==== September 15, 2013
==== Br'er, H'ris, Nathanael, Sytin, Th'seus, Yulena
==== A secret meeting in the galleries results in a change of knots for Sytin!

Who Br'er, H'ris, Nathanael, Sytin, Th'seus, Yulena
What A secret meeting in the galleries results in a change of knots for Sytin!
When There is 1 turn 2 months and 21 days until the 12th pass.
Where Southern Weyr - Galleries

brer-areyousrs.png teennathanael.jpg Th'seus2.png Sytin-Young_Icon.jpg Yulena2.jpg


Stone benches rise, black and showing the lack of polish from a thousand seats — by the look of it, these have not been used in… forever, if ever indeed.

The day often finds Th'seus trapped out in the skies with Lynx, Vossuth anxious to return to the Weyr and his mate and all those eggs that are resting out on the sands. The bronzerider usually arrives sometime around dinner, to check on dragon and rider. He's either bringing food or getting an order from Hannah to run back to the weyr. But right now, he's just arriving and stomping up the steps of the galleries to arrive over by the landing. It looks like it was long, stressful day out there. Seeing as how he's covered everywhere in flecks of mud. From his boots, all the way up to the neckline of his riding jacket. Something that he's distractedly shrugging out of as he goes.

Nathanael fails at sneaky, but look, at least he looks cute as he tries to sneak into the gallery area. Really he should be making more Bricks, but Secret Notes had been passed and an agreement made! Thus, Nathanael is sneaking. Where is his friend? His eyes sweep the area to find his fellow apprentice.

From the sands below, Eggs, eggs, eggs; not a lot to see on the sands other than a pale gold dam who curls protectively around her clutch. It's a large clutch, however, so some of the colored splashes of egg tops are exposed. Dhiammarath slumbers but on that platform is a privacy screen, and from behind that privacy screen are the sounds of splashing (??) and ridiculous off-key sounds of bawdy Pernese tunes. Whatever is going on down there, someone's having a good time, hey. Might as well give those galleries watchers a show. Carry on!

Serval's day was not as stressful as Lynx's, if H'ris' lack of visible mud or weariness is any indication. The big greenrider is semi-sprawled on one of the benches, watching the eggs on the sand with a faraway look. Or maybe it's a look that's attempting to avoid looking in the direction of that screen and the singing. Whichever it is, that look fades with a snap when Th'seus appears, and the greenrider is on his feet remarkably quickly for one his size. "Wingleader," he rumbles politely, snapping off a salute. "Good evenin'."

Settled several rows above the ground floor, Sytin is doing his best to look inconspicuous to the odd passerby, his amber eyes watching the slowly hardening eggs from his dragonseye view. The sounds of singing do carry faintly up to his ears, bringing the odd wry smile to his lips as he catches bits of the lyrics here and there. It's certainly a nice change from Clutchzilla only a sevenday before. A shock of blond hair catches the Smith's attention as Nathanael comes bolting up the stairs and Sytin is soon up and cavorting down the stairs to meet up with his friend. "Than!" The call is hoarse, like a too-loud whisper. "Over here 'Thanael!" Arm is raised in a brief wave to snag the Seacrafter's attention as he rapidly descends from the nosebleed section.

Th'seus hits the railing of the galleries, leaning into it to try and get a good look at that platform. But the sound of splashing and singing is probably hint enough that the goldrider doesn't need him right now or at any point in the near immediate future. He turns around then, leaning his back against the barrier and examining the people in the galleries. The Serval rider's salute is met with one of his own. Though by this time of the night it's rather lazy and not quite as crisp. His eyes flicker towards Nathanael where he watches the youngster with passive amusement. And of course, he can't miss the call from Sytin. Though their attempts to remain inconspicuous draw his attention.

There! Nathanael catches sight of Sytin finally and waves! before casting a look at the adults. Oops. They aren't at all familiar though, so he sneaks again. When he reaches his friend he begins to whisper.

Nathanael whispers, "Did 'e have problems getting 'way? Journeyman Aaron ain't that mad is 'e?"

H'ris looks around when he hears the furtive voice from above, and his eyes narrow at the slinking apprentice before his lips curl slowly in some sort of sympathetic memory. Perhaps they need a distraction. "You're Th'seus, ain't you, sir?" he asks the bronzerider in his thick, long-ago Crom accent, shifting in a way that's totally not trying to give any cover to the sneaker. It's totally coincidence if it does. "It am your Vossuth what sired this clutch? I reckon I ought to congratulate you, then."

Sytin may not have mastered the fine art of the ninja just yet, but it's the thought that counts! Th'seus is an unknown factor, as is H'ris, both riders unfamiliar to him. With any luck that will mean they won't be familiar with him either. The Seacrafter gets a broad grin as the Smith catches up, clapping his best friend on the back with an air of camaraderie only teenagers could enjoy. He leans over as Nathanael whispers to him, nodding and tilting his head to whisper back with a bit of a chuckle. There's a slight headshake and then a bit of a nod to accompany the whisper, but the words are themselves lost like VTOLs in the wind.

Sytin whispers, "A bit, but I managed 'soon as I could! Pretty sure Aaron's mostly trying to stay on the weyrwomen's good side, but I suspect I've pissed him off good and hard. I'll be laying brick for awhile yet!"

"I am." Th'seus confirms with the faintest hint of a smile for the greenrider. He stretches his arms back and allows them tangle casually with the bars of the railing. Whether or not H'ris is attempting to distract him from the sneaking teenagers, the man seems undeterred. He's got a careful eye on both of them even as he continues to carry on light conversation. "Thank you. This isn't his first clutch, so we've done this before." Which could just be a sort of semi-warning to the young men over there. And that could just be the prelude as to why he begins to drift into their general direction, though he doesn't greet them.

Nathanael grimaces as if in shared pain, and whispers, motioning a bit further away from the ADULTS that are right over there. Especially when he hears who at least one of the men is. He looks guiltily at Th'seus and tries to look totally innocent while moving away

Nathanael whispers, "'least 'e'll be at 'e complex? We should go 'or 'here, quick!"

"It's a fine clutch, sir," H'ris says, wincing just a bit when his distraction proves to be less than effective. "I don't know as I've ever seen a clutch so big afore. They was all a mite smaller, back home." He looks in the direction of the errant apprentices, lifitng his shoulders in a ghost of a shrug. Sorry, guys. Still, one more attempt can't hurt. "I'm H'ris," he offers, raising his voice just a bit. "O' green Qyth. I reckon as you might have seen her, baskin' out on th' rim." He mimes a hand at his back, his expression incredulous at his apparent babbling. "She's the one what has them pretty swirls in her sails?"

It seems that youth is not without its drawbacks. Like overly watchful adults. Sytin offers the bronzerider a friendly grin, as if it might somehow reassure him that they're only being boys and not doing anything illicit at all. Honest! Nathanael gets a bit of a back thwomp from the Smith, a friendly reminder to Stay Cool(tm). He does lead his friend away from the two riders, just a bit, pretensing the action with random gestures toward various eggs on the sands. All boys like to watch dragon eggs, right? Meanwhile he's whispering things to the Seacrafter, a dull murmur of hushed syllables. H'ris' efforts are not unnoticed, per se, but the Apprentice can't exactly call attention to the greenrider in some form of thanks without ruining the effort, and so it goes unspoken. Maybe later the favor will be returned.

Sytin whispers, "I suspect he'll be busy a while longer, yes, but you're right, we can't stay too long. That one's already getting suspicious, no thanks to your guilty look! You've got to be the worst bluffer ever! Don't ever play dragon poker."

From the sands below, The rise of bawdy songs drifts up from the sands down below, behind that platform more sounds of splashing occur. Splash, splash, splash (???). Dhiammarath, however, has been awakened by either her lifemate or the fact that there's a crowd in the galleries. The pale queen unlids one eye. She? Is so watching you. You, who? You, that's who!

Th'seus shoots H'ris something of a narrowed look now. "That's nice." Because he's not completely oblivious to the greenrider's attempted mechanisms to keep him from investigating what the youths are up to. "I'm sorry, I haven't. There are quite a few greens at Southern and I can't honestly say that I know all of them by the swirls on their sails." As if he might recognize the bite in those words he tacks on a hasty, "But I'm sure they're great." The boys keep moving and now the bronzerider just seems exasperated. He takes a few long steps with his extra long legs and suddenly he's there, RIGHT IN THEIR PATH. "Hey, kids." The wingleader crosses his arms over his chest, at least he looks entertained by this point.

Nathanael punches Sytin in the arm as his reply. Th'seus is more than close enough to hear his whispered reply, "I canno' help it! 'e was already lookin'!" The bronze rider suddenly closer has Nathanael looking even more guilty. Sytin gets a swift look and a mouthed, be respectful!, before Nathanael is bobbing swiftly in respect, "Greetings sir. 'm regards 't 'e dragon."

There's a trim and neatly clad figure emerging from the stairwell: it has perfect hair, too, so it must be Br'er. The greenrider is carrying a wrapped package under his arm, and his gaze goes first for the platform and the gold — but the medley in the galleries can hardly fail to catch his attention. Br'er's eyebrows lift. Without comment, the greenrider ambles down, heading in their direction. He smells an excellent chance to be a spectator to hilarity.

H'ris' flinch at Th'seus' response is miniscule, and his brow twitches once before he offers a wide - too wide - smile. "Oh, aye, sir," he says, bobbing his head. "I reckon you's only familiar with the ones what are actually in your wing." He sounds casual about it, poking his tongue into the corner of his mouth and bulging the skin from the inside. Which is the moment that Th'seus makes his move, and this time the wrinkle of his nose is deep and apologetic. Alas, poor apprentices. He didn't even know ye.

The Seacrafter gets a quick and not altogether subtle jab in the ribs from Sytin as the bronzerider approaches and Nathanael manages to somehow look more guilty. The Smith offers a friendly smile, glancing up at the tall Th'seus. "Good eve, sir. May I also offer my respects to your dragon and his fine clutch?" It's sincere, if a little flowery. The Apprentice tilts his head toward his friend. "We were just admiring them. They're even more splendid by daylight." Now maybe he's going a bit overboard with the flattery. Still, it's not back-talking, it's just conversation! Honest to Faranth!

Probably. It's a big weyr to remember all the dragons, so I don't try." Th'seus shoots back over to the other man, his voice devoid of any malice. Br'er's perfect hair is recognizable and he gives the man the barest of nods as he drops one hand against the railing. He glances out towards the sands and the singing as one eyebrow arches up before he turns to regard them again. "Sure, you can. He already knows how great they are though, they're his after all." He looks between the two youths. "Uh huh, yeah, eggs. Splendid." So they're not exactly his thing. But he's never made a big secret about it. "You boys supposed to be here? Are you up to something? If you try and sneak onto those sands, I'm sorry to tell you this, but I will have to kill you." That last is included with no small amount of looming being done by the tall and wide man. And maybe some SUBTLE flexing. "It'll be less painful than what she'll do to you." Small gift, that.

Nathanael GULPS and shoots a look at Sytin, NOT GOOD DUDE, "'e jus' got off sir, 'n just wanted to look, fr'm 're." Nathanael points right where he is standing. Though complete honestly, note, he doesn't say if they are allowed here, it sounds like a lie as Nathanael stutters it out. His blond hair flips into his eyes and he pushes it out while staring UP the two feet to the rider.

Br'er, lurking up the steps, watches Th'seus intimidate the Apprentices. The greenrider only GRINS. It's a toothy grin, teeth white and perfectly spaced. And faintly, pleasantly mean. Without comment, the man sidles down a little closer, and then slides onto an empty bench. All the best to spectate from, you see.

H'ris drops his face into his meaty palm at the over-exaggerated flattery, and the obvious lie, and moves towards the benches to flop onto them, kicking his legs out. There might be mumbled commentary, but it's soft and deep enough that whatever the greenrider is actually saying is lost.

You know who wants to see more eggs? A Candidate. So it's Yulena tromping up the stairs at the end of her day (read: she might just fall asleep in her seat), and eyeing the crowd. A very awkwardly look at Th'seus, then one at Br'er, and a short, sympathetic one at the shorter ones Th'seus is menacing. She can't pretend to be 'small', 'minute', or 'petite', but she'll totally pass for tired as she thumps into a seat that looks out over the eggs well. And then there's H'ris, who actually gets a little wave of hello.

Sytin isn't as thick or brash as he may at first appear. Contrary to popular belief he can, on occasion keep his yap shut. Choosing to exercise this trait, the Smith follows the Seacrafter's lead, offering an eager nod to accompany Nathanael's explanation for their being here. In the galleries. No where near venturing on the sands like suicidal lemmings. Another smile is offered to the bronzerider with a slightly nervous gleam to Sytin's amber orbs at the prospect of being skinned alive comes to mind. "I'd hate to ruin your day like that, bronzerider," the Smith assures him. "The view from here is absolutely spectacular, can't see the need to risk certain death and all." He's trying to joke, but he's probably in poor taste, as usual. Maybe this time he'll get an E for effort? Or would that be for euthanasia?

Staring down with an intent gaze on both Nathanael and Sytin, the bronzerider looks between one and the other as if he's trying to figure out some deeply held secret they might be holding. The young Seacrafter is given a lifted eyebrows for his efforts and his mouth pulls to the side critically before his gaze slowly moves back over to the other. "Ruin my day?" He repeats in an ultra quiet, ominous voice. Before breaking out into laughter and straightening to his full height once more. "So, kid. Smithcraft kid, whoever you are. Do you want to stand for this clutch or just wander around doing whatever you're not supposed to be doing right now?" Honestly, Th'seus doesn't have a clue and probably doesn't actually care. Sytin's not exactly his responsibility, now anyway.

Nathanael droops in relief when the rider starts laughing. Then…. his mouth drops and he STARES at Sytin "Dude!"

Don't mind Br'er. He's just going to hang out on his bench, looking thoroughly amused at Th'seus's theatrics. After a moment's contemplation - and a glance at the Sands and the Pass clutch gracing them - he calls over: "Do it, kid. What's the worst that could happen?" Other than being eaten by a jungle cat, being stabbed by a fellow Candidate, being fatally injured during a chore, being mauled by a dragonet, being eaten by the clutchparents… Other than that stuff!

H'ris blinks when Th'seus begins laughing, and there's a moment before the information actually sinks through his thick skull. Then his lips curl in a small smile, and he lifts a shoulder. "Aye," he calls, after Br'er finishes. "I reckon standin' as a candidate be better'n gettin' yourself killed." His eyes crinkle merrily. 'Cause it's only /slightly/ better, really.

From the sands below, Perhaps the sounds of a CROWD in galleries has penetrated between the lusty lyrics coming from behind that screen from which tawdry tavern songs were previously jauntily coming forth, because all of a sudden, all sounds of happy stop. Dead silence, now, with nary a splash to carry up from the sands below. Dhiammarath, however has fully woken up; the grace of moon's light shining on pale perfection of iridescence. A languid stretch. Oh, oh, oh, people are wanting to see these eggs? Nothing to see here, when her bulk is displaced to the front of most of the eggs, nosing about to ensure that all is well. Oh a few eggs are left for viewing as it's a big clutch and even she can't hide them all.

The buzz of the Stands is totally harshing Yulena's concentration on the eggs, and she looks over just in time to concentrate to hear Th'seus' offer. "Oooooh," she says and waves at Sytin, "C'mon!" Join Yulie in the Undiscovered Country: a Southern Weyr without (dead) bodies. AHAHAHA, like that will happen anytime soon. However. Nodding along with H'ris, "Well. Until Aaron hears." Hey, does anyone hear any… singing? Tall Yulena looks out over to the Sands curiously.

What's the worst indeed? Sytin does visibly relax as the bronzerider starts laughing, a chuckle escaping the boy at first before Nathanael's exclamation brings him back down to Pern. Wait, what in Faranth's name was he just asked to do? His Seacrafter friend gets a look, then his gaze goes to Br'er with an eyebrow quirk — there was definitely something else in that statement — slides to H'ris, over to the now shifting prone grace of Dhiammarath, flicking to Yulena and then back to Th'seus, having made a nice little circuit around the galleries. He licks his lips, actually taking a moment to think about what he'll say. "Well, who am I to say no to such an illustrious offer?" And by illustrious we mean deadly. "I would be honored to Stand for Southern's clutch." He even sounds just a bit humble when he says it! Who'da thunk?

At the sound of the large Smith's name Nathanael deflates. "'m gonna have to make 'e darn bricks 'lone!" Sad face all over Nathanael as it sinks in that his best bud is suddenly not going to be able to have any more mud fights any time soon. "'e'll be a good rider." Nathanael tries to put a positive face on it and punches Sytin's arm again, but with markedly less enthusiasm.

"Excellent!" How can Sytin say no when there's all this terrific peer pressure going on anyway? Nothing quite like manipulating and intimidating a young man into a life altering decision. Nothing immoral about this at all! Th'seus grins broadly at him and jerks a thumb over his shoulder. "Come on, I'll show you over to the barracks." But not before he turns to brace his hands against the railing and shouting loudly, "I'LL BRING YOU A SANDWICH WHEN I GET BACK!" That's of course, assuming the singing-but-now-not-singing person is Hannah. But even if it's not her, which it must be right? Even if it's not, they're getting a sandwich later. "And whatever is going on in the Smithy, Aaron's going to have to work out. He can talk to Renalde."

That sound that sounds like a choked-off laugh at Sytin's response? It totally didn't come from H'ris, no matter what the hand in front of his grin might indicate. Yulena's question gets a small furrow of his eyebrows, and he lifts a shoulder. "I reckon as I don't hear no singin'," he says honestly. Then he's lifting a hand in Sytin's direction. "Congratulations, apprentice. An' good luck to ya."

"Oh!" says Br'er, suddenly, now that the funny part is over and the boring administrative part has started, meaning his attention has totally drifted. Be careful, though, Sytin. I hear some of your fellow Candidates BITE. "HANNAH!" the greenrider calls out, lofting his package (… the one that's box-shaped, and wrapped up in paper, obviously) up. "You down there?"

From the sands below, Dhiammarath doesn't pause her perusing, ensuring that each egg is still situated perfectly, but the splashing resumes if only to sound as if someone is stepping out of something or emptying something. SPLISH SPLASH. Then the husky sound of Hannah's yell drifts up from behind that platform. "MAKE IT A DOUBLE. I'M REAL HUNGRY." What's that? Is Hannah totally sandwich-cheating? And then the junior finally appears, not wet or freshly bathed at all. Wearing a splash of dark purple on her eye (it matches Baileys) as the shiner seems to eclipse all of her pale face, and perhaps distracts from the mop and bucket. With a sassy look towards the galleries, the goldrider hops off that platform and wanders off down the sands and out the door. Mop and bucket in tow. And you all thought…! Lusty songs trailing behind her. Hey, hey. It's a good day in the jungle, right?

Sytin grins at Nathanael. "Don't count me out of the brick-making yet," he chuckles. "I saw some Candidates there, helping, so knowing my luck, I'll be back out there mixing mud with you." There's an impish grin here, the double entendre hopefully clear to the shorter Apprentice. Grin is tossed all around to any congratulations that come his way, the Apprentice somewhere between nervous and excited at this new prospect. "I'll be sure to watch out for tooth and claw, sir." This to Br'er. Turning back to Th'seus he beams a bit broader. "After you, sir." Not that the Smith has a clue where in the Nevernever the Candidate Barracks are.

"OKAY!" Th'seus hollers back over the sands to her. The bucket and mop get a funny look, as does the huge shiner on her face. He exhales at the sight of it again. His expression says it all: why?! But without further commentary he waves his arm, directing Sytin to follow him as he ambles down the gallery stairs.

Yulena shrugs. "Maybe it's just me, then…" But no, hey look: it's Hannah, and sandwich negotiations are open. *yawn* Trying to shout after Th'seus, Yulena suggests, "Talk to Brel in the kitchens… Oh drat, he's gone." Business demands, one guesses. A faint look back to the Sands and Yulena's eyeing a few eggs. "Has it been this exciting here all night?" she asks in a dry voice to good buddy H'ris.

It is a much subdued Nathanael that accepts the reassurance from his friend of CONTINUED friendship. After the pair are gone a very quiet boy leaves too.

First Hannah, then Th'seus! Br'er sighs, then grins (to himself more than the others, whom he doesn't really know) and shakes his head, then sets the box back on the bench besides him, before going quietly back to gazing at the eggs. Don't mind him!
H'ris blinks as Hannah appears, and there's a moment when his body jerks in some instinctive need to jump up in salute. He fights it down, though, preferring to focus on Yulena. "Oh, it am always excitin' when there be eggs on the sand," he rumbles with a grin. "You cain't ne'er tell what's goin' to happen." Case in point, as he nods after the be-shinered goldrider. "It makes the bettin' pools a lot more interestin', too."

So much excitement isn't good for the nerves, or so Yulena will say, but she's probably lying. "Isn't it though," she returns to H'ris, "There are betting pools? Already?" She's utterly bemused, "I mean, they'll all hatch, right?" A little shrug, "I guess you could bet on who's going to Impress, then…" ooooh, creepy. "I mean… what else?"
From the sands below, Vossuth rattles around from where he rests on the far corner of the sands, out of the way. Just watching, guarding both dam and clutch. At Yulena's little comment about 'they'll all hatch right' there's a loud rumble from the Nowtimer bronze as he shifts and stares at her.

"Oh, lots o' things," H'ris drawls. "There's pools on how many of 'em will be green, 'r brown, 'r blue…which craft 'r hold will come out best…whether there'll be anyone hurt…" There's a roll of massive shoulders as the big greenrider notes these things matter-of-factly. "There's some riders what'll bet on just about anything. My grandpap made a nice profit, makin' books on hatchings." He laughs. "Hell, he made book on just about anythin'." He nods, though, and inhales through his nose. "I reckon as they'll all hatch," he predicts. "I don't know much about it, but I reckon both dam an' sire are strong an' healthy, an' it were a good, long flight. That's got to count for summat."

Yulena raises both eyebrows, "Um. Wow." People are more bored than she thought. She's staring at H'ris in amazement before she snaps out of the befuddlement that is humanity, "Of course they'll hatch," she says with a little asperity. "I meant that you can't really place things like bets on that, because all of all is 100 per cent." See, Yulena can do math, but she'd be heck on the spread. Her eye goes over the eggs a little, appreciating, "And both Dhiammaranth and Vossuth are pretty hardy dragons," she totally means tough. "And it's not like we don't have enough food for everyone." Unless they run out of mangoes. Damn mangoes.
From the sands below, Nestled between Dhiammarath's glittering, pale neckridges, Dhiammarath gives pause in her perusal to swing her golden head towards the galleries, giving the tiny humans a look. Vossuth's got the perimeter — that's right, perimeter — handled, right? As in, go stalk along the edges of the sands where the people are, bronze-mate. And she resumes her egg perusal. Each slumbering dreamer is given their own, individual attention.

"It don't happen all that much," H'ris says. "Eggs not hatchin'. I done a lot o' readin' when I were a weyrlin', an' while it /do/ happen, I don't reckon as it happens enow that it'd be somethin' to worry at. Just enow to warrant a pool." He waves a hand at Dhiammaranth, and quirks a grin. Everything's fine. Totally nothing to see here. "I reckon as it'll be a heck of a Hatchin', when it comes. I cain't wait to see the dragonets them two throw."

Yulena hmphs quietly, though it's not her usual 'hmph'ing noise, it's more a reflective tone. A pause and Yulie collects herself quietly, "Well. I should hope not." is her prim answer, though an unconscious check to the Sands as H'ris addresses the clutchmother. "Exactly as he says, madame," she continues formally. The tale of the lesson of Dimitri hasn't been forgotten, and the Candidate turns back to the rider, "They'll be wonderful, of course." Certain as all get out, Yulena is, until a yawn cuts off the end of that last word, "Um. I think I should go to bed. Tomorrow starts early." Doesn't it usually? Rising, Yulena turns to bow to the Sands and its occupants. "I'll see you around, then," she tells H'ris before making her way to the doorway.

H'ris grins at the yawn, and nods solemnly. "I reckon as you'll have plenty to do," he says sagely, and lifts a hand at the girl. "Take care o' yourself," is his final advice, and he offers a bright grin that follows Yulena out before he turns it on the occupants of the Sands. A clutch is so much fun.

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