==== October 1, 2013
==== Aleile, Kultir, Sytin
==== As the day winds down a small gaggle of friends gather in the library for some relaxed banter and somber melodies.

Who Aleile, Kultir, Sytin
What As the day winds down a small gaggle of friends gather in the library for some relaxed banter and somber melodies.
When There is 1 turn 1 month and 3 days until the 12th pass.
Where Southern Weyr - Archive Library

Aleile-Young_Icon.jpg kultir2.jpg Sytin-Young_Icon.jpg


archive_library.jpg

Archive Library
There's a skybroom tree in here. It's surprising. There is also a stage, and this room has been cleaned and tidied; it's an interesting space to be sure.


Evening has firmly ensconced the Weyr in the gentle embrace of velvety night. Stars wheel overhead and the two moons hang ponderously, Belior peeking in through the windows above the library and casting its bluish glow into the shadows. The library is mostly quiet, a few patrons here and there, a guard in the corner at a table, looking casual but ready after recent events. It's after supper and their are glowbaskets providing an ambient warmth to the room. They are placed on tables, but also hang between the nooks for the scrolls and tomes that line the shelves. On the whole it is peaceful and quiet, a pleasant winding down point for any seeking a respite away from the buzz of the busy Weyr.

Tucked away in a corner, a waif of a girl sits in a large chair with a well worn gitar in her lap, a small pinned open before her with a couple of smooth pebbles. A Junior Apprentice knot of Harper blue and white is tacked onto her shoulder, and she's intently trying to make the chords shown sound properly on the instrument. Many sound correct — or mostly so — after only minor tweaking, but a few seem to persistently elude her as fingers try to stretch across the fretboard and pin the errand strings down, resulting in eerie wangs of minor tonality. Aleile sighs after a moment, relaxing and stretching her fingers to give the cramped muscles and tendons a break as she reaches for a cup of tea sitting on the table.

Having finished with dinner and chores, a certain lanky Candidate with dark spiny hair strides into the library with something like purpose written on his face. Amber eyes sweep among the patrons in search of his objective. Various people are scanned but eyes finally light on the figure of his foster-sibling in the corner, long limbs carrying him forward with renewed incentive. Reaching her and the table he pulls out a chair and plops down. "Hey," he offers her with one of his usual grins. Gitar is eyed. "Was that…?" he asks the Harper in implied query.

Aleile sets the teacup down just as Sytin walks up, glancing at him and offering a warm smile of welcome. "Hey." At his query about her instrument she looks down at it and strikes an intentional minor chord. "Yeah," comes the simple reply in echo of the somber note. Leaning back in her seat she brings her legs up under her, tucking them to one side. "It's a good instrument." Despite its previous owner? She sounds several more chords, these sweeter and more warm than the last. "I love the rich tone it has. All the ones Vezre has sound… hollow." She shrugs, unable to articulate it any better and levels her turquoise gaze at him. "Maybe I'm simply imagining it, though."

Kultir enters the Library with a less than contented air about him. He huffs a put-upon sigh as he drops inelegantly into a chair at an empty table that is well supplied with glows, a necessity for the task he's been assigned for the night. He pays no attention whatsoever to anyone else in the room, totally absorbed by his current reason to revert to childish behavior and sulk. He flops the exercise book open, pulls a large roughly tanned hide and silverstick out of his satchel and heaves another sigh as he tries to hold the silverstick the way he'd been shown.

Sytin looks unsettled as his foster-sibling sounds a minor chord on the gitar, a shiver running involuntarily down his back. Lips purse and he takes a steadying breath, forcing his shoulders to relax as he listens to Aleile strike a few more peaceful notes. "It does have a very rich sound to it," he agrees. "The wood is well aged, that makes a big difference." Seems he's picked up a few things about wood working from somewhere. He reaches out and runs a hand over the smooth shell. "It's likely seen several decades of use and care. Rarely are practice instruments that old or carefully made. Well," he chuckles self consciously, leaning back. "That's what I would guess, anyway, based on past observations." Hand rubs at the back of his neck with a self conscious chortle.

Aleile offers her foster-brother a smile as he explains his understanding of the instruments available to her as an Apprentice. "You're surprisingly on point as always." The curve of the wood gets a palm slid across it thoughtfully. "I usually leave this under my cot when I go to practice, though. I'm not entirely sure how Vezre will feel about an Apprentice with such a fine instruments." Clearly the girl is still wary of trusting others. She spies Kultir entering from the edge of her vision and leans to peer around Sytin's tall frame to watch him. "Hmmm." That's all she'll say to that for now, lips thinning in disapproval and concern.

Kultir finally situates the silverstick in his hand and, checking the exercise book for his line, scrawls the words across the top of the hide. The letters don't look exactly the way the book shows but … at least he's got most of them down right. He sighs again and frowns at the next line before scrawling that line down too. This pattern continues for several more lines before the teen smacks the silverstick down on his hide and scrubs his hands over his face in frustration. "Sharding waste of time …." he mutters to himself, the words sounding hollow behind his hands.

Sytin grins broadly at the praise from his sister. "Eh, I get lucky sometimes," he brushes it off with a little smirk. Then on the subject of leaving it under her cot: "Probably not a bad idea. No telling what the other Apprentices might do with it, either." No doubt as a Candidate the boy has gotten a taste of just how cruel other kids can be when adult supervision is lacking. As the Harper peers around him toward someone else it causes the boy to rotate in his chair, twisting to look in the direction of Aleile's gaze, spying Kultir at a nearby table and eliciting a frown of his own at the fellow Candidate's scowl. Gaze turns back to the Apprentice with an eyebrow quirked in askance and then he's up and heading toward his friend.

Her foster-brother's look needs no explanation, familiarity from two turns as his adopted sibling causing Aleile to rise up after him, moving with a caged sort of grace as she sets the gitar down in her chair and wafts behind her taller sibling. Weaving through patrons and furniture alike, she finally comes to stand next to the table, a hand placed palm down on the smooth wood as she leans forward and inspect the work. "Trouble?" she asks, lilting her concern melodically at the elder youth. Oh, Kultir's got trouble. Right here in Southern Weyr. Or maybe it just starts with a capital "T" that rhymes with "B" and stands for Berdin?

Kultir drops his hands onto the tabletop, his knuckles banging against the hard wood and he looks up at Sytin and Aleile with a wry smile. "Harpers want me to work on my writing …" he mutters, shoving the hide with his scrawled words toward the pair as he slumps into his chair. The lines of a very basic learning ballad rambling all over the hide, none of the lines straight, spacing very badly done and some of the letters backwards from what they are supposed to be. "I ain't gonna be a Harper … why I gotta be crampin' me hand and hurtin' me eyes f'r anyway, eh?" He crosses his arms in another sulk and looks like he'd like to be thumping his feet on the floor in a tantrum.

Coming up alongside Kultir, Sytin peers down, leaning on a hand as well to examine his friend's penmanship. "Well, if you do Impress then you'll have to write out reports and such I imagine." It's a good theory on the wanna-be sleuth's part. "Besides, what if you want to leave Kalea a nice letter or note? Surely you wouldn't want to have to dictate that to someone…" And there's a more imminently practical idea. The words are eyed speculatively by the amber orbs, the boy mouthing the ballad to himself as he runs a finger underneath to trace his place. "It's a good start though." Honesty? Or sugar coating? His expression gives nothing away for once.

Once her brother finishes with the sheet Aleile slides it over to examine the hide, deep sea eyes scanning the paper. As she mouths it the words come out in a soft, on key musical lilt. "Dragonmen must fly…" The words fade in and out, some audible, some not, until she finishes the verse, looking up to Kultir. Her demeanor is not quite as supportive as her siblings, but it isn't unkind. "I'd work on forming the letters properly and in the right direction first, then work on your formatting," she recommends m
matter-of-factly, pushing the paper back to him. "How long have your been practicing this for?" It's not fair to judge without a basis for comparison, after all.

Kultir heaves another sigh and throttles down his impatience at the whole exercise. "Harper's got me doin' it soon's I were asked t' Stand." he mutters, not meeting her gaze as she points out what he needs to work on. "Said I gotta work on't so it don' look like I jes dipped a yardfowl's feet in ink and let'em loose on th' hide …" He picks up the exercise book and flops it at the two of them before dropping it back on the table and continuing, "I c'n read it jes fine … I jes can' git it fr'm m' 'ead t' th' hide th' way it's s'posed t' be."

"Eh, my handwriting was total hen's teeth when I first started too." Sytin shrugs and pulls out a chair to flop down at the same table as Kultir with a little whump. "I had a rather persistent tutor." Amber eyes turn momentarily dark at the memories. Shoulders roll and dispel the image, returning to the present with a renewed grin. Reaching out he claps his friend on the shoulder. "Persistence is the key. 'Sides, I know you're smart and just need the practice." Book is eyes sidelong but left for his sibling to mangle if she wishes. "I bet you weren't a very good tracker when you first did it either!" Skill level is over 9000 now, though!

Aleile frowns as Kultir admits he's been doing this since he was Searched. Face tilts up toward the windows in contemplation, doing a quick calculation and ticking off at her fingertips for a moment before lips purse in a silent whistle. Did she just judge the poor Candidate? Whether she did or did not, his comment about the yardfowl does earn a little titter from the girl as she looks back down, snagging the learning book up to examine it. "Oh, Faranth, I haven't seen this material in… Shells, at least a turn or two." Her words may sting the elder boy but that isn't their intent, at least not from her apparent demeanor as she recalls her learning nostalgically. She hands it back to him. "It's just another skill to master, like any other. Maybe you should find suitable motivation to meet it?" That advice loosed from her lips she turns, heading back to the other table to fetch her things.

Kultir sighs softly at their words and shrugs. "It din' take m' more'n a couple sev'ndays t' figger out how t' move quiet-like through th' jungle when th' guard was trainin' me." he says in a low voice. And now he's one of the best trackers in the Weyr, at least he was when he was Searched. He lifts a hand to his head, fingertips fingering a specific spot on his skull that he can feel though no one else would know it was there, the fingertips tracing a slightly 'U' shape in his hair at a spot just above and behind his left ear. "They said I won' be learnin' t' write too easy … said th' kick I took in th' stampede did som'un t' make it hard f'r me." He drops his hand and shrugs as he blinks the memory away once more.

Sytin leans back in the chair, arms splayed across the rests to either side, legs stretched out and crossed in front of him. "Well, maybe you just have a natural skill for it." He's clearly grasping at straw here, but then his features twist in sympathy and pain for his friend as Kultir traces the line of a faded scar over his ear. "I'm so sorry, Kul." That's really all he can offer to the idea that his friend might be… damaged goods. It hurts him to think about it, so instead he tries a topic change. "I got stuck with mucking again today." He makes a face. "Freaking Berdin tried to start some trouble again." He frowns deeper. "Practically incited a stampede in the stable, then tried to blame me."

Deft fingers pluck the gitar from the chair and tuck the instrument under arm, the other hand scooping up the teacup and putting it atop her book and then Aleile does an about-face with a little sashay of her hips, heading back toward the two boys. Upon arriving she catches the tail end of Kultir's remark about his learning disability, eliciting a small frown from the Harper. "Well, all the more reason to find suitable motivation to stick with it?" Teacup and book are set down and gitar is settled back into the waif's lap, who strums a couple of tragic sounding chords, adding a bitterness to the atmosphere as she stares up at Belior's half-lit face.

Kultir sighs and scrubs at his face again, nodding to Aleile's comment. "Aye … I know't." he mutters. "I be workin' on't." Though he doesn't mention the number of times his practice has left him in tears of frustration and feeling worthless. A quick glance goes to Sytin at the mention of Berdin and stables. "Ye din' let him get 'way wi' that did ye?" he asks a bit sharply. "I hope ye made sure old Garrick know'd who dun't." He shakes his head at the stupidity of the boy who just doesn't have a sliver's worth of sense of when to stop his pranking.

Minor chords elicit another shiver from Sytin as they evoke memories he'd rather not relive. Aleile gets a look though whether she'll see it remains to be seen. Kultir's question proves a suitable distraction, however, so he turns to focus on that. "Of course I sharding didn't!" He sounds shocked that Kultir would even suggest such a thing and leans over to punch the man on the shoulder affectionately, though it's a bit rough. "Garrick kept Berdin after he released me." Eyes shift and voice drops low. "I haven't seen him since." Make of THAT what you will. Leaning back again he puffs a thoughtful sigh, lacing fingers behind his head. "I should have brought my robe with me to finish those fardling sleeves."

Aleile totally misses the look her sibling is directing at her, so focused on the fingerboard and getting her fingers to hold down the strings for each chord. And so the minor tonalities continue, slowly starting to coherently form the eerie notes for Red Star Passes. Clearly this Harper wants to set quite a mood here. She looks up from her humming at the mention of Berdin, eyebrow quirking as she suddenly lays her hand flat on the strings to silence them. "That coward again?" Clearly she has not heard good things about the Candidate. "I hope Garrick gave him a right, proper lickin'!" And that's saying something.

Kultir snorts at Sytin's assurance that the old Stablemaster had been told about the incident and can't help the grin he gives the other boy when the playful punch rocks him in the chair. "Aye. Me too, Aleile." he says, chuckling a bit at the thought of the boy dancing in place while the old stablemaster takes a switch to his fat behind. "Might do 'im some good t' get a lickin'." He looks curiously at the younger boy and frowns slightly. "Ye ain't got that robe done yet? I c'n help ye iff'n ye need it." He'd thought his friend was done with his robe already so hadn't offered help before that moment.

Fingers quickly unlace as Kultir's punch causes Sytin's chair to rock back, the boy hastily leaning forward to right its course before he ends up flat on his back. Oomph! The shocked and surprised expression quickly evolves into first a nervous chuckle and then an outright laugh at his near miss on that hard landing. Well, that was fun! At Aleile and Kultir's reaction about Berdin he rubs the back of his neck, a little wry, a little nervous. "I honestly didn't want to stick around to find out. I'm pretty sure Garrick would just as readily turn the switch on me as any other idle hands." He shifts in his seat uncomfortably at the idea and then looks sheepish about his robe. "It's just the sleeves. I need to hem them onto the robe still. Could still wear it even if the shells crack 'fore I finish though. It just won't be so… fancy."

Punch a little harder than he meant, Sytin grimaces apologetically at Kultir, then stares up at Belior for a bit, lost in thought for several minutes. At Aleile and Kultir's reaction about Berdin he rubs the back of his neck, a little wry, a little nervous. "I honestly didn't want to stick around to find out. I'm pretty sure Garrick would just as readily turn the switch on me as any other idle hands." He shifts in his seat uncomfortably at the idea and then looks sheepish about his robe. "It's just the sleeves. I need to hem them onto the robe still. Could still wear it even if the shells crack 'fore I finish though. It just won't be so… fancy."

A small, wry smile flickers across Aleile's lips, touching her Azov eyes with its mirth. "The Herder Apprentices have loads of tales about him." And from the sound of things none of them are good. More chords are plucked out absently, these of more cheer than the last. It just seems that the Harper cannot stop fondling her instrument. "I never understood the reasons behind forcing Candidates to wear this plain white robe and if they are lucky a pair of sandals that do precious little to protect against the scalding grains of sand out there. I personally think it's a recipe for disaster and is why so many get maimed when the actual Hatching does happen." She snorts. "You cannot tell me that those infant dragons have any concept of fashion either."

Kultir smiles an acceptance of that apologetic grimace and shrugs as if to say 'It doesn't matter'. He snickers at the information that Sy hadn't hung around long enough to see the punishment meted out to the lazy boy. "Well, iff'n ye need help, ye know where t' find me." he offers. He glances at the girl and chuckles. "I been told it be Tradition an' 'parently 'one does not tamper with Tradition', 'r some such." He enunciates what is apparently a direct quote. "But they be tamperin' wi' Tradition any ways … 'therwise there'd be no girls in th' barracks right now as there's no gold egg on them Sands." He shrugs, not understanding the reasoning either.

"Shells, I'd wear the sharding robe… But could we at least have some boots?" Sytin's eyes glass with memory of his times on the sands to touch those technicolor shells. A yawn escapes him suddenly and jolts him out of the reverie, causing him to look between foster-sibling and pseudo-sibling. "I might bug you about it before we turn in tonight. Or I could skip our morning run to finish it… Get it out of the way." He shrugs, many possibilities presenting themselves before Kultir's talk of not allowing girls surprises him. "But… Why not? Greens are girl dragons too, aren't they?" He's clearly missed something crucial here and is confused about it.

Aleile snorts disdainfully at the notion of Tradition. "Back in Moreta's time girls stood on the sands in equal numbers to the boys. That used to be Tradition. After the plague no Hold wanted to let them go, to Weyr OR Hall." The Harper scowls at the idea. "Now it's become Tradition that women should be nothing more than population pushers." A sneer, which gives her an unflattering look. "I'm lucky that I'm in Southern. Up north it's even worse. They're so sharding hidebound that even with Thread coming at any time they don't want every able bodied person standing to bond with our protectors. That's just…" She pauses, searching for a suitable word "insane!"

Kultir nods slightly at all the possibilities Sytin mentions and the shrugs. "S'up t' you, when ye wanna do't." he mutters though Sy's next words get him a stare. The elder Candidate snatches the practice hide from the table and THWAPS the younger with it. "Ye're bein' a dimglow, Sy … Golds is breeders, greens ain't." Ali's words penetrate his mind and nods. "Aye, what she said." A moment after that, a yawn interrupts his thoughts as he slumps back into his chair again. "Aw, we're all tired … let's jes git t' bed, s'nearly curfew anyways …" he mutters and stuffs all his things into the satchel so he can head out as soon as the others are ready as well.

"Before the hatching." Duh? Then Kultir thwaps him and Sytin lets out a surprised yelp, jolting upright in his chair and snatching at the curled up hide in futility before flopping back down emptyhanded. "Fah. Just because greens can't breed doesn't mean girls shouldn't ride girl dragons." He glances at Aleile. "I think you'd make a good rider. You're smart. That's important, right?" His lack of Weyr knowledge is showing, but his words are well intentioned. The other Candidate's suggestion of bed earns another yawn from the boy before he stand, shoving the chair up under the table lip and eyeing the nearly empty library. Even the guard looks bored and half asleep. "Let's go," he manages around another yawn before he turns and trundles out.

A certain wryness touches Aleile's features as her sibling tries to explain to her the reasons she would be a good rider. "Cute, Sy." She reaches out to poke him in the nose before Kultir's suggestion of bed is met with action, the Harper rising from her seat as long legs unfurl and hit the floor. The now cold tea is given a quick downing and the cup perched back on top of the book, which the Apprentice lifts, palm under the bottom, thumb holding the saucer steady. Fingers wrap around the fretboard of the gitar and she tucks it against her side with a flick of the wrist and a squeeze with her elbow. "I've got to drop this cup off at the kitchen too." She offers them both a warm smile. "See you boys later." And she sashays past them, all coltish legs and slender hips as she goes.

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