==== September 27th, 2013
==== Cerise, Q'fex
==== Cerise has a request of Q'fex.

Who Cerise, Q'fex
What Cerise has a request of Q'fex.
When There is 1 Turn, 1 month, and 15 days until the 12th Pass.
Where Ocean's Eleven, Southern Weyr

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Ocean's Eleven
A wide ledge, off to a side from the stepped goldrider ledges; smooth-worked stone is broad indeed for a metallic pair to lounge comfortably. This expanse narrows into a cozy ledge sized for an oldtimer bronze or nowtimer gold: an ornate hall leads into the weyr itself. Upon the ledge there is a pair of chairs and a couple of potted plants … cacti, from Igen, a touch of home in this foreign place.
Obvious exits:
The Devil's Crossroads


Here is new territory for the candidate who makes the trek up age-worn stairs to the Weyrleader's immense ledge. It's a slow trek for Cerise, given that her day has been filled with chores and (even more exhausting) Harper lessons. But there's some hesitation as well, for on ledges there are dragons and the reason for her being here isn't entirely convivial. Just to set the proper tone, she's chosen a maxi dress with a summer-weight shawl to hide her shoulders, though still light enough to compensate for Southern's humidity. This shawl is held closed before her as she reaches her goal and then pauses to survey the huntin- the field. "Hello?"

Kraakenaeth is sprawled across the ledge, his nose curled towards that point where the chairs-and-table sit, careful to avoid the various cacti scattered across the swath of rich-veined stone. Q'fex is, for once, sitting out on his ledge, a cup of something — is that klah? — in one hand as he goes over a broad ledger. Dark eyes glance up, and he considers the candidate's approach. "Oh, Cerise," he greets, gesturing at the chair across from him. "Whatever do I owe this pleasure to?" Dark eyebrows tick upwards in mild query.

Note the crisp salute once she's determined the proper direction- Cerise has performed a thousand of those on stage, which has come in handy of late. Then she's ambling forward to take that offered chair- don't mind if I do- while returning curious regard with rueful amusement. "Is it a pleasure, sir? I wasn't certain it would be. I've a question for you, actually. Inappropriate, perhaps, and thus best asked in private unless you care to make an example of me later but…" She releases the shawl and spreads her hands to either side. "Here I am."

"You've had questions and made requests of me before in the past, Cerise," Q'fex returns, his lips quirked in an expression of broad amusement, "That may have not been totally socially acceptable." He shrugs a shoulder to indicate his personal opinion on such. "Would you like a cup of tea?" Tea, then, and not klah; "Or is your topic of conversation best broached without pleasantries?" He's being so NICE. It should be suspicious, maybe.

It is suspicious, but Cerise has her game face on and that means remaining pleasant. It means paying lip service this whole notion of traditional womanhood or whatever. Check out the smile- it doesn't even waver when Q'fex references a certain incident involving her brother and proving she knows how to plead prettily. "This one's rather different, sir. I didn't come to beg a favor of you. Which, by the way, I never thanked you for after it worked out so well." So? "Thank you for allowing Dimitri into the Weyr again. It's worked out well." For everyone but him! Oh god, is she stalling? Maybe. "I was wondering though if there was a method to the madness of discussing my sexual habits on the sands in front of Faranth and everyone."

Q'fex lifts an EYEBROW at Cerise. He was benevolent during such incident, just eff-why-eye, but he doesn't seem to give it much thought other than what he has already said about it. Maybe he blinks a little about her thanks, but he nods his chin in a modest, one-does-what-one-can kind of way. Her LAST question has him staring at her in unadulterated surprise, however. "What?" Because that is the most intelligent thing he has right now, after five or six other versions of reactions that have been backspaced.

"I was being discussed during an egg touching. Yourself, and the weyrwoman? The word whore might have been mentioned. And something about crotchcrickets?" Cerise tilts her head, watching for signs of recognition with eyebrows raised high. "I tolerated talk like that when I first arrived, sir, but as I'd rather hoped it would have stopped by now. Particularly when it's being done by the Weyrleader in front of my fellow candidates." The ex-performer folds her hands between her chin and gives him a look that says, 'pretty please?'

Q'fex allows an eyebrow to lift. "Perhaps whore," he concedes, as it is well-known how often he uses THAT particular word — he even does so without batting a lash; "Though I'm quite sure that I never referenced your," and his eyes glance down DELICATELY before looking up, "Crotchcrickets." Beat. "Hannah's, perhaps. She was the one we were discussing, after all." He's the slightest of smirks, perhaps; "I'm afraid to tell you, Cerise, but the world doesn't revolve around you after all."

One advantage to skirts, they cover a lot including real or imaginary crotchcrickets. Cerise smooths the fabric, possibly thinking grateful thoughts on that note. "I wouldn't know whether she had any or not," she says with a delicate little crinkle of her nose. "But I was mentioned in conjunction with offensive terms, sir, and so I thought I'd ask if that could be avoided in the future. Considering."

Q'fex is magnanimous, or perhaps that's just the broad sweep of his hand. "Consider it done." Because he's in the mildest of moods today, and Cerise has thus been treated. Or something. "Or avoided, what have you." The weyrleader levels a look onto the entertainer, then, considering. "How is your brother finding candidacy?" Since the topic of Dimitri was brought up so recently, perhaps. "Real candidacy, I should say."

"Thank you, sir. I knew you'd find it in your heart to agree." This is why using one's pretty words is a good thing! Cerise dimples to mark her pleasure- only to sober immediately thereafter. Being sliiiightly touchy whenever anyone brings up Dimitri is probably an understandable condition. So she picks her way carefully. "Surprisingly well. Even the Headman has seen fit to compliment him, and…well…were I you, sir, I'd lay marks on his Impressing come time for those eggs to break." Cue another set of dimples, and a look that mingles pride with confidence.

"Hmmm," Q'fex states, leaning back in his chair to contemplate her reaction with thought. "I'd say that you almost seem genuine in that, Cerise." Perhaps that is a compliment? Maybe? It's likely meant as one, at least. "And yourself?" is questioned a beat later, dark eyes still considering the girl's reactions.

"I've had some practice with sincerity," Cerise feels it's important to mention. But she's keeping such a strict leash on those reactions, it's difficult to tell if this is meant as jest or true remark. Probably the former, given how she widens her eyes for that innocent effect. "They don't appear to be as fond of me, sir, so I'd save your marks there." Because he'd been planning on betting on her success, right? Right?! "But have no fear, I've been dreaming up new stage plays for one, things I can do without a juggler."

"Kraakenaeth," Q'fex fondly begins on an evident tangent, glancing over to his lifemate. The enormous dragon has been sleeping this whole time, but he starts at the utterance of his name — or as much as he ever would start, lids starting the onerous process of de-lidding, outer and middle slowly clicking open so he can attend to peering at the two of them. "I thought I was going to die, or maybe shit myself, the first time I touched his egg." Perhaps the weyrleader has received some feedback from a particular wingleader of his? "That said, I wouldn't count you out of the running just yet." His expression and attention remains mild, but also unceasing upon Cerise.

Ah yes, the dragon. Cerise had been studiously ignoring the mountain of shimmering hide over there but when he stirs, she tilts a look that way. Not wary, so much as just marking his place and making certain that the eyelids are the extent of his inclination to move. "How poetic. Somehow those descriptions never reached us out on the road," she says with the ghost of a smile, the barest hint of wry humor. "Is that a compliment, sir? A balance for all of those thank yous I just set at your feet? I appreciate the vote of confidence."

Kraakenaeth's hide is more bogged and mired than shining, alas, rutted and pitted and scarred from over twenty-five turns of hard life in the desert. Q'fex shifts his gaze to his lifemate, and by the look on his face, he doesn't seem to mind. Gives a body character, perhaps. "Well, I doubt that Harpers really ever cared about what us little peons thought about when we first laid palm to shell," Fex mutters, mostly to himself but aloud. Then he shakes his head as if to clear it and shifts back to the conversation. "A vote for realism, perhaps." There's a pause. A judicial one. "If you hadn't been searched when you were, I would have searched you myself, Cerise." His lips crook into the barest of half-smile. "I'll let you weigh if you consider that a compliment or not."

There, he's managed to surprise her and break through the actor's facade. Cerise's eyes snap back to him before she can check that movement into more of a smooooooth raising of the eyebrows. "Oh?" Well fine, then. On that note, she's just going to have to make her exit. Audience participation performances are so draining. "Hope springs eternal, one supposes. I won't take any more of your time, sir. Thank you again, for allowing Dimitri a chance and striking whore from your vocabulary in regards to me," she says as she rises. Kraakenaeth's general direction is tipped a pleasant nod, and a deeper one follows for the Weyrleader before she takes her leave of the pair.

There is a terribly amused chuckle that follows after her from the weyrleader; aha, seems to say that light laughter, just as Kraakenaeth's wuffle seems hardly more than something designed to billow at her long skirt. After she's made her parting, Q'fex will merely Look at his lifemate before returning to his ledges. Out loud: "Well, I think that went rather well." Kraakenaeth deigns to reply, or at least … audibly. Terribly surprising.

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