==== June 23, 2013
==== Sienna, Syteran, N'thu, M'yck, Mailli, Webley, Yulena
==== Webley and the girls talk about a dress getting cut, M'yck ruins all the fun. Talk turns to Vergora at the very end.

Who Sienna, Syteran, N'thu, M'yck, Mailli, Webley, Yulena
What Webley and the girls talk about a dress getting cut, M'yck ruins all the fun. Talk turns to Vergora at the very end.
When 1 turn 11 months and 3 days until the 12th pass
Where Living Cavern, Igen Weyr

defaulticon.png Webley.jpg


Living Caverns
Dim light from hanging glow-globes cannot fully camouflage the ravages of time and neglect on Igen's busy living caverns, though hints of its former glory peek through in the decorative cuts to the cave's natural limestone and the high quality of dusty, tatty-ended tapestries. Here and there, skybroom tables — stained dark by wood finish and a decade of grime — sit in loose groups, flanked by wicker chairs with pointy, broken rattan that pokes out to invariably find unprotected skin. The seemingly randomly placed furniture, however, at closer inspection, forms a sort of cross-shape of negative space. At the northernmost walls and nooks of the caverns, a long buffet table with tarnished lazy susans hosts an array of finger-foods and pitchers for the interested, refilled occasionally by drudges that shuffle in from the curtained entrance to the south, beyond which lies the kitchens. To the east is a large arch leading outside and, across from that, to the west, a set of rattling doors that open to reveal the tunnels and stairs of the inner caverns themselves.

It is a winter day at Igen, there have been colder but this one is none-the-less nippy at best, and down right angry at worst. If you are a man like Webley it is the worst, lithe, with no body fat to be scavaged the man sits in his few minutes between chores wrapped in his sleek black jacket. Shamrock covered legs are pulled up next to him on a big chair near the hearth. His hands cradle a mug of klah as he counts down the moments until he is no longer free. (Re)

A loaf of bread, a jug of klah, and thou: Syteran the senior-j'man healer is also lurking about in the caverns, and for that matter also has damp hair. The main difference is that the only swimming he's been doing has been through an ocean of sweetsand and the public baths, and he's still dressed for winter beyond that. Webley catches his eye, and he ambles in that direction — maybe it's just to show off how nice his new turquoise shirt is, though.

N'thu likes this weather, and so he seems relatively good-natured as he walks into the living cavern and takes off his sun-hat; he's got the top two buttons of his shirt open, even. In the winter. But that's because there's sun out, and it could be a lot colder, after all. He's carrying a box again, but unlike when he's seen with one outside, this has piles of hidework in it instead. Coincidences, coincidences: he's also moving to sit over near poor Webley, just like everyone else, though in this case it's just because he wants to sit by the hearth, and also because he's giving Mailli a funny look: "Aren't you cold?"

Bewildered the candidate gives the wet-haired girl an gaping mouth look, shutting it dramatically with his own fist and a wink he shrugs, "Sure, love, but tell me…" A finger is waggled up and down once, "How you can swim, and walk around wet, and not be dead." But sorry that walking embodiment of clothen divinity steals every ounce of Webley's attention, first out of sheer love and then heart breaking pain. "I'd steal that right off of you." He comments to the journeyman, though he does tack on a necessary, and very polite, "Sir." At then end, and does manage to not to call him 'suga''. See a Webley can learn, and it is a good thing too because up walks the N'thu, "Weyrleader, sir." His salute, awkard, unnatural to the boy, perhaps with an added sparkle of flutter fingers.

Mailli laughs, and answers questions in order, "Not really. You get used to the cold," Webley gets a grin, "I swim the same as I always do. Dive into the water, and just swim," dedication to her craft, yeah she has it, "I was out working with some of the dolphins, and there will be new seacharts soon as I can find someone that's a fair hand at cartography."

Syteran just laaaaaughs in his own turn, and maybe tosses a wink at Webley in turn. "What can I say?" he asks rhetorically, shrugging with his cup of klah (and not a splash from it) — "Even an old Healer can learn a few new sartorial tricks, here and there." And now it's his turn to respectfully salute N'thu: "Sir."

The Weyrleader is still not entirely used to this; it may have been some time, but N'thu has been somewhat preoccupied with actually being the Weyrleader (Teya has been the face of the administration while he hides in his office a lot) and with Itzquintlith's constant sands vigil over Kohleth. However, he takes the salutes in stride; because nobody stays stuck in salute-mode he isn't forced to issue any at-eases, either. "Oh, believe me," he says as he claims a chair, "I'm used to the cold, but I still wouldn't go around bare-legged."

"Even someone use to the cold, can get sick." Webley says sagely, he's native after all - the weather is the same in the bazaar, as different as the two places are. "There are a few candidate harpers I think, some fo the kids." He hasn't been paying enough attention to the young ones to learn names. He even wrinkles his nose instinctively as he says 'kids'. "But they're all apprentices of course." Shrugging, as he glances over one shoulder at the journeyman, "Good tricks indeed." N'thu is given a bobble of his head, "Yes, see. You're a healer, right?" He turns back to Syteran, "Tell her swimming in freezing water can't possibly be good for her…" A flourished, palm up hand, is pointed in the girls direction.

Mailli chuckles at the comments, "Swimming in freezing water is sometimes a nescessity in my line of work," she really isn't as cold as people would think she should be, "It comes from Turns of working in all kinds of water. When the weather's really cold I have cold water gear that I wear," she's crazy, not stupid. The healer is looked at, then she adds, "Also I do have heavy blankets to wrap up in when I do get out of the water. Earlier I swam patrol with one of the dolphins, and there were a pair of Seacrafters that had gone overboard. Those two were in worse shape than I was," the woman seems completely unconcerned with the fuss of her being insane enough to swim in the dead of winter, "I can no more refuse to do my job, my duty than the Weyrleader here can refuse to do his," it's simple as that really.

"I'm fairly certain the problem, here," Syteran answers, smiling with polite amusement, "is that Webley is cold, and therefore looks at you, and what you're wearing, and imagines himself in similar clothing, and then wonders why you aren't completely freezing." Never mind that Syteran moved out of Fort in a hurry, when it came to his apprenticeship, because he thought it was too cold there; never mind that N'thu, too, was asking why she wasn't cold. Obviously it's all the candidate's fault. (Meanwhile, Syteran helps himself to a seat, also near the hearth, so his hair can finish drying.)

"If conditions are unsafe, work can always be refused," N'thu points out gently, even as he starts to, well, work. Out comes a hide, and he's reading it quickly but with enough attention paid to it that it's obvious he's really reading it. "Though if you do not find cold water to be unsafe, it certainly makes sense that you'd continue to do it." Also, he likes dawn sweeps, so Mailli is really no more insane than he is in his own way. Right? At least N'thu has the decency to wear shoes in the living caverns now that he's (at least for now) of rank.

Webley just lowers his head and waves his hand with a flick of his wrist over it, with a long sigh, "All of Pern is conspiring against me!" Falling back into his chair by the hearth, a defeated man, or at least a dramatic one. Slowly, both eyebrows raise at N'thu. "If work is unsafe you can refuse?" Blink. His tone baffled, but he has enough since to not ask about thread. Instead he scoops his klah back up and slithers back into a normal seated position, well normal for the merchant anyway.

Mailli nods at N'thu, "Oh for sure, however the fact is that there are times that even though the work is dangerous it has to be done," Webley is given a grin, "Oh well if truth be told, I have never felt the weather," at least not the way most people would, "I do what needs to be done," it's what she's trained almost literally her whole life for after all, "Though if the waters are kicking up too much, then we don't go out until things calm down a little."

"Which goes to show you, even your work is sometimes a little too dangerous," Syteran teases Mailli slightly, still alternating between sipping at his klah, eating his bread, and finger-combing his hair to let it dry by the hearth. A glance to Webley, sitting close by: "I think candidates aren't allowed to refuse," is droll, to say the least; to N'thu, Syteran's glance is curious, although he knows better than to ask the Weyrleader what he's working on.

Sienna enters, not from the bowl, but from the kitchens, carrying a tray of roast chicken to set out on the table. Comfortable and loose white tunic and tan pants add to the ensemble of 'kitchen help', though she still wears her knot on her shoulder. Duty done and food served, she steps back to admire the platter of deliciousness before she walks over to get a mug of klah and drift towards familiar voices near the hearth.

And N'thu misinterprets Syteran's curious expression anyway: "Candidates aren't given work that's going to be considered unsafe in certain conditions," he says with a grin. Sorry, Webley. As for Thread, well, that's also going to get clarified actually to Webley, who he looks at at that point. It's even a very good example. "If the conditions are unsafe to the degree where the risk to you and whoever you are working with is greater than the benefit to the Weyr, society in general, or whatever the benefit of your work actually is you can decline. So if the Master here couldn't handle cold water but the Seacrafters would be able to be rescued by others, she could refuse, but dragonriders can't refuse to fly Fall unless their dragons are already injured." Sienna gets a wave; he sort of recognizes her, but she's one of his riders, now, that's enough.

Webley offers only a flicker of his eyes to the journeymen healer, "They haven't asked me to do anything dangerous yet, at least not unless you count the latrines." A gape at him, "Sometimes that place could kill five men on olfactory contact." But there is a wink, no need to worry about this candidate refusing, and N'thu gets a nod of agreement and a smile. But then Sienna is spotted, Webley gushes, Webley oozes, Webley flops over the back of the arm of his chair as the rider approaches. One arm dangles aimlessly towards the floor, the other props his head up on a single finger, "So it went well, love? Oh I'm so glad! Lovely dress, just, it, oh I wish you had shown it to me. Why didn't you come by in it?" Because the man loves to bask in the beauty he creates.

Mailli blinks at Webley for a moment, then is asking, "You wouldn't be able to recommend a seamstress would you?" she sighs before she continues, "I loaned a gown to Nell, and now I need some repair work done," she sighs and gives a light frown. She can't help the grin that creeps onto her face, "I think she looked great, but maybe the gown wasn't such a good idea?"

Syteran laughs again, at Webley's words, and offers: "If you end up needing to turn off those olfactory senses for a while, come by the infirmary; we've got you covered." Right now, he has his bread-and-klah covered, and is dedicating himself to consuming them, listening in on all the rest of the conversations curiously.

Sienna salutes N'thu with her free hand and sits down by Webley, laughing a bit. "Sienna," she corrects, though she adds a wink there to show she's teasing. "It went /very/ well. It was so much fun, and the dress just made it all that much more amazing. And I still have it, of course. I'll model it for you sometime. But..wasn't quite the right attire for the kitchens." Grin. Looking at Mailli, the greenrider suddenly has recognition dawn. "You lent her that dress! I thought it was beautiful, but she looked…miserable in it. Couldn't figure out how to move." The poor, poor thing. "I'm afraid she didn't have a lot of fun…Just don't think she's a gown kind of person, but it was a beautiful dress. I was a bit horrified when they cut it." The group is by the hearths, and that's all I know.

"Okay, well, latrine cleaning — I still remember those days," because Itzquintlith isn't even seven, N'thu still actually recalls his candidacy. Clearly enough he's glad he didn't stand repeatedly, though he would have if he really had to. "And it might be a little unsafe for your sense of smell but that's what wearing a scarf around your nose is for." He's by the hearths holding piles of hidework, and is turning from the one on the top to the second in the pile. And looking a bit enviously at others' klah, but he's not the type to actually order Webley to go get him one.

"They cut a dress?" Webley is the epitome of distraught, and he twirls back to Mailli "Oh, suga'! You bring that dress to me. I will take care of it." His tone like the offering of parenthood to an orphaned child. "I am sure we can think of some way to make it beautiful again." Or more beautiful, but he isn't going to brag. Syteran gets a wink, "I will be by." But he isn't quite sure what to do with the weyrleader's comment. His eyes widden, but he manages to contain any words which might express his rather strong opinion about the use of scarfs as poop-aroma-protection, instead only a the sound of wounded prey strangles its way out of the storeowners throat. His eyes turn slowly to Mailli and then Sienna, with a questioning look.

Breaching the cavern's entrance from the bowl, M'yck oozes indifference and bitterness as he marches towards the offering tables and the pitchers of water they offer. Scowl permanently stamped on his face, he apparently deems the pitcher /his/, as he ignores the available cups and simply walks away with a pitcher in hand. Bound for the hearth's, the pitcher drips and spills as the bluerider carelessly makes his way. Choosing to go through chairs, rather than around them, there is plenty of groans and screeching as they are bumped out of the way by his waist.

A look is sent towards the approaching blue rider, "I'll get it to you. I thought it was very becoming, and at least the cut was on the seam itself," Mailli says, then she's looking back at those sitting with her, "Really though if I had time, I'd sew it back up myself."

"You okay?" is an aside at Webley, from a concerned Syteran — that was not a sound a human throat is supposed to make. Go figure, he couldn't care less about any of the rest of the conversation at the moment.

Sienna wrinkles her nose a bit, reaching out to try and soothingly pat Webley's arm. "She couldn't move in it, Webley. You never would have given someone a dress they couldn't move in. You'll fix it I'm sure." When the bluerider stomps their way, Sienna sits up a bit and watches him - or rather the Parhelion badge he wears - with just a touch of wariness. She starts to say something but then bites it back. Nope. Not going to invite trouble. It still might find her, but…she won't ask for it. She grins at Syteran as well. "He'll be okay."

If N'thu realized the problem he'd probably explain how drab, boring and inexpensive the scarves are; of course he doesn't, because intricacies of fashion go right over his head no matter how nice the shirts he wears are. People keep giving him nice clothes as gifts, anyway. "Heard about the unfortunate turn the dress took; I'm sure you'll get it fixed up," he says with a confident glance toward Webley — apparently he likes this candidate, despite his horror — and then turns to give M'yck a wave. This Oldtimer he actually knows: wingmates, after all.

Webley absently pats at the hand that pats his arm. "Who can be okay at a time like this, journeymen?" And flummoxed Webley softly demands of the healer. They dress is mortality injured, didn't he hear? "You just make sure it comes to me, darlin'. I will make it all better." And fabulous. He nods to Sienna with smile, "Never -" A broken off moment where he edits out 'love', "Never. M'yck's stomping receives no noticeable annoyance from the candidate, only a short salute, "Bluerider." Afterwards he gives a side glance to the weyrleader, and tugs absently on his rather stylish and fantastically colored scarf. Not a shit rag, sir, not a shit rag!

Closing in on the group, the pitcher makes a final slosh over the edge as he comes to a halt a few steps away. A firm salute is offered to his Weyrleader, and after a few moments pause, a less enthusiastic salute follows to the Candidate. Then, it is time: the now half full pitcher is brought to his mouth for a pull of the water within. "You lot circled up about a dress?" The question is posed inbetween drinks, as the pitcher is raised again. "Interesting."

Mailli chuckles softly, "I'm inclined to believe you're right, Sienna," she says, and nods at Webley, "I will do so," she assures him. A lean back, and she is a bit more comfortable than she had been. Left foot is tucked up under her, and she will sit for a moment. There's nothing more to be said just now anyway, "Oh no. Initially, there was concern about my being cold," which she isn't thanks. Mailli can't quite decide if the scowl is because that's the way M'yck always looks, or if he's just sat on something unpleasant?

Maybe it's both? Syteran, for one, doesn't have any more of an idea than anyone else — or any more klah than anyone else, and less than some. As such, he brushes some crumbs off him, and looks around at the crowd. "Anyone else for some more klah?" And, because it's polite, N'thu gets singled out: "Weyrleader?"

"It's a dire situation," Sienna says with dry humor to the bluerider. "What would /you/ like to talk about?" Sipping her klah, she almost asks for a refill and then quickly changes her mind. "I would!" she says happily when Syteran offers. Perfect timing, that!

Yulena walks into the room, toweling her hands off on the tail ends of her fabric belt. Amongst the hubbub, she walks over to the snacks table and starts picking through the offerings. A stop at the klah pots to fill a large mug and then Yulena wanders over to a table near the hearth, sits down with a thump and sits back. Long day? According to the sigh she lets out, yes.

"What? Oh," N'thu gives Syteran a genuine smile; it's not 'more' in his case, so it took him a second to catch on to what was being discussed. "Yes, thank you, Healer, I would love some. And I didn't come over here to talk about the dress so much as just happened to pick up on the conversation," he tells his wingmate with a wryer look. Like he really cares about dresses. But he does care about mingling with people and having conversations, so if that's what they're all talking about? There you go. "I hope you don't wear that scarf anywhere near the latrines," he adds, aside, to Webley. "Far too nice."

"Please do." Webley soothes at Mailli, M'yck gets a grin and a nod. Unaware that he is probably being judged but this particular idea, but his attention is grasped by the bronzerider. Does he get it? Does he really get it? Long lashes flutter at Weyrleader Mc'Dreamy, "Never, sir." As if it was an order directed at him and not a question.

Impeccable swirls of dark hair sit on top of Webley's slim face. Just long enough to show perfect curl-age, his hair is always styled. Short neatly trimmed sideburns elongate his face. Slender by soft feathers have a certain feminine quality. An arched brow and full lip. Long lashes flirt above round brown eyes. Perhaps the only masculine trait about him is the stylish five o'clock shadow he dons on his chin. His build is willowy, narrow shoulders, narrow further to his waist.

A nod is offered from the bluerider when his question is answered multiple times. Grumpy and abrasive, M'yck brushes past the crowd to snag himself a chair. However, instead of pulling the seat closer to the group, he decides to open communications from a distance- if people don't want to be bothered they can leave, right? "Not sure," is stated to Sienna, "Maybe discuss women in the crafts." Weyrleader and Wingleader, it matters not, "N'thu, what are your thoughts?" Another dip of his lips towards the pitcher as he enjoys the results of his prodding.

Mailli chuckles at the blue rider, "Why yes, what is your thoughts on that Weyrleader?" Mailli cants her head to the side as she turns to regard N'thu. She's truly curious, and in spite of his prodding M'yck is not really getting any response from her. She knows that she's good at what she does, she wouldn't have the charms on her bracelet she has if she weren't.

Okay; Syteran knows what he's doing, then, and stands, brushing yet more crumbs off himself as he goes. It'll be a few minutes before he's back; apparently he's decided that the answer is to get enough klah for everyone, which — naturally enough — necessitates a full tray, along with a pitcher, and while he's up, well — that chicken does look awfully good, doesn't it?

Sienna has to admire M'yck's can-o-worms-opening, giving the bluerider a look that's just short of admiring. "I'm for it." Even though he didn't ask her. "I'm also for accepting women into Parhelion." Glancing over when Syteran arrives, she grins when her chicken is on the tray, as she refills her mug. "Thank you."

Yulena hears the comment about the nice scarf and chokes for a moment on the mouthful of klah she's just taken. When she looks over, though, the speaker (her expression changes as she notes the knot) is obviously not speaking to her, so she swallows it desperately and stuffs one of the gustatory treats into her mouth. She gets distracted by the tone from whoever-it-is who has set down a few seats down from her. Hmph, her expression says as she looks him up and down. Once. What a question. Her mulish expression is spoiled by bringing another food morsel to her lips, but the expression of surprise, then disgust that follows is not masked. Said morsel is spat out, sailing past M'yck's shoulder, and Yulena rises quickly, storms out into the kitchen, cursing a blue streak under her breath.

N'thu is in a bind. Not because he doesn't have an opinion. Not because he has issues with the topic. But because he has issues with expressing his opinion where it could theoretically get spread to the entire Weyr. On the other hand, considering his promotion of Teya and signing off on, if not straight up initiating, the idea of female candidates for a clutch or two with no gold egg (nobody knows quite where that originated from, after all; it was just Teya spreading it around) people already know N'thu's something of a liberal. "I see no reason," the young Weyrleader says slowly and carefully, "that anyone who has earned their rank through study and hard work should not be able to achieve rank, and no reason why anyone who shows propensity for a skill should not be able to train in it." On the subject of women in Parhelion, though, he says nothing; it's different, somehow. He's not part of any craft, so they should absolutely change for the better, but the traditions of his wing are something else entirely. All the other wings take girls.

Webley, for his part, springs gracefully from his seat, the man flourishes his hands in show, and then places him on his hips, "If you'll all excuse me, I believe there is something, somewhere, which needs a good scrubbing." Salutes go to the riders, Sienna's complete with a bright little wink. "To scrubbing!" Awwwaaayyyy! Cause let’s face it, the spindly merchant-candidate just doesn't give a crap about weyr politics. Cue the most balletic fleeing ever.

Mailli nods, "Well that is at least an honest answer," she says, knowing that for all the careful chosing of words N'thu was honest. Webley is given a wave, and she stands to leave as well, "I have paperwork to get done, and a tithe to arrange," she says, "Weyrleader," a nod is given, and the rest gathered are also given nods before she departs.

Leaning back in his chair, the bluerider allows himself the perfect position to monitor his Weyrleader as he considers. An eyebrow is raised towards Sienna as she speaks, but his focus quickly lands on N'thu. Once his opinions are offered, M'yck grins, "Let the crafts govern themselves. As for the wing," no further words are offered, but there is a shake of his head. Then, as the spat food zips by his face, M'yck's indifference quickly turns to rage. Quick to anger, Yulena has put the pedal to the metal for the bluerider. Jumping so violently to his feet, the chair shifts backwards a few feet from the straightening of his knees. "You!" He calls after the retreating girl as she makes off.

Syteran returns at all the worst times, it seems; it's a miracle and a half that he doesn't end up getting Yulena's food spat right into his pitcher of klah, or onto his platter of chicken. The expression on his face, doubtless, also makes it clear that he has little, if any, idea of just what was said since he left that got everyone all worked up into a tizzy. "… Klah?" he offers weakly.

Sienna watches Yulena leave with a grimace, peering to see what it was she tasted. Hopefully it wasn't her chicken! Listening to N'thu's answer, the greenrider just smirks. Apparently that evasion was just what she expected. Not that she /wants/ to be in Parhelion. She's quite happy with Whirlwind, thankyouverymuch. She waves to Webley and Mailli's departure. And then she's on her feet as well, the moment the bluerider bolts upright. "Hey! Chill!"

There's always a general background noise from through the entrance that Yulena disappeared through, but now it's punctuated by a harsh voice, possibly castigating someone or his lineage. The noise stops for a moment before Yulena emerges from the same doorway, her face nearly electric in its red glow. Freezing for a moment, she looks around, trying to assuage if anyone noticed her abrupt departure or the tirade that ensued. Of course not, people always yell at each other in the kitchen. She winds her way back to her seat, rolling her shoulders as if trying to calm herself, very carefully not looking at M'yck.

Maybe N'thu should stop the impending fight, but M'yck — who he's expressed agreement with simply by returning a short shake of the head and no words at all — is presently on his good side, so if he wants to chew someone out for spitting in the living caverns, that's fine. N'thu thinks spitting's disgusting, anyway. "Thank you, Healer," he says to Syteran with a weak smile and pours himself a cup from the pitcher on the tray. "No brawling in public," he adds, slightly louder. Chewing one another out apparently is not bothering him yet.

Following Sienna's clear order, M'yck remembers himself and takes a few breaths. "Damn girl," is muttered under his breath as he snaps out a hand to retrieve his pitcher. Messy swig later, the pitcher is slammed back down on the table as he resumes his lounge. When Yulena returns, though, he almost looks shocked- that never happens. "Come back to the same spot, do you?" The bluerider /leans/ back in his chair to snag the spat morsel from the ground, and underhand it near its originator. "Missing this?"

"That's completely disgusting," Syteran points out dryly, distastefully, and other adjectives following a d—ly pattern. "I'm also going to guess that the food was. Didn't you know she works in the kitchens sometimes?" Or all the time; he doesn't know her that well.

Sienna leans back with a grimace. "It wasn't the chicken, was it?" she asks Yulena. Because she's, uh, not going to peer that closely at the chewed morsel to see just what it was.

Yulena sits her butt in her seat, swivels a little to get the right feel, and takes a sip of klah. Even if it is still comfortingly warm and obnoxiously strong, Yulena's tight expression doesn't change; her eyes glare through rock for a moment before she hears M'yck's comment, then the glare shifts to him, "It's my chair, of course I did." Well, it is right now, her rear-end impression embedded for now. "And that," the untasty morsel is skewered even as Yulena reaches to take it from him, "No one will miss that." Her look goes to Syteran, "Of course it's disgusting, it's an abomination on the tongue." Hmph and all that. "What were they thinking, adding that much pepper to it?" A brief shake of the head in Sienna's direction, "No, it was the last of the vegetarian pieces." Another huff of disgust before Yulena's attention returns to M'yck, "You didn't eat one, did you?" She stares at him, awaiting his answer.

"Candidates probably made it," says N'thu wryly, though not saying exactly which candidates, because he doesn't even know which ones usually have kitchen chores. Or which ones are bad at it. But it's a good excuse. And while he doesn't have the authority to really say this, it being entirely Weyrwoman grounds and not Weyrleader (but you bet he intends to have words with whichever goldrider he runs into first), he still continues with: "No spitting food out in public areas either, though, mind. Keep your physical fights, your spitting and your grooming all private." In a lower voice to his blueriding wingmate, he adds, "Were I not Weyrleader, and, say, in your position, I would've thrown it at her." Part of him is just a man in his early twenties, still.

Words dry and oddly non-threatening, M'yck speaks slowly so he's understood clearly. "Keep this act up, and I'll break you in half and have the kitchen serve your damn marrow to add spice to the meal." That, my friends, is a promise. Next, a look towards N'thu says it all: it had to be done.

Syteran gives M'yck a wary, yet unimpressed look. "Given that I highly doubt she spat it anywhere near you on purpose," he offers up tactfully, because healers tend toward being relatively-peacemaking types sometimes, "perhaps you might give her a chance to apologize before threatening her life and limb?"

Sienna slowly sits down, but she's looking at M'yck like he's insane. Or…was that a joke? She laughs. "Everyone knows marrow isn't a spice…ha ha ha." Grin! "That's too bad," she says to Yulena with a frown. "I've been teaching as much as I'm able, but that's not a lot, admittedly…" Glancing at N'thu, the greenrider frowns a little bit when he doesn't take charge, and then her eyes flick to Syteran, brows arching in mild surprise. Well. Now this could get interesting.

Yulena's expression changes momentarily as the idea of an apology floats out there. "I most certainly did not mean to," she comments acerbically, and M'yck's words make her spine straighten. "You think bonemeal would add to the flavour? Make it a bit chewier?" She huffs impatiently, "That's silly, it would just get grainy in your mouth, that would be terrible. And I didn't mean to spit it at you, it was entirely by mistake," though her expression seems to regret THAT mistake. She sets the morsel of ill repute down, "


To N'thu, that was totally taking charge. Just because he didn't get up — well, nobody hit anyone, yet, so he didn't need to, did he? Such a threat is only a threat, after all, and Yulena seems to have a perfectly decent comeback; not his problem to get involved with, yet. He's new to the job; the hands-off approach is relatively crucial to him. "Don't do it again," he tells Yulena, tone still even, and at least he's actually looking up from his hides. "Have a little bit better control. Though I do think bone in the food might be rather unpleasant."

"Fine, I'll leave you to the food expertise. You can keep the marrow." M'yck has apparently accepted the apology, though his gaze does linger. That is, until they've caught Sienna's staring. The bluerider's eyes only skip to the greenrider's for a moment, but while they meet he offers a wink. Confirmation, possibly, of his mental state. "So!" Is stated to the group at large as he bounces from eye contact to eye contact. "What shall we discuss next," he asks before eventually landing on Yulena once more.

"Whether or not you want some klah, perhaps," says the diplomatic healer Syteran, holding up the klah pitcher courteously to M'yck. "Or chicken, since it seems like that isn't the offending dish."

Sienna glances again at poor N'thu, with another swift frown that's quickly diverted to the others. And then M'yck. Oh, M'yck. She sips her klah and clears her throat. What /does/ one talk about around here that won't get everyone up in arms? "Anyone see that litter of kittens they had for sale in the bazaar?" Kittens. That's safe, right? Surely no one hates /kittens/.

Yulena looks down at the Weyrleader and seems almost surprised to see him still down there. Ignoring the warning, she replies, "It would be very unpleasant. You wouldn't want to eat for a week." Exaggeration? Yulena's certain tone isn't letting anyone know. Her eyes narrow at M'yck's words, jaw clenching as if she's trying to think ahead of him… and then a brief flummoxed expression as M'yck shuts down the conversation. Her eyes jump to Sienna and she harrumphs as if on principle, before eyes drop to the pitcher of Klah held by the healer. "Are you all finding the klah too strong?" Let this not be a topic that Yulena will ever drop, even as she holds out her half-full mug for a top-up, "Someone said it was too much, so I need to know."

The comment about kittens actually gets the first genuinely interested expression from the Weyrleader in some time; he looks at Sienna curiously and says, "Kittens, hm? Glad Itzquintlith didn't actually know about that, it might've been something that made him consider leaving the sands for five minutes." Not that, given the givens, he ever actually would. "He's always on me to get a cat. Though I think I'd prefer a canine myself," thanks, Siraji, "either way he wants a furry four-legged thing around our weyr. The klah, by the way, is strong but I like it that way, so for me it is fine." Because N'thu's opinion is what the klah is brewed to, of course. Not.

Growling his words with an indication of his underlying feelings, M'yck looks to Sienna, "Likely trying to keep you distracted while they lift from your pockets, that lot." Although his origin is in a caravan, M'yck harbors only mistrust for merchants. When asked about the klah, however, he reaches back to remove a flask from his belt. "Only water and spirits, girl." And with that, the cork is popped and the contents tasted with a grimace.

"I don't suppose you've ever considered putting the spirits in question in your klah?" Syteran queries, eyebrows raised. This, at least, is a neutral subject, and probably less likely to cause allergic reactions than kittens are! To Yulena, he frowns slightly, and adds: "The klah is fine to me — about the same as always."

Sienna shakes her head at Yulena. "It's fine to me," she murmurs, shifting a bit in her chair before looking at N'thu. "I'm sure you could find a canine just as easily as a feline. It's a good thing you're in a ground weyr though." Glancing at M'yck, the greenrider just stares at him for a long moment, trying to figure him out. And then…she points at the klah pot he was guzzling from earlier. POINT.

A pleased look crosses Yulena's face at N'thu's comments on the klah. For that, he gets an very nearly-pleasant, "Thank you." The agreeable responses even put a smile on her lips, until M'yck addresses her as 'girl', wiping the smile from her face. "And from your expression, it's thoroughly enjoyable, oh venerable sir?" she asks flatly. Obviously it's meant as an insult, but the only fire is in her eyes before she turns to Syteran, "And spirits in klah? What a…" she pauses, "Good idea. Not the stuff Aaron drinks, though," she trails off thoughtfully.

"Liquor in klah's delightful," N'thu agrees, still keeping himself aloof of the arguments. Until somebody actually gets hurt, snarkers gonna snark and it doesn't bother him one bit — he sometimes is one, after all. "Provided it's the right time of day. Not the best thing to shock you awake in the morning. Or to be drinking before evening." Much as some people definitely do that around here. Daytime alcoholic imbibing is something N'thu does not so much approve of. That's more dangerous than smelling the dirty latrines.

Returning for seconds, M'yck's reply to Yulena will have to wait. Once the flask is corked and returned to his belt, the bluerider grins, "I see you've learned how to address me. Good." A wink for you as well. When Sienna's pointing is seen, M'yck shakes the pitcher, causing the ice cubes within to rattle against it's edges.

"Water, ma'am, water."

"Which isn't to say you couldn't have iced klah," the healer muses, and considers the cold cup of klah he abandoned earlier as a possible realm of experimentation. "With or without the liquor in it."

"Aaron /makes/ that stuff," Sienna corrects, with a nose wrinkle. "I'll bet he's as polished inside as some of his metalwork…" Blinking at M'yck, she just stares at him and then laughs. "Ah." She has no idea what to make of him, that's for sure. So for the moment she just leans back, pushes a curl away from her face, and watches the show!

It must be interesting to watch someone's complexion turn from ruddy to red, to nearly puce in the light, her lips tightly pressed together like a balloon close to bursting. She lets it out very, very slowly, hands clenching around her forgotten mug of klah, her colour returning to glowing ruddiness before her lips curve upwards in imitation of a smile, "I think of it as something for you to aspire to." With that finishing line, Yulena turns to Syteran and Sienna, and nods, "You're right, I forgot, he does make it." She pauses there, as if to say more, but looks away, then over at the snacks table, glowering slightly either at the new assortment of food being put out, or the tension that keeps her body language tight.

Iced klah is something N'thu might also approve of, even if he tends to prefer tea or scalding hot black klah. "Moonshine's poison," is all he says, and expresses no opinion one way or the other as to whether he thinks that's a good thing. After all, he certainly drank some after the double flight! "I mean, essentially, not literally. There's an extent to where you just can't drink it anymore, as the greenrider said, it gets a little — I mean, it must be unsafe to drink alcohol that strong every day." Right, Healer?

Now that Yulena has made her rounds through the rainbow, M'yck's job here is done. "I seem to have ran out of poison, actually. I'll have to seek this Aaron out." Rolling forward from his lounged position, the bluerider stands and brushes his pants before looking back up to those in attendance. "Until next time," a salute is offered to the riders, then he's making his way towards the exit. He won't leave, however, without adding a comment over his shoulder to Yulena, "Chew your food better."

Syteran manages not to choke on his drink, laughing, at M'yck's parting shot — seeing as how he started drinking to keep from laughing at the progression of colors in Yulena's skin, of course, he's already predisposed to it. Fortunately, the Weyrleader saves him! (Not something he expected to say, either!) "Ahh — that's quite correct," he manages. "Bad for the liver. Sooner or later it rots inside you." Give or take some science, anyway.

Sienna blinks at Yulena, and then M'yck. Then she clears her throat. "Ah…well." She came up with the subject change last time. It's someone else's turn.

Yulena's ignoring of M'yck continues until he's left. A sneer in his general direction of departure is her only response. "It's always sad to see what too much drink will do to anyone," she says blandly about no person in specific /whatsoever/ and then her tone becomes more interested, "But if it's combined with klah, surely people will get full on the klah before they imbibe too much of the alcohol, right?" She looks at Syteran intently. Healer, healer, give me the news, I've got a bad case of… drinking too much klah? The harpers will never go for it.

"One — would hope," says N'thu lazily, turning his hides again and giving M'yck a return salute as he departs. "That it would be too much klah, that is. Though moonshine also tastes bad; other strong forms of alcohol are certainly better choices of poison." He flicks a bit of dangling hair-fringe out of his face, giving away the fact that he has very deft fingers and also that his nails are dirty: at least now, if not always.

"It will only be too much klah if the proportions are right," is Syteran's response to the intent, intent stare leveled at him. Sorry, it's science! "Also, it's not as if klah, being liquid, does that much to fill people, anyway — if you intend to offer it at a party, make sure there's plenty of food around, first. Alcohol on a full stomach tends to be easier for most people," he advises.

Sienna can no longer keep up with this discussion, so the greenrider pushes to her feet. "Well that was entertaining. Back to work though. Sir," she says, giving N'thu a proper salute. "Have a good day," she adds, including Yulena and Syteran in that as well before she's making her way to the exit.

Yulena nods impatiently, "Yes, of course - something slowly digested, filling," she says, "Ravene would have some good ideas for that." Something entering from the kitchen catches her attention and Yulena trails off. She waves to Sienna and says with a distracted "Farewell," before pushing herself to her feet. "Oh no," she says in horror, still staring at the snack table, "Excuse me, sirs," eyes flicking briefly to the Healer and the Weyrleader, "But I have to go… They've just put out tomorrow's breakfast things tonight!" Tone rising, Yulena doesn't so much wait for a response, but starts to stride off… then returns to snatch up the abominable snacklet that caused so much trouble. Another node to the sirs, and Yulena's making her way bent-for-leather to the kitchens.

"Back to work for everyone," N'thu agrees. This doesn't mean he's moving — he's working right there, after all! Departing riders get departing salutes, and departing cooks get departing nods, and then he's back to the hides. Turn page, make mark on page with pencil, turn to the next. He's not very interesting company when there isn't something going on, is he? "Sir " suddenly, out of nowhere, to Syteran, "Journeyman. Can I ask you." Pause. "About Verabout my Weyrwoman."

Syteran was just about to make his own excuses and leave, too, and then — he freezes, instead. "You can ask," he answers hesitantly, "but I should warn you, I'm not one of the specialists who have been overseeing her. I know very little about her condition that isn't publicly known." And what he does know, he's not likely to share in the Living Caverns.

That's good enough for N'thu; Syteran still probably knows more than he does. The question is quiet, but he sounds impressively genuine in every bit of his concern; his worry isn't, apparently, just for his title. N'thu's eyes are darker now, and he lowers his head closer to the Healer's and keeps his voice low: "Can you just — is she going to be okay. Will she come back." Of course she won't, N'thu, because she's been just a little bit mad for a long time — but for Kohleth's sake, for Itzquintlith's, no one is stopping you from hoping.

Most of Syteran's compassion gets spent on his patients, but plenty of it stretches out to this young, almost childlike Weyrleader before him. "I honestly don't know," is his equally-soft response. He dares, even, to reach out to touch the bronzerider on the arm, briefly, to soothe. "So much of it depends on her, and on this Hatching. She has to want to come back, and so does Kohleth. Not just to hang on for the sake of the eggs, but to come back."

"Kohleth —" N'thu starts, but in the end something holds him back from continuing, from speaking for the gold who his lifemate is keeping a wing over even now. He's constantly aware of Kohleth as much as he is aware of himself, as theirs has always been a tight bond, minds melded to the point where it seems as if they are one mind and two bodies, sometimes. Always, N'thu sees things twice. "I don't have any way of knowing what Vergora wants. I think she just wants to win. Kohleth cares. Kohleth's — tired. I think." And N'thu looks like shit, now. He takes a long drag of his klah and appears to be trying to pull his mind back from his dragon's, back to his hides.

"All you can do is all you can do," Syteran tells him. Maybe it's a platitude, but it's also truth. "Share strength with your dragon; be strong for him, and for the Weyr, and for Vergora, even if she doesn't want strength anymore. And talk to the healers who are watching over her, to see if they'll let you in to see her at some point," he suggests. "Talking to someone who cares about her might well help her, also." Leaving aside all discussion of winning over Syteran's cousin, that is.

The young Weyrleader — not as young as the previous, but still young, and perhaps less politically savvy than Ri'enn (even if it is only thanks to Br'er) — stands, then, and nods slowly. "I think," he says in a soft, low voice still, "that I might try to do that now." Even if it's Kohleth he cares about, maybe not Vergora so much. And yet. "You Oldtimers don't really know," he adds, "but she was amazing once. She was incredible as a Weyrwoman." Was, not is, not will be. "I'll talk to you later," says N'thu, and then he walks toward the infirmary, carrying his hides with him.

"They always were," Syteran murmurs, more to himself than to N'thu, and watches the Weyrleader leave — and then bends himself to the task of cleaning up after the mess left behind by the crowd by the hearths, gathering his thoughts as he goes, that he might be at his normal state of peace by the time he leaves the cavern. Not to mention, of course, it gives N'thu time to visit the Infirmary without him following immediately behind.

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