems to assume command. "How we came to be here. Well!" He leans back on his hand, swinging his feet again and nodding. "I suppose that's a fair question. Like I said before, we're from the past. If this is just before the Pass, about... two hundred, two hundred and fifty turns ago, I'd guess?" He runs a hand through his hair before putting his weight back on it. "We thought we'd be fighting Thread soon, but it turned out it wasn't coming, not til now. We decided we'd come forward and help y'all out."

Rielth> Tekmeth's attention turns to the latest arrival, and the green lets out a strange wail. << They are not well! >> The dragons in the area can hear that, and Tekmeth stiffens into a taut, half-raised posture, half springing from the ground. She's helpless. Lh'gan goes to answer Samarne, but rapidly turns an open-mouthed look on the falling pair then glares round at the people. "One of yours?" He shouts, urgent.

Rielth> Samarne looks up, and her face creases with worry when she sees the pale dragon. She doesn't immediately recognize him, though, and shakes her head, shrugging at Lh'gan. "I don't know..."

Rielth> In the midst of chaos, it's easier for Rielth to miss yet another arrival, and she almost seems displeased Tekmeth's noticed first as her tarnished neck stretches up awkwardly to greet the ashen intruder with a bugle, springing instinctively into the air at the green's call.

"You keep saying from the past, from this..." Breide slants B'net a dubious look, "This Connell Weyr. There has never been a Connell Weyr. I'm sorry. If you'd explain to us /where/ you came from, it'd be easier to comprehend that you're from the past. And," belated, on the heels of her pressing commentary on the lack of Connell: past or present, "Thank you. Your arrival's caused chaos, one our residents don't need at this time."

Adria doesn't really -look- like she's assuming any command - she's still just behind the Weyrwoman, even her stance and movements somewhat deferential. Her expression is unreadable, but her dark eyes shade darker, troubled and thoughtful. "Benden wasn't empty where - when you came from?" At the rest of B'net's explanation, she pales a touch again, blinking. With a glance to Breide, it's clear she's forgotten about that part of the equation.

Rielth> At his rate of descent, it doesn't take the bronze any time to land a bit roughly nearby. A ghost of his former self, it might be hard for even those familiar with him to recognize the dragon. His wings stretch out, grasping weakily at the air before relaxing to his side. He breaths heavily as his red gaze shifts rapidly about his surroundings. Its only a minute or so after his landing before his rider struggles to sit up and unbuckle his helmet.

Rielth> "They breed them rough around here," Blue remarks with a puzzled look at the newly arrived bronze, obviously not recognizing him. "I'd have thought dragons would have improved in the meantime.

B'net sighs, and stops swinging his feet, running a hand through his hair again before using it to gesture at them, Breide in particular. "Look," he says, more seriously, "Just because you've never heard of something doesn't mean it has never existed. Connell Weyr was founded six turns before we left, around turn 196. In turn 202, a group of us timed it to now. When we arrived out of between over Connell, it had been abandoned. Now, I can't tell you what happened between our leaving and now. I don't know why it's not there, and why you don't know about it. I've only been here for twenty minutes. But if you'd like to see where it was, what's left of it, I could show you that. Would that help?"

Rielth> "Far as I know, ours are all either here or dead," L'dor answers Lh'gan, but he's still got his eyes on the approaching dragon. He adds uncertainly, "Though..."

Rielth> Lh'gan takes a deep breath as the bronze, pale and wraithlike, lands, but in that instant a cry goes up among a group of riders anxiously attending to their dragons. Seizing a bucket in each hand, the green rider, forgetting Samarne and L'dor in the heat of the moment, marches over to deal with them. Tekmeth ceases in beating her wings anxiously now that the bronze is landed safely, and she makes her way into the mass of dragons, head swinging this way and that as she does her rounds.

"That's unnecessary," Breide returns, drawing up to her full 5'7 height, unslouched and not leaned against the table now. The folded arms over her chest drop, one hand finding her hip casually, and her regard of B'net remains set in its disbelief, though there's politeness accorded faintly in the warmth of her dark eyes. "Connell doesn't exist in our records, nor does it in Fort's records." That there are no Benden records to speak of is an oversight that Breide glosses over with an easily fashioned smile. "If we believe you, that means you've jumped near two hundred turns, just to help us with Thread? How... did you even know there'd be Thread now when most of Pern wasn't even aware until, what was it wingleader? Five turns ago?"

Rielth> Rielth's winging up follows after the ashen bronze's descent, concerned, despite the irritable looks shot Ayerpheth's way every so often, for the safety of dragons. Well, most dragons. She alights near the mess of bundled rider and the ghost-like dragon, a quizzical note in the cautious rumble sent the bronze's way.

Adria listens to B'net, watching his face closely, starting to come to her full senses rather than just being stunned by the whole situation. "Weyrs have secrets..." the greenrider murmurs, likely only loud enough for Breide's ears. "There are no records of a Connell Weyr, or any Southern weyr at Harper Hall," she adds in a normal tone. "It is possible that it was simply - lost knowledge. There's much of that." To the Weyrwoman's question, she nods, confirming lightly, "Most of the continent did not believe that thread would return until around that time, yes."

B'net sits back a little, the beginning of relief creeping into his expression as Breide says this is unnecessary. When she gets on about records again, he lets out a frustrated breath and rolls his eyes. "Look! I don't care about your records, alright?" he gestures irritatedly, "Stop telling me that just because it's not in your records, it didn't exist and accept that your records might be wrong. Call around to all the other weyrs, if you want. Ask them if they're missing a big party of riders. Ask them if they know any of us. Ask our dragons where they're from, they'll tell you. They've got images they can show you. Would they lie?" He shakes his head, "No. And we did because Margia came back and told us about it. Iopeian, the goldrider who fainted, she was involved somehow, I didn't really get that part, to be honest." As Adria chimes in, he lifts a hand to gesture towards her briefly, letting out a breath. "Thank you."

Rielth> Blue drinks her water and leans against Banyth, her gaze alternating between tiredly watching Gyane and the just-landed bronze. "Suppose they'll have somewhere for us to sleep?" she questions the former in a murmur.

Rielth> L'ott finishes removing the helmet finally, a painfully slow process due to numbed, gloved fingers and shaking hands. He leans forward slightly, using his dragon as a means to stay sitting up as one hand removes his riding goggles. Sehkteth's head lifts a little, swinging in the direction of the large..quite large gold that lands near him. A defensive hiss echoes in his throat before lays down fully, head resting on the ground. The rider's eyes narrow upon those surrounding him, recognizing none at the moment. Unbuckling his riding strap, he slides..well.. stumbles to the ground. "Iopeian.. is Iopeian here? Is this where they are? Connell riders?"

Breide tightens at Adria's murmured words to her, an awareness vague in her eyes. "Benden's secrets have long since died when Pern abandoned its Weyrs." Clearly out of her element, what with the repetition of lack of records, B'net's yelling throws the Benden Weyrwoman off even more and in the wake of such a diatribe, the blonde blinks, each successive flutter resulting in more bafflement and the rosy flush of indignation climbing quick at being -yelled- at of all things. "Dragons never lie," again crawling back to fact rather than conjecture, "No. Dragons never lie, but there is no Margia. There is no Connell, and for now, until Sh'van returns, we'll... We'll allow you refuge here."

[DTU] To Rielth, Sehkteth 's voice loses some of its frantic nature as he lays out flat on the ground,drained of energy. <>

Rielth> Samarne finally recognizes L'ott. "It's - he's back!" She runs over, stumbling on the way and managing to right herself. "She went to the infirmary," she says. "And they took B'net. To the council room. They're talking, I think, it's - they don't believe it's us."

[DTU] To Sehkteth, Rielth's mind is a whirlwind of colors: bright, pulsating red at the foremost. It's an angry red. A frustrated red. A red that encompasses her own uncertainty of the situation by blanketing it in bright hues. <> In the whirl of draconic conversation of before, the gold's gleaned a few things, cautious facts that are held out distastefully. << If you speak of the gold whose rider has ignored protocol, myself, mine, and *my* Weyr, then yes, she is here. >>

Stepping forward, there's an actual flash of concern in Adria's eyes. For -Breide-. Go figure. She shifts over to a spot just near where the Weyrwoman stands. Calmly and smoothly, "Finding space for everyone is likely a good idea," she says, as if that's what Breide meant. "Geneve will be able to settle the residents and there's more than enough weyrs for your riders." She glances to B'net with an easy smile. "They might be a bit dusty, but the ledges should be fine. Perhaps, after rest, we can sort things out. Perhaps - Iopeian? will have been revived after the evening's over. Will's capable enough to sort her out." Everything's -cool-, people. It's all good.

[DTU] To Chiyath, Rielth's frustration lingers, irritable in both color and the grate of her touch, but one singular thought extends to Chiyath. << We, >> Lanmith's and Breide, << Must speak with yours and wild hair again. Immediately. >>

Rielth> L'dor continues to stare at the bronze and his rider, until finally recognition dawns. "Faranth! I thought /he/ was one of the dead ones." Curiosity exceeds caution, and he moves towards the former Weyrleader. "Looks like they've never heard of us here. And when you didn't come out of Between with us, we thought you were lost, like the others." A long, puzzled look at the bronzerider, and he adds, "You look... not too good. What happened?"

Rielth> "What happened?" Samarne echoes, then marvels, "You're /alive/." That didn't come out quite right, but she doesn't even notice.

B'net's flush fades as Breide seems cowed, the pallor once again visible as a faint greyness to his tan. He doesn't seem completely satisfied with her response, but nods nonetheless, another smile, less sincere but just as charming, curving his mouth. "Refuge would be nice," he says, not quite a snark, turning away from the goldrider to the more-capable-seeming Adria. "We would appreciate that," he tells her, "I do think this would be better sorted out after everyone's had some rest. And food," he adds, "Is there a way we can get food without having the flood the living cavern and get bombarded with questions?"

[DTU] To Rielth, Chiyath is as soothing as her rider, all green tea scent and soft water falling on rocks. << Of course. Mine thinks the Harper should be easy to find. >>

Rielth> Rielth is a /large/ queen who wears her size awkwardly at that, but still draws her wing shoulders up, neck lifting higher in response to the hiss, and just manages to look queenly. Even regal maybe, in defense of her home.

Rielth> Upon approaching him, some things would be clearly different about L'ott. He's no longer the young, imputent little snot he once was. He bears a few wrinkles and the various harder lines of age. Though easily enough recognizable, there's gray in his now messy hair. And the look he gives Samarne and L'dor is a haunted one. He narrows his eyes slightly, searching for names to put with old faces. He shakes his head after a moment, continuing to lean against Sehkteth for support. "Its been.. a long trip. I think I need a moment. I'll explain later. Benden huh?" He pushes away from the dragon, his step weaving as though he might fall at any moment but is determined to press on. Until he stops. "The infirmary..where is it?"

Rielth> "What /happened/ to him?" Samarne asks L'dor, aghast. "He looks... awful! Worse than us!"

"You may eat in the anteroom outside my weyr," and the other queens' weyrs. "I'll speak with Geneve to see what we can rustle up for you, and then take your pick of the ledges. There are many to choose from," Breide notes, regaining her composure if only a little. "There will be less questions there and Zaorine," the Weyrwoman skips a beat and flicks Adria a patented roll of her eyes, "Won't even notice they're there." The blonde focuses on Adria instead, shifty eyes taking in B'net and his angry voice only once in the middle of her entire speech. "There's another one. Rielth says he's Sehkteth." The last is just tossed out there, careless and a touch weary.

[DTU] To Rielth, Sehkteth's response is as dry and dead as the rustle of brown leaves across rough stone, the only color would be the darkness and lack of substance. << Protocol is for better times, queen of Benden. I have no strength to follow it now. I imagine neither would she.. Ayerpheth. Its been too long. >>

[DTU] To Sehkteth, Rielth projects, << Tradition must *always* be followed. >> If there's any other mantra for Rielth, it'd be this one. So gracious, the Benden queen imparts: << We have granted you a place for the night until the Weyrleaders decide what to do. >>

Adria winces a touch as B'net mentions food in the living cavern - and she's not really sure how to address -that- question. Thankfully, the Weyrwoman recovers and starts giving orders and all is right in the world. She flashes Breide a grin for the roll of her eyes. They agree on something, at least. With a blink, "Another one?" She glances over to the bronzerider questioningly. "Sekhteth?" Yeah, looking a bit tired of insanity over here too.

Rielth> L'dor frowns and waves vaguely towards the edge of the bowl as he answered L'ott. "I think they took Iopeian over there - she passed out. Need a hand?" He shoots a glance at Samarne and with a quick shake of the head suggests, "At a guess, he went astray and took a while to find us. A long while."

Rielth> "What do you mean? We only just got here," Samarne says, confused. "And here he is..."

"That will work. Thanks," B'net replies to Breide, calming more fully. "And we can handle dusty weyrs, that's no problem." At the mention of 'another', B'net blinks, and then at the name, he rolls his eyes. "Sekhteth," he repeats, "L'ott's bronze. He's with us. Vanished after our first jump. Guess he made it." He certainly doesn't sound glad to discover his wingmate is alive, and after a moment, he clarifies: "The man's insane, to be perfectly honest. Incompetent, liar, arsonist, theif, etc. By some trick, became Weyrleader, and was just as bad at it as you'd imagine. He'll probably be up here in a minute trying to take back over. If you think I've been difficult to deal with, then brace yourselves."

Breide breathes in, the hand at her hip dropping to reach out, blindly reaching for the support of the greenrider's at her side. "Well then," composure found again, the smile that brightens the goldrider's expression must be long-practiced especially after how easily it comes to her facea after the bout of confusion, being cowed, and unsettlement, and is filled with wheedling and abundantly flirtatious charm, "Why don't you go meet him on his way here and deter him to food and shelter for the night. Then the both of you can meet the Weyrleader and myself later." Everything can be handled better later.

Rielth> Sehkteth rumbles quietly to the gold before his eyes begin to drift closed. Chances were, if the queen changed her mind and retracted that allowance to stay the night, they'd have to drag him forcefully out of the Weyr to get him to move. L'ott shakes his head. "I can make it I think." He does indeed start in that direction. "They're so young.." He mutters as he goes.

Adria senses "Breide's fingers, should they find Adria's hand, tightens in a near death grip, the tremble of them speaking volumes more of the goldrider's unsettled state than her actions and words might convey."

[DTU] To Rielth, Sehkteth's response is a quiet, discontented snort towards the remark about Tradition, though does not argue beyond that. << The night will do. Thank you. >>

Rielth> L'dor shrugs to Samarne. "Lots of betweening, maybe. All that timing really takes it out of you." He ambles alongside L'ott, just in case. "I know you didn't end up when we did after that jump - did you have to make a lot more jumps to find us? Or..." But that doesn't seem to fit the bill either, and he tails off.

Adria isn't exactly thrilled with Ben's decription of the Weyrleader, but she's distracted by Breide. She blinks a few times, but it's a night of surprises. She lets the Weyrwoman grip her hand, though there might be the briefest wince. She nods a touch at the Weyrwoman's decision, agreeing, "It'll be easier on everyone if it's all sorted at once." A pause, then to B'net with a wry little smile, "Welcome to Benden. It's the twenty-first of month six of turn 448."

[DTU] To Sehkteth, Rielth is in -no- mood for the disrespect even in the form of a discontented snort and blandly, the Benden queen dismisses it with a flicker of mental wings that gusts the bronze's disagreement away.

You sense Adria just attempts to hold the hand in hers tightly and comfortably, trying to be as reassuring as she can manage. At least she's trembling less.

Rielth> Samarne just shakes her head. It's all beyond her. "Where's the head?" she asks L'dor suddenly. "I have to go."

Rielth> L'ott looks over to L'dor as the other follows along with him, regarding the man as little more then a stranger, only vaguely remembered. "L'dor.." He shakes his head at the question as he continues moving. "One jump. This looks right. I think." he seems a little confused about the details. "You left Connell so long ago.. almost didn't find the record." He continues towards the infirmary.

E'drai steps in from the bowl.
E'drai has arrived.

Rielth> L'dor doesn't quite get what Samarne's saying until after L'ott has gone on his way. Then he turns to the greenrider. "Uh... haven't a clue. Guess you'll need to ask a local. We left so long ago? Does that mean he didn't? Leave, I mean. And he looks... old." He shakes his head, seeming more bewildered by this turn of events than anything else that's happened.

B'net notices the little hand-holding, but doesn't react, except for a faint softening of his expression and his previously tense posture. He seems more at ease like this, anyways, shaking his head at the women and waving them off with a hand. "Nah, let him come to me. If you offer food, he'll go with the rest. As you say, though, the rest can be sorted tomorrow." Adria's greeting draws a crooked smile that briefly hints at a grin as he nods. "Well met, future-woman. Now, if it's no trouble, I'd love if you'd lead on to some food, or at least something t'drink. Two hundred and forty-six turns is a long time to go between meals. I can have Hafizth lead the others if you give directions. Oh," he adds, "The dragons need food also, of course. I didn't notice if you had pens, or... should they just go hunt outside the weyr?"

Here's an interesting scene, in a Weyr currently full of them - Breide stands alongside the table, offering up a charming smile to B'net, who's sitting on the table. Adria's beside the Weyrwoman with a wry smile on her lips, the gold and greenrider hand in hand - seriously.

Rielth> Samarne just shakes her head. "I don't know... I don't know. I'm tired. I need to... I'm going to go inside," she decides. These strange weyr people may not like it, but that's what she's doing. And off she wanders.

Ever a believer in the old 'easier to ask forgiveness than permission' adage, E'drai comes tearing in like he owns the place, stopping at the end of the table with his arms folded stoutly. It's enough to get a glimpse of Breide, Adria, and some dude he doesn't know before he's blatantly interrupting: "Why're there a bunch of chicks in the kitchen crying that we're gonna starve if we have to feed all these people from some place no one's ever heard of?" He darts a look to B'net (S'up?), then one to Adria and Breide (hand in hand, what is the world coming to?) and proceeds to look even more perplexed.

Rielth> L'dor wanders back towards Banyth, and sits down, leaning his back against the blue's side.

"E'drai!" Breide is so easily distracted from the events at hand, relief striking her voice shrill at the brownrider's presence. A man who can do something for her rather than yell at her! At least she refrains from dropping Adria's hand in favor of jumping up around E'drai's hips - Sh'van would be so proud. "E'drai, uh. B'net, bronze Hafizth's rider. E'drai, one of our wingseconds. And, I believe they'll have to hunt on their own for now. We're still working out our tithe situation for the dragons."

Adria is a little too keyed up for much more than the little smile for B'net, but her dark eyes warm slightly at the greeting, but it's quick - that question about food again has her looking somewhat concerned. She shoots Breide a sidelong glance - this is more her area - then blinks as E'drai comes barrelling in. "You could have Geneve find food and bring it over," she suggests to the goldrider. "With regards to the residents and riders." Glancing down to the end of the table, she tells the brownrider, "Because there's a lot of people that showed up and need to eat, it seems."

B'net turns as E'drai enters, a quick glance-over taking the man's measure before his attention is back on the women. Breide's high-pitched relief and Adria's brief flash of jealousy are all noted, and he attempts discretely to diffuse the situation by stepping between goldrider and man and offering his hand. "Well met," he says, before looking back at Breide and nodding, "I'll let them know they're on their own," he says, before stepping back nearer Adria again. "Geneve is your Headwoman? Head Cook? Either way, we'd be obliged."

E'drai, with a quick once-over, greets B'net summarily: "Nice pants, patch." Reflexes or manners or both have him offering back a handshake, but he utterly fails to grasp the gravity of B'net's presence. "Find food where, Harper? We're a little stretched already." He intervenes a /meaningful/ look, one edged with frustration. "So what do you want me to tell the weepy kitchen girls?" That to Breide, presumably.

When her view of E'drai is so neatly blocked, Breide's protest dies as the blockage is a nice back to watch, thus her correction of: "Headwoman," is less disgruntled and a bit more relaxed. Relaxed enough to release Adria's hand and step forward to B'net to offer her arm. "I can show you the way back to your people and then speak with Geneve while Adria and E'drai show you to the anteroom. And," the goldrider flicks a look to E'drai, a look that says: shut up, "You can flash your cute smile at the kitchen girls, doll, and make 'em stop crying."

Adria nods to Breide's one-word explanation for B'net, almost amused at how the Weyrwoman relaxes, back in her element. Moving over towards E'drai, she only has a shrug for the frustration. Apologetically, "There's not much to be done at the moment, stretched or not." She's got a few other things to worry about - though the goldrider's suggestion causes her to purse her lips a touch. "Things will get sorted." She says it like sheer will can make it happen.

"Thanks, greaso," B'net replies to E'drai with a bright grin. He quickly turns his attention back to the far more interesting girls, taking Breide's arm and settling it through his own properly. "Sounds like a good plan, Weyrwoman," he tells her with a smile, which he turns back on the other two. "E'drai, Adria," the second more sincere, "It's a pleasure to've met you both. I take it I'll see you again shortly." A genuinely friendly smile for the greenrider, and he turns with Breide to head back to 'his people'.

"Dimples don't feed people, sweetheart," answers E'drai to Breide's helpful (?) suggestion. In a very 'for the record' tone, without any real antagonism to B'net, he adds, "Tell your people to send some food if you guys're sticking around. I ain't getting the crap kicked outta me to feed a buncha people I don't even know." Adria's resolution just makes him flare his nostrils with continued irritation.

"Your dimples do." Breide speaks from experience, and cozies up to B'net's side. Perhaps the yelling of seconds prior has just flittered out of her pretty little head as she leads the way back to 'his people' in the bowl and the supposed stash of food that Geneve has somewhere. "So," her chin tilts up to the foreign bronzerider, "Tell me 'bout yourself. Other than," she's quick to amend, "About this Connell whatever."

Adria glances between B'net and E'drai, beginning to look a little annoyed. Geez - serious business here and they have to be all boy-like. She returns B'net's smile nonetheless - though she's eyeing the brownrider sidelong, pursing her lips. "I can explain," she says softly. In a more conversational tone, to Breide and B'net, "Good evening. And Weyrwoman, if you need anything tomorrow..." Tonight is obviously already booked.

B'net wastes no time getting an arm around Breide, shifting it to around the goldrider's waist by the time they're in the bowl. "About myself?" he echoes, shooting her a crooked smile, "Well, let's see. My dimples make food appear out of thin air, I can pull skins of wine out of my ears, and I keep emeralds between my toes." He shrugs before flashing her one of his more subdued but no less winning smiles. "To be honest, weyrwoman, I'm about ready to keel over I'm so hungry. Why don't we get to know each other over a meal and a glass of wine?"

"Tomorrow, Adria." Breide says firmly, not bothering to look back to reinforce her words: she's getting down to business. "With the harper," she adds, this time slipping a quick look to the greenrider. "About that wine...," the goldrider is heard to begin saying as the pair disappear out into the bowl again. "Do you like water? We're a bit short on wine."

E'drai watches Breide cuddle up to B'net (no surprise there) with an expression of utter bewilderment. To Adria, with brows knitted and all, he asks in a tone bordering on petulant, "Am I the only person here that realizes that we're living hand to mouth?" Appealing to the voice of reason, that being the greenrider's, notably /not/ the Weyrwoman's, he just flubbers impotently for a few extra seconds.

"Tomorrow. With the Harper," Adria calls after Breide and B'net - leaving them to get to know each other. So that's what the kids call it. Looking up to E'drai a bit wearily, she shakes her head. "No," she says, starting to pull her hair back out of her face. "You're not. It's been a long night - I can explain. Just give me - a minute or two."

"Short on wine?" Now it's B'net's turn to look bewildered just before the pair head out into the bowl, "Benden, -Benden- Weyr is short on wine? Is this some sort of cruel joke? The best wines -come- from Benden, how can you be short?" He seems taken aback, raking a hand through his hair before shrugging, "Well, I guess if you haven't got any, then water's fine, sure."

Breide steps out into the bowl.
Northern Bowl Early Summer. Rain. 69F / 21C.

The ground is flat, featureless rock with loose gravel speckling the gray surface. Just under a mile long - from from lake in the south and the hatching caverns in the north - and a half of a mile wide at the widest, most of the bowl is largely featureless: An open space ideal for dragons. Angled so that it faces almost perfectly north, it narrows to the north to be closer to a quarter-mile wide at the hatching cavern.
The entrance to the hatching grounds, wide and tall enough for a dragon to fly through, is on the northern wall. The living caverns tunnel branches off along the western wall. All along the rock walls of the bowl are ledges and weyrs.

-- Players --
Breide.........Energetic, confident, curvy. Pretty in a very obvious/common way with silken hair bound in a loose bun.
-- Exits --
Hatching Grounds.........[N] Council Room.............[E]
Southern Bowl............[S] Living Cavern............[W]

Andoran comes out of the living cavern.
Andoran has arrived.

B'net comes out of the council room.
B'net has arrived.

Andoran approaches the Council Room with a couple of hides rolled up under his left arm, murmuring a few words to himself just as he reaches the entrance. "Benden ... Records ..." might be discernible in his speech.

Andoran steps in to the council room.
Andoran has left.

"Adria mentioned we had just moved in, yes?" Breide remarks, using her various wiles in an attempt to distract B'net: a hand that reaches to play with his collar, fascinated, and a flash of a quick, sweet-tempered smile. "Water's fresh here at least, and soon we'll have wine to entertain with. Now, about that food...," the weyrwoman starts in, discomforted if only because her back up, Adria, is no nowhere in sight. "It'll be piecemeal. You...," the smile drops into a near-grimace, "Caught us all off guard and we've cleaned up for the night. Small Weyr, small numbers. We tend not to overcook."

"I suppose she did," B'net admits, flashing Breide a smile as she toys with his collar, "Though she didn't explain." He allows himself to be at least momentarily sidetracked, resettling his arm around the goldrider's waist and nodding. "Well, fresh water will have to do. I'm not in much shape to be picky, am I?" He grins at her, and shrugs off her excuses about the food. "No worries. I'll make do. I did hope the future would finally feature a decent meal, but I'll live. Lead on, luv."

[DTU] To Rielth, Lanmith reaches out lazily. << We come. >>

Sh'van comes over from the southern end of the bowl.
Sh'van has arrived.

"You're trouble, aren't ya?" Breide returns, easing into the light flirtation much better than any talk of something more serious, though reality sets in quickly as they come across the bowl and its myriad of riders and people milling about. The hand that plays at B'net's collar drops and a grimace sets in on the pretty face. Rielth's helpfulness, a bugle to pierce the skies, quiets much of the thrum, before the Weyrwoman sets in on her magnificently generous offer of a night's stay, the offer of *light* refreshments in the queens' anteroom, and that the riders can claim any ledge they wish for. A toss of Rielth's head also causes Breide to suddenly drop B'net's arm in an attempt to not look -quite- so chummy, though there's an apology in her eyes.

[DTU] To Lanmith, Rielth's response skips a beat, but comes fluidly, less agitated, << Finally. >> Well, maybe just a smidge agitated, there is, after all, a strange queen sitting in her bowl.

[DTU] To Rielth, Lanmith sends rhythmic waves, soothingly lapping. /She/ is his queen.

B'net laughs out loud, a wide grin for Breide. "Got me pegged already, darlin'! Good work!" He laughs again, and his arm around her tightens for a brief moment. Then they're back with the herd of Connellites, and it loosens again, so when she steps away it's not so difficult. Rielth and the goldrider are allowed to take the lead, with Hafizth then stepping up to pass B'net's agreement with all of this along to Connell's pairs in a less officious sort of way. "I've let them know they should hunt for themselves," he tells the weyrwoman, "I think they'd like to find weyrs first, so they can drop their things and the dragons can go hunt while they eat. So if you can point the way to the food, they can trickle in themselves, seems to me."

A bronze appears from *between* less than three dragonlengths above the bowl, bugling his arrival to Rielth. Almost lazily he skirts down to the ground, landing only a short distance from the milling strangers, though his speed is faster than one might expect. Atop his back Sh'van waves, then hastily unstraps to slide down, one hand on Lanmith and knees bent on impact. "Benden's duty!" calls the man as he walks briskly toward the pair, a hand reaching out for Breide.

Rielth's little neck toss, carries in it a *look* for her rider, reproof for those who know the queen well, glimmering in the yellow streaks in her ruddy agitation and Breide, in response, tightens her expression. When the Connellites get to the queens' anteroom, led there by one of E'drai's weepy kitchen girls, they'll find just handfuls of plates: dried fruit and mushy grains mixed with slightly watered down milk and a basket of yesterday's bread (hard and crusty). A small kettle of stew, barely enough to feed twenty people at most perhaps. There is, however, no shortage of water, just not enough people to carry it over. "If...," she turns to seek out B'net, an unbidden smile emerging again and forgetting herself and the warning of a much wiser voice, reaching out to drape an affectionate hand over the foreign bronzerider's shoulder, "Th'ledge looks like it's occupied, leave it be, but take your pick." Ahem. What might lead to trouble, the hand caressing B'net's shoulder, drops quickly at the voice interruption, and Breide all but startles back, donning a look of reflexive innocence and instead stretches that hand to the waiting one of her Weyrleader. "Sh'van."

[DTU] To Lanmith, Rielth projects, << She does not confess our lack of supplies. >> The gold's opinion of this statement stays a second and then comes in agreement, << Benden has its pride and we must protect our own. They do not need to know of our situation. >>

[DTU] To Rielth, Lanmith brushes that off, focusing on the far more interesting, << Who -are- they? I do not know any of them. >>

[DTU] To Lanmith, Rielth is silent. That is the million mark question tonight. In fact, it's not just silence, it's a bristling silence, one mired in dark, *dark* shadows as a flickering image of an Ayerpheth made incredibly small and ugly, the gold who haunts the area outside the infirmary, is shot to her mate. Finally: << They say they are from two hundred fifty turns past from a place called Connell. There is no such place. >>

[DTU] To Rielth, Lanmith agrees, << There is no such place. >> He eyes the other dragons curiously, attention lingering longest (though it's for heartbeats only) on the greens. << Who is the one she speaks to? >>

B'net grins at Breide's flirting, a hand surreptitiously landing on her back, fingers curling round her hip. "I'll do that," he agrees, before Sh'van's arrival distracts them both. His hand is slow to leave the goldrider, but then it's back in his pocket, the other straightening his shirt. "Weyrleader?" he asks in an undertone.

You sense Sh'van very likely notices B'net's surreptitious withdrawal from her proximity.

[DTU] To Lanmith, Rielth's image this time is a little more flattering of a dark fire consumed bronze: strong, robust, and everything anyone would ever want in a potential leader, or mate. << Hafizth's, a bronze. He is a wingleader midst his people. >>

Sh'van gives the younger man a polite half-bow before offering his hand, palm up. "Sh'van, bronze Lanmith's and Weyrleader of Benden. You are well come." His tone is friendly enough, though restrained and with distinct undercurrents of bemusement. "I apologize for not being here when you arrived. The Weyrwoman was able to answer some of my immediate questions, but there are always more. Wingleader."

E'drai comes out of the council room.
E'drai has arrived.

E'drai does not have time to play with you freaks. Pardon him, as he is on a mission now, and jogs through without so much as a wave-and-a-smile.

E'drai heads toward the southern end of the bowl.
E'drai has left.

Breide shifts, overcompensating by flashing Sh'van a very bright, welcoming smile and a not so surreptitious alignment of her curvy body by the Weyrleader's instead of her potential conquest. "Welcome home, did it...?" Well, she sneaks a look to B'net and quiets, weyr secrets and all. "I've given them a place to stay. For the night until things get sorted out."

[DTU] To Lanmith, Rielth adds, a beat later, << Breide has arranged to speak with *her*, >> there's no need to explain that, the disdainful intonation enough to designate precisely which of the various *hers* she and Breide don't like this one is. << And wild hair in regards to the implications of this tomorrow. >>

[DTU] To Rielth, Lanmith brushes Hafzith aside with the arrogance of one who has recently caught his very own gold, thanks. << They bring only one elderly gold and few bronzes. And many many extra mouths, Sh'van says. >>

B'net doesn't miss that subtle realignment as he leans forward to shake Sh'van's hand. "B'net, bronze Hafizth's, Wingleader from Connell. Thank you for the welcome. We certainly appreciate the hospitality you all are offering us, especially given the... circumstances of our arrival." He flashes the man a friendly smile.

[DTU] To Rielth, Lanmith projects, << Good. Your rider is wise, as are you. >>

[DTU] To Lanmith, Rielth relinquishes the image of Hafizth at that, drawing a sweeter image of Lanmith in her mind and bringing it quite near to a picture of herself - vanity impels her to make herself look prettier than reality. << Many extra mouths... How did Benden fare? >>

"Thank you, Breide," Sh'van says. "It went... well enough, though not as well as we were hoping." He leaves that tantalizing topic only brushed in order to return to B'net. "B'net. Well met. Consider Benden your home, at least until we are able to convene the Weyrcouncil. You have only the one gold? And how many wings...?"

[DTU] To Rielth, Lanmith's less diplomatic than his rider. << Not well. He would not tithe. He offered to let us /buy/. >> Disdain. << Sh'van -bartered- for a field of wherries for the strangers. They can hunt. >> He shares the image - a field halfway between the Weyr and Hold.

"Thank you," B'net replies, nodding semi-respectfully, even. "As I said, your hospitality is much appreciated." As for numbers, he glances out over the milling, dispersing crowd, and shakes his head. "To be honest, I'm not entirely certain at this point. There's about 150 of us total, I believe... I think we have two goldriders, but one I haven't seen. We lost a wing during the journey," he clarifies, "It's possible we've lost others. There hasn't been time to count heads, yet."

Dissatisfied with that response, Breide purses her lips but maintains silence. Only now, after Sh'van's taken to being occupied with B'net, does a flicker of guilt mar her pretty look and another quick look slips to watch the mysterious bronzerider. A step forward, a hand that just brushes against Sh'van's side, and she voice, just a sliver of repentance for the Weyrleader's acknowledgement: "We should let them rest for the night, 'Van. More questions can wait until the morning, when... when they've slept on it."

Sh'van says, "I'm sorry for your loss," and while the words are stiff and formal, so is his tone. "--Of course, Breide. Wingleader, Most of the weyrs on the western wall are unoccupied -- I'm sure the Weyrwoman has already made arrangements for you. If any of you need anything, you only have to ask Lanmith. I apologize for keeping you from your rest."

You sense Sh'van's eyes flicker sideways and his tone goes dry at the 'arrangements' comment. It's subtle, but there.

Sh'van senses "Breide has learned much of Sh'van's behavior in the last sevenday and in response, her lashes lower fractionally, subdued."

Slept on... it? Come now, that's no way to refer to yourself! Have some self-respect! B'net spares a glance for Breide as she steps in, nodding faintly in agreement. Sh'van's formal apology is received with another nod that could be taken for formal itself. "I'll do that," he replies to the offer of help. Thank you."

Silent, again, a tiny flush hints at Breide's cheeks and she sidles a bit behind Sh'van's more solid shoulder.

Again Van gives that half-bow. "Not at all. You are well come to Benden, Wingleader. Clear skies and sleep well. We can speak again in the morning... or whenever morning is for you. Weyrwoman? Shall we?" still holding onto Breide's hand despite the awkward position, he gestures with his free one toward the council room.

B'net sees how it is. She likes 'em ugly. He takes this in stride, offering them both a smile and another nod before turning to head towards Hafizth in the bowl.

Apology is fleeting for B'net, in the depth of Breide's warm eyes, and her own welcome joins in of that of the Weyrleader's, "Clear skies. I... I'll see you tomorrow," is her loaded promise, coupled with a quicker smile that disappears as she turns about. Back into the council rooms.

Sh'van steps in to the council room.
Sh'van has left.

Breide steps in to the council room.