==== November 22, 2013
==== Yules, E'don, T'ral
==== Three Weyrlings chat about their ideal jobs and then living arrangements.

Who Yules, E'don, T'ral
What Three Weyrlings chat about their ideal jobs and then living arrangements.
When Seven months and 27 days until the 12th Pass
Where Living Caverns

Yulena6.jpg 28736283%281%29.jpeg t-ral.jpg


Living Caverns
Grand and spacious, the cavern curves high aloft in naturally-vaulted ceiling that soothes any sense of claustrophobia. Rich woods line the cavern floor, varnished and stained a rich mahogany, while round tables scatter about candlelit and intimate. The largest table lies southerly next the sideboard, long trestles that seem oriented to providing for the weyr's youngest. The rich blue of Azov can be seen from a distance in good weather, when the heavy stone doors covering the entrance are allowed to stand open.

It's a cold and rainy night in autumn, and the mix of wet human, drying human, and food has created a very strange melange of odors in the Living Caverns. The crowd is bustling about, the tail end of dinner-retrievers finding their food and munching through it with relatively muted talk - perhaps people are preparing for relative hibernation from the winter rains, or perhaps there's not much to talk about. In one quiet corner of the room, a Weyrling sits, a plate of food piled before her accompanied by mug and pot of klah. But the food is only picked at - it's the sheafs of hide in front of Yules that is recipient of her glare. And they would wilt back, if they could. And yet, unnacountably, the chair across the table from her is empty. Weird, right?

Post-drills, and post-bath, E'don has bee-lined his way from the inner bowels of the Weyr for his nightly feedings. Dressed down from his leathers into linen creature comforts, he joins the throng of dining weyrfolk to collect a plate of food from the buffet and an empty mug before moving with the same purpose, towards the table where Yules sits. He doesn't even ask really if the empty seat is taken, and he just sits, scooting the chair out and plopping his plate down with a noisy clatter of utensils. He shovels a forkful of food first into his mouth, chewing idly as he glances over Yule's hidework, before unashamedly reaching forward to finagle one piece of hide free. "Whatcha' reading?" He asks casually around his mouthful of food, "Anything interesting?"

It's the sudden break of sound that brings Yules' glare up from page to … E'don. Oh. "Hi, E'don," she says after a moment, topping up her own mug from the pot before starting to fill E'don's, because it was empty and now it's not. Logic. AS for the sheet her fellow Weyrling has nicked, Yules nods at it: "You can read it, I've already gone through that one twice." It seems to be a quick copy of one of the Wing Formation Manuals from the Barracks, with Yules' notations and doodles on the side. WITH citations, in case travesty befall her. There's also a small note at the bottom: 'Klah is subpar. Address.' You didn't think her Impressing would dull her taste buds, right? "I'm studying them." Evident only because the dragons don't have false mustaches or funny noses.

"Studying." E'don's reply back is droll and really unimpressed. Ug, studying is boring, and the fact that Yules would be taking time to do so during her free time just doesn't compute with the bronze rider. "But—why? We get enough studying done when we're in classes and having free time in the Barracks." He says this as if it's indeed, fact, reaching forward to drag the now full mug of klah towards him and taking a tentative sip. He falls silent as he finally scans the hide, a soft, impressed 'Hmp' shorted under his breath. "So, you're doing this extra work so you can get a fancy leadership knot, yeah?" See, E'don is on to you!

"Because," Yules begins distractedly, shuffling her pages back into place, "I figure wing formations are like a pattern, and recipes are like patterns, so if I know them by heart, then I know where to be in any position." Surely the logic follows for E'don as well as it does for Yules, right? Right? But now E'don is there, so she puts the studying aside for a moment, literally, to pull her plate closer and grabs a slice of redfruit and cheese to bite into. "Leadership knot?" she says with an upward twist, and blinks into the distance a moment, before returning to ask, "Yeah, I think I could do it," no false modesty here, "But wouldn't you want it, too?" She's not eyeing up the competition or anything; Yules is plainly curious. Speaking of curiosity, "Do you think the klah tastes as good as it used to?"

T'ral comes to the Living Caverns, looking this way and that over the crowd. He's got his gitar case and a hide, clutching those close to not bump folks as he weaves through the dinnertime press to the corner where Yules and E'don have posted up. He grins a greeting and drags a stool over, perching on it where he has good line of sight across the Caverns. He throws the latches on the gitar case - crack, crack - and eases the instrument out. Ah… old friend. He stows the case somewhere out of the way and resumes his perch, strumming. He winces at the tuning. He sits quietly, picking out a jaunty little song, watching the two weyrlings chat. Some stumbles and missed notes, he glowers at his hands, flexing them open and closed under scowling scrutiny. "None of my calluses are left." He grunts and looks back at the gitar, then grins, looking up at the others and giving them some music to converse by.

"Oy, do you think I wouldn't be good for the job?" Cue the false indignation in E'don's voice as he shoots Yules a half-tempered look, his brow furrowed, eyes narrowed, but only momentarily before he can't keep the facade up. "I was thinking rather, that I'd be good teaching the baby dragons and riders when I'm older rather than leading a whole wing of grown ones. I don't want to deal with those sorts of egos. It'd be exhausting." T'ral's appearance at the table is met with a dubious look, and E'don pauses in his conversation to watch the blue rider unpack the gitar with a slight cock of his head. "Qian? Oh, he's happier than a ovine in shit. He was made for flying— but, shards, I'm glad he finally got it down. Thought I'd be skinned alive from all those scrapes and burns I got." He pulls back his shirt sleeve for emphasis to show a long roadrash scab along his forearm. "I thought he'd never get the mechanics down."

Yules spares a brief eye to T'ral's calluses, nodding. "I don't think I'll ever cut a finger root or tuber, the way I used to," and for a moment, the ex-cook's voice is ripe with memories, before pragmatism sharpens her tone, in response to E'don, "If you wanted to be, perhaps," though there's a hint of amusement lacing that: "Isn't the Weyrlingmaster sort of the Wingleader of the junior Weyrlings, then?" Yules is probably trying to look condescendingly sly, but it just makes her look like she needs more fiber in her diet. As for fellow Weyrling injuries, she's ready to play ball, "Ooooh, that's a nasty one. D'ja see the healers about it?" As for the Musical Weyrling, Yules asks T'ral, "What do you want to do when Esanth grows up?"

T'ral winces at E'don's arm, squinting in sympathetic pain. "Ouch. Man, that's nasty. Yeah, Esanth's got the mechanics for everything except landing. He lands with all the grace of a ton of bricks. I think I'm shorter. I definitely chipped a tooth." He pauses, mouth going funny, because he's checking - yep, still chipped! T'ral watches the two weyrlings kick talk back and forth. The Future is clearly in the air between them. He grins at Yules' admission about her former occupation and nods, eyes widening dramatically… he looks at the gitar, "What're these strings for?" He bats at them ineffectually before settling back into a rusty, but still pleasant cascade of fingerpicking. To Yules' question, he answers quickly, no hesitation, not even looking up. "Wingleader." His head comes up, and he's grinning, "So I'll outrank my dad." He stops playing, resting a hand on the shoulder of the gitar and shifting on his perch. "I… don't know. Um…" He scratches at his jaw. "I could see us leading a Wing." His brow is furrowed and he goes back to playing, "But," he shrugs, "There's a long time before we're ready for anything like that."

Weyrlings and weyrfolk are enjoying a break in the Living Caverns. There is some extra cheer tonight, the weyrlings have been given leave to look for weyrs and responsibly enjoying loosened behavior restrictions. Yules, E'don and T'ral are in a quiet corner, talking. T'ral is perched on a stool, playing and listening to the others. Not coincidentally, this perch gives him a good view of the arched entrance of the caverns. So, when Prymelia arrives, he notices. Strumming and singing stop abruptly. "Excuse me." He slips off of the stool, leans the gitar against it and makes a beeline for the lady Trader. Almost to her, T'ral's arms shoot up into the air, accompanied by a wild, hoarse shout, "Whooo!" If Prymelia yelps as he sweeps past pulling her along out of sight, well, no one can blame her.

(T'ral and Prymelia go off to Muddled)

"Not the Weyrleader of the weyrlings, no. He's more like a Harper for baby dragons." E'don counters with a half-cocked smile, turning his arm for a look-over before shrugging blithely. "Anyway, I think I can be trusted with training babies. But real dragons fighting thread? Eh, I'd rather have a pass on that." He folds his arms across his chest for emphasis, pointed look passed between T'ral and Yules, "I really hope you guys get tapped for the weyrling wing leadership over me then. Probably a smarter choice." When the blue weyrling excuses himself, E'don watches with a curious backwards glance at where the guy goes, eyes narrowing with a sniff. "If that's how he considers flirting, well, good luck to the both of 'em."

Yules pauses, a fingerfood on its way to her mouth, where it pauses. Eyes watch E'don for any sign of comedic tells, but no, he seems to be serious. "But," she counters, "You'd have to train them to fight Thread, right?" And then the unintended pun connects with her brain and Yules starts laughing like it's the funniest thing in the world. A swallow of klah, a few more gasps, and Yules is trying to explain, "A pass… You'll have a… a Pass… Like, like a Thread Pass!" See? It's funny! Comedic GOLD here, but on to more serious discussions: Yules nods, still wiping dampness from her eyes, "It'll be interesting," and why does that sound vaguely worrying? Probably because Yules said it. T'ral's departure with Prymelia gets a bemused look and then a shrug, "Well, she seems interested in it." And then a darting eye at E'don, "So how's your dancing these days?" Pull a punch? Why?

There's a slight quirk of brows from E'don as Yules makes that joke. Does he find it funny? Probably in one of those, 'aw shucks' sort of ways, but instead, guy sighs dramatically, eyes and head rolling in an exaggerated arch. "You know, if the dragon riding doesn't work out for you, Yules, I'd say you could go into comedy. Kinda like Cerise—roving 'round Pern, entertaining the masses. Seducing all the boys." He cracks a shit-eating grin that disappears as quickly as it forms the moment the brown rider mentions dancing. Dancing. "Well, some can't account for good taste." He whinges in regard to Pyrmelia and T'ral, giving one more glance back at the pair with a furrow of brows. "Dancing? What dancing?" Jerk.

If Pern had crickets, Yules would know exactly why she hears them chirping. Shaking her head, she naysays, "Oh, I don't think that'd work out well for me." As for why? Well, Yules fails to explain. And yes, she played the dancing card, like a master of dragonpoker who played his hand too soon. She doesn't fall for the 'who me' expression on E'don's face though, "That thing you were doing with Cerise that one day. I was thinking of asking her if she could teach me some new steps too." See? No shame in doing the vertical mambo. "I don't think D'tri would be as good at teaching me, though."

"That thing I was doing with Cerise?" E'don parrots back with an air of ignorance, waving a hand into the air frivolously. "Oh, she was teaching me how to dance for the hatching festival. She's very good -" he says this with a waggle of brows, wide mouth turning askew. "-if you know what I mean." The mention of D'tri garners another roll of E'don's eyes and a snort. "Faranth forbid, D'tri as a teacher - could you imagine? Or even a Wingleader. Weyrleader!" He lets out a barking laugh, "Our dragons - love 'em forever, but they have no accounting for tastes either." He makes a backward motion towards the retreating T'ral and Pyrmelia. "Like those two. Only more permanent."

Well at last the truth comes out… Yules leans back in her chair, looking entirely satisfied with herself, even snapping her teeth shut on a finger root she's just picked up. "I'm sure she's an excellent teacher," the brownrider answers with full seriousness, not even cracking a grin at the idea of D'tri as Weyrleader: she just shrugs, "It could be worse." Could it? could it really? "I guess we'll have to see how first Threadfall goes," and Yules goes quiet, shifting in her chair for a moment. As for T'ral and Prym, Yules looks over her shoulder and shrugs, "We should enjoy it while we can, I guess." This from the woman who brought her studying to dinner. "So…" An uncomfortable pause, "Know where you want your weyr yet?"

"She is." E'don says with a nod of certainty, "The two of you-" Cerise and Yules, he points two fingers at the brown rider, "Would be best suited for leadership." That's his final word on the matter then, as he turns his attention to Yules's next question with a shrug of shoulders. He doesn't even acknowledge the idea of Thread - that statement goes unanswered. Perhaps the guy is doing a pretty good avoiding technique. "My weyr?" He taps his temple with a curious glance down at his plate, reaching out to take another sip of his now-cold klah. "I think one overlooking the river. It seems nice enough yeah?" His head tilts slightly, "How about you? Picking the biggest weyr of the offered lot?"

Yules huhs and seems to mentally file that away. For a moment, E'don's next words get a blink of surprise, "Both of us?" It's a long moment before she starts to nod a little, but falls for the ol' ignore-what-you-don't-want-to-talk-about trick, so it's on to weyrs: "The river looks really nice, but," Yules will confess with a nearly-modest grin, "It's a bit far away from the first klah of the morning." You know, that substance she reveres. A slurp of it from her own current, evening mug, and Yules shakes her head, "Not the biggest, but comfortable." She rolls her eyes in the direction of Lower Bowl where there's a strange hoot from draconic throat, "Desmeth insists on comfort. And clean. So I figured how better to be close to the baths and comforts of home?" Without, you know, having her own kitchen in there. YET. As for E'don, Yules wonders, "Desmeth asks if he may come visit before or after a hunt, occasionally." Better check with the human too.

"Ah, I'm taking my cues from Qian. He's the one that is pushing the river-side weyr. I'm happy with whatever they'd give me, as long as it was clean enough and comfortable enough. I don't need much—a few chairs, a bed." It seems E'don's home decorating tastes are spartan at best. He pauses for a moment, tapping his lips with a forefinger before adding, "And not too high up. I still haven't, ah, you know, mastered my fear of heights." A dragon rider with an aversion for very high things. Wonders never cease. E'don drains the rest of his mug, placing it on top of his now empty plate with a chuckle, "Well, of course Desmeth can come visit. And you too, if you want. It'll be nice to finally have some peace and quiet when I sleep." He scoots up out of his chair, and throws Yules a mock-salute, "Well, best get back. I'll see you." And with that, he's winding his way back out towards the exit.

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