====Sept 2, 2013
====Cerise, Hannah, Kalea, Kultir, Th'seus
====Lovely drama in Southern!

Who Cerise, Hannah, Kalea, Kultir, Th'seus
What The Boy is Mine!
When There is 1 turn 4 months and 0 days until the 12th pass
Where Living Caverns, Southern Weyr

hannah_default.jpg Th%27seus3.png kalea2.jpg kultir2.jpg


living_caverns.jpg

Living Caverns
Grand and spacious, the cavern curves high aloft in naturally-vaulted ceiling that soothes any sense of claustrophiba. 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.


Kalea strolls into the caverns with a calm she doesn't entirely feel. She waves to a few wingmates greetings as she makes her way across the room to the food. "Oh man, that smells good!" She nabs a plate and starts piling food onto it. Not caring that everything seems to run together as she heaps the plate full. When she comes to the drinks she eschews wine and opts for a mug of juice. "At least it isn't raining today," she murmurs as she waits on Kultir.

Kultir grins as he follows Kalea into the caverns and snags a plate for himself. "It does at that." he says as his stomach gives another loud gurgle at the smell of the food. All manner of hot and cold food find it's way onto his plate before a mug of klah is also snagged before it can get taken by someone else. Out of the corner of his eye he spys not only the other stableboys but also the man he dreads most. "Let's sit somewhere far away from -him-." he murmurs, nodding toward the grizzled old stableman. He hunches slightly, almost like he's trying to hide from that eagle-eyed, hawk-nosed old grump.

Kalea balances a plate piled high with roast herdbeast that is dripping juices all over a pile of river grains, boiled fingerroots are wedged between that and a pile of stuffed mushrooms and sprinkled over it all are diced whiteroots. She's quite hungry. Her eyes follow in the direction that Kultir indicated and she spies the stable folk. "Oh," she says softly and nods, "alright let's head over that way," she suggests and waves her mug at a few tables in the opposite direction. She'd have suggested that they sit with her friends, but they are sitting only a table away from the one Kultir wants to avoid. She silently hopes her friend's haven't already given them away as she looks to follow Kultir to whatever table he chooses.

Kultir predictably chooses the table the farthest away and sits with his back to the man he's trying to avoid. "Sorry … that's old Garrick." he says softly as he tucks into his food. "My boss." This is said between bites while his head is still hunched between his shoulders. He sighs softly and shrugs again. "You can go sit with your wingmates if you want though … if he sees me …" A quick glance over his shoulder to make sure the old man isn't looking for him. Oh boy, the look on the old man's face is enough to make Kultir gulp and grimace. Yup, he's in for it next time the old man gets ahold of him.

Kalea follows Kultir to the table and sits across from him. "I'm perfectly fine right here," she assures him and digs into the food on her plate. She hums happily at the flavor of the food and munches quickly on another bite. "I take it you had work to do this morning that you didn't get to?" She finds herself talking softly and realizes she's acting silly. The old man can't hear her from clear across the room with tables full of other people between them. She leans a bit to look past Kultir's shoulder, following his gaze. Admittedly the old man in question definitely looks like the type to bust on someone for not showing up. She frowns slightly and looks guiltily at Kultir, "I didn't mean to get you into trouble."

Kultir chuckles and nods. "Aye, but then nearly anyone can muck out stalls." he mutters, making himself sit up straighter and slow down his inhaling of food. "Just I'm supposed to keep the young'uns at the work." He jerks his head back toward the table with the other stableboys at it, lorded over by old Garrick himself. The other boys are younger by a few turns, not quite apprentice age but close enough that they shouldn't need an overseer that much. "Couple o' them fancy to be apprentices and Old Gar don't half like it." He shrugs again and is finally able to stop glancing over his shoulder. Much like his fear of heights, if he doesn't think about it it isn't so bad.

Kalea laughs softly as she pictures Kultir trying to get the kids at the far off table to do any work. "What do you do? Threaten to lock them in a tack room if they don't behave?" She leans and takes stock of those at the table again. "They all seem plenty old enough to know which end of their tools to use. Though I'm sure they keep you busy." She pops a mushroom into her mouth and savors the flavor it. "Well, I don't know about you.. but I'm feeling a little better," she chases a fingerroot around her plate with her fork. "What so wrong with the boys apprenticing?"

Kultir grins and shakes his head. "Naw, I don't threaten … I just thump them when they need it." he says, picking through the scattered bits of food on his plate to get a forkfull of cooked greens. He shrugs slightly at her question and ponders it for a moment. "Not sure, really. I only caught one o' them not carin' for the beast proper. -He- says she tried to take his fingers off when he was feeding her. I thumped him when I found a fork cut on her muzzle." He doesn't say what happened when Garrick found out and it was Kultir that took the blame rather than the kid he thumped on.

Kalea isn't much for cruelty to animals so she simply nods her head as she listens to Kultir. "Well /hopefully/ that particular one has learned not to be doing things like that," she mutters and finishes off her heardbeast and rivergrains. She grins and points her fork at him, "Though I just can't imagine you thumping someone. You're certainly strong enough to get it done." He had after all manhandled her after she hurt her wrist. Which is still wrapped with the tail end of his shirt.

Kultir shrugs slightly as he scrapes up the last bits of food on his plate. "I guess so. Leastwise I never found any more cuts on his assigned beasts." he says, settling back in his chair with a sigh. He smiles across the table and blushes slightly. "It's been known to happen. I try not to do that sort of thing too much." He takes a drink of the klah, remembering the few times he had gotten into a lot of trouble for allowing his temper to slip out of control.

"I'm glad he learned his lesson," Kalea says about the boy Kultir had to discipline. She laughs when he blushes and nods her understanding of his statement. "Well, I would hope not. There aren't many around here who get away with losing their heads overmuch. That sort of thing gets squashed fairly quickly." Kultir is strong for his age but there are quite the list of grown men that would outweigh and over power him if he were caught getting out of hand. "Just don't go losing your temper too often and carrying me 'round. I'll have Ryadranth pin you down so I can get even," she teases him good-naturedly. "I'll have to show you where the bandages are too. So you don't go tearing up any more of your clothes."

Kultir laughs aloud at her teasing and nods. "Okay, okay. I promise." he replies. "But you were being bull headed about the whole thing, you know." He can't help getting his little dig in at her own temperament. At about that time a heavy hand falls onto his shoulder causing him to gulp and stare with both resignation and fear in his eyes at Kalea. A slow turn of the head upwards and a sickly smile is given to 'the old man'. "Umm, hello, Master Garrick … sir." doesn't quite squeak out, but it's really close to squeaking.

Kalea is laughing and enjoying the teasing banter with Kultir. So she hadn't been paying attention to the folks around them. Not good! She isn't normally unaware of her surroundings. The look in Kultir's eyes when the old Master walks up and puts a hand on his shoulder all but breaks her heart. All humor disappears from her expression. Shard it, this is all her fault not Kultir's! She sits there watching the two, not sure if she should intervene on Kultir's behalf or not. Well crud! What to do for this situation?!

The old man glares down at the boy in his grasp and growls, "And where d'ye think ye've been, ye young skut." The hand on Kultir's shoulder gives him a bit of a shake. "Ye skive out on milkin' las' night and ye don' show up ta milk nor muck this mornin'. Ye know them boys cain't do it on their own!" Another shake and tightening grip makes Kultir squirm a bit as he tries to formulate an answer. "I … I'm s-sorry, Master." he stammers. "I … I was … was …" Is he trying to come up with a lie? Maybe, but that's just not him. He closes his eyes and heaves a heavy sigh, straightening as much as he can under that heavy hand. "I got drunk last night." He doesn't mention who he got drunk with nor who he spent the time between then and now with either.

Kalea grimaces when Kultir admits to getting drunk last night. Of all the stupid things to say! She frowns in frustration at him. That is going to make this entire situation worse she's positive of that. But she isn't able to sit and do nothing at all. "I'm afraid his absence is my fault, sir." She rises to her feet with the easy grace and dignity of her position. She may be just a wingrider, but she's darn proud of it. She can feel the eyes of those seated around them and it makes her skin crawl. "I'm afraid I conscripted Koltir's help last night," she tells the stable Master. /What/ he helped her with she isn't about to say. "And we had a bit o' wine. I insisted you see, as a thank you for the help." She takes a deep breath and widens her stance a tad. "I couldn't hardly drop him off and let him wander when it went to his head. So I let him sleep it off and insisted he eat.."

Kultir shakes his head vehemently when she begins her explanation to the stablemaster, trying to get her to stop but he's figuring out that when she has the bit in her teeth she runs where she will. Garrick, on the other hand, frowns at her. The old man doesn't see a proud dragonrider standing up to him, he sees a haughty young woman who ought to be married and having babies somewhere. The old man's eyes are good enough to see the knot on her shoulder but he's in the middle of disciplining one of -his- boys and Kalea's attempt to get the boy out of trouble doesn't sit well with the old man. "Oh ye did, did ye?" Garrick growls. "And thanked him wi' a bit o' wine, did ye?" He glares down at Kultir, his hand clenching on the boys shoulder before sliding up to grip the fabric of the shirt in his fist. "I tol' ye ta keep away from the riders, boy." is growled into Kultir's face when the old man drags him up from his chair. "Ye'll be sleepin' in the stables fr'm now on so's I c'n keep my eye on ye." He glances back to Kalea and nods slightly in an attempt to be respectful to the rider though his eyes hold nothing but contempt. "My apologies, rider, for any trouble he may ha' caused ye. I'll take care of it now." All this time Kultir can't even squeak an apology to her for any of this, he hadn't even taken into consideration how far the old man might go in his bigotry.

Cerise walks in from the Inner Caverns.
Hannah walks with youthful grace in from the Lower Bowl.
Th'seus walks in from the Lower Bowl.

Kalea goes from apologetic right past irritated to extremely angry. Which is the second time she's reached that boiling point today. So the adrenaline needs very little coaxing to flood her system. She watches everything happen in a sort of slow motion. And when the Stable Master hauls Kultir to his feet and is about to make off with him.. her temper gives with an almost audible snap. The old man /so/ did not just insult her and riders in general! "I believe it's well within my right to ask for help when I require it," she reminds the Stable Master. She closes the distance between them and looks up at the old man. "That being said sir I /will/ be requiring help from you concerning Kultir. He'll not be sleeping in any stable. " She stretches her height as far as it'll go and yep, she's still short. Short and angry! "He's my weyrmate and I'm formally asking you to help us move his things." She would have like to have talked to Kultir about the idea first.. but in her anger she puts it out there.

Hannah has slipped from the nighthearth with her arms full of hides. A glance over her shoulder is given with a cheshire-cat-like smile before she finds a discrete spot not too far from what she's left behind. Settling in at the edge of the table, she tucks her legs beneath her and spreads her hides out. Don't mind her, she's just working in the shadows, la-la-la. She's dressed far, far more reasonably in a sky-blue dress with her pale hair unbound and covering her face. Probably to hide. She's been in the spotlight enough recently. To those who might be already in the caverns, a brief glance, brief nod of greeting is given before her head bows. Doot, doot, doot.

There's some sort of disturbance in the inner caverns. Given the acoustic quality of stone tunnels, it's difficult to tell the source. At first it sounds like someone hooting? Then it sounds like someone hollering? But as whomever is making that racket approaches the living cavern, it quickly becomes apparent that that is neither hooting nor hollering. That is, in fact, a woman doing her best to mimic the sound of a man in the throes of passion. "Oh Cerise!" might also give some clue to the woman's identity, before she comes prowling into the living caverns. Barefooted, with bedhead and dressed in a man's shirt that's been belted with a shawl, she looks…well, very much like an Oldtimer Weyr resident after a gold flight! Except, of course, for the scowl she's currently wearing. It's into this already charged atmosphere that the entertainer emerges- no doubt looking to add to it. At least she's stopped moaning?

Strumpet glides in from the Infirmary.
Strumpet is a little baby firelizard, and she wedges herself in between a few others to watch the show.

The days following a won goldflight are often full of a much different atmosphere for the winner of said flight than for anyone else involved, either directly or indirectly. So it's with a tolerance that's becoming thinly worn that Th'seus arrives in the living caverns, accepting the congratulations and other perhaps more vulgar greetings with stride. But a man has to eat eventually and so he does just then. Lynx's Wingleader is soon torn from his aim by A) One of his wingriders apparently having some sort of altercation with the stablemaster and then B) He can't even focus on Kalea and Kultir because suddenly Cerise is there and she's dressed in a man's shirt and calling out her own name. So it's hardly a push to say he only peripherally notices anything or anyone else around him as he stands there and stares by the entrance.

Old Garrick blinks at the young woman snapping at him, HIM, in front of HIS stableboy no less. He opens his mouth to bellow at her to be silent when the sense of her words percolate through his thick skull causing him to look daggers at both the short greenrider and the boy who's shirt he's holding onto in a grip like a vise. Kultir, on the other hand, almost faints … twice! Once when Kalea declares him her weyrmate and again when another rider, a goldrider no less, appears in the caverns looking similar to the way he had looked a few candlemarks earlier. Garrick shoves Kultir back down into the chair he just dragged the boy from with disgust and then turns that disgusted look on Kalea. "So … ye cain't stick wi' ye'r own kind, eh?" he growls, ignoring the comings and goings of others in the caverns. "Ye gotta go and get ye a … a … a boy-toy from the reg'lar folks." Another look that leaves the smell of singed hair in its wake goes to Kultir. "Take 'im then, and be dammed ta ye both. He don' work f'r me n'more." Old Garrick shoves past Kalea without regards to her balance and exits the caverns entirely, the gaggle of maliciously snickering boys following.

Kalea is well aware that she's older than Kultir by several turns. So she's robbing the cradle! It isn't the first time it's been done by a 'rider and it won't be the last. She isn't at all prepared for the old man to shove past her however. Her much smaller frame bounces off the stablemaster's and she skids sideways to slam her hip painfully into the table. Her growl of frustration probably echoes as the scene for her goes from bad to worse. When she grabs at the table to steady herself she twists her already sprained wrist. "Shard it!" She jerks back from the table, regaining her balance and glaring at the room at large in general. Oh /this/ is all going to come back and bite her. No question about it! She now has a teenaged weyrmate, a sprained wrist, a bruised hip..what /else/ is going to go wrong with this day?!

Luckily, Hannah is tucked nicely away from the chaos, but enough to see Cerise enter the caverns dressed as she is. For once it is not her half dressed, and stirring chaos in the living caverns. Even Kultir and Kalea's drama cannot eclipse the sight of Cerise. A stylus is poised over a hide, frozen in the act of writing down some note, stunned by this apparition. She hunkers down, aiming to not be seen and trying not to hear any vulgar congratulations. Doot, doot, doot. Spectator here.

Cerise appears to have finally reached her limit. She is done. Done. Once she's certain most eyes are on her, she takes in a deep breath and applies her beautifully trained voice to…giving a monologue? But my, what a monologue. "I have tried for months to play the dutiful Weyr resident. I have done what I can to support this bloody Weyr, and I am tired of being called whore in spite of doing nothing of the sort. If anyone else would like to point fingers or mock me for being inferior or imply horrible things about my past life, I invite you to do so now to my face, as our esteemed Headman has seen fit to do after taking me into his bed and failing to do his duty." She gasps. That was a lot of words; air is needed. "Carry on!" And so shall she, padding with narrowed eyes towards the buffet service, and the klah pot.

Th'seus stares and then unglues himself long enough to take his lanky stride in the direction of Kalea and her new boy-toy-weyrmate. "We're going to have a talk about what just happened, wingrider. Later." So if she was wondering what else could go wrong? Question answered. But it's not going to happen right now, not with the stablemaster storming out and Cerise storming in. And damn it, he still hasn't gotten something to eat. So since she's not actively brawling with the older man in the middle of the room, he's going to table that situation until a later date. He moves forward again, keeping Cerise in his sights as he arrives to the buffet line, grabs some food quickly and moves on to some quiet area of the caverns. He just wants to eat, that's all he really wants. Just this sandwich right now. Is that so much to ask for?

Kultir has managed to regain his feet after being slammed back down into the chair and attempts to steady Kalea when the old man shoves her around. He hisses slightly, knowing that catching herself on that bad wrist is going to hurt even worse. He glances around, realizing that they were the center of attention for a short time and really hopes that there won't be any major consequences of that little … todo. "Here. Sit down." he says softly, guiding her to a chair and checking the wrist in question to make sure it hasn't been damaged any worse. His left hand went numb when the old man grabbed his shoulder so he has to use his right for anything else. A soft sigh of relief and a smile as he looks back up from her hand. "It's not any worse than it was." he says. "But you … probably ought to have a Healer look at it." He knows she won't, but it had to be said. At about that moment he blinks because Cerise has started a … well, a speech, it seems. He has no idea where it's coming from but it's not exactly what he was prepared for considering the way his day has been going. Then to top it all off, a male rider shows up and bawls out Kalea who didn't do anything wrong so far as he could tell. He sighs and settles into a chair, head in hands and shaking like a leaf. "It's all my fault … "

And the other boot drops! Kalea looks at Th'seus with wide eyes and nods her head, "Yes sir." She knows full well she's in for it. And when Th'seus turns and leaves, Kalea allows Kultir to guide her into a seat. When he checks her hand she chuckles softly. "Don't worry about it," she assures him, "I've certainly had worse." When he mentions a Healer she frowns hard at him and shakes her head. Nope /no/ Healers for her! No thanks! Kalea's attention is split between Kultir and Cerise. Cerise getting the bulk of her concentration. After all the other woman appears to be having an even more embarrassing day than herself and that is saying a lot.

Okay, Hannah can't not comment, the quiet whisper of, "Renalde didn't finish??" slipping out before choking whispers of laughter escape. Might draw attention to the fact that the junior weyrwoman is giving Cerise the EYEBALL for her blatant drama in the middle of the living caverns. The stylus is slowly set down as the goldrider's happy day-after mood sloooooooowly starts to evaporate. Whether from Cerise's outburst, Renalde's behavior, or the fact that one eyebrow looks as if she's taken a habit of rubbing it red. Or maybe, because intercession might need to be necessary here. Th'seus's entrance might actually be noted, as is the dressing down of the rider in his wing — how can one not, the man's a giant? — but Cerise holds the stage. A sigh. And then the slow unfolding of limbs. Draaaaaggging her feet on this one, yes. Oh look, the stylus fell. Gotta get that first, right? Don't want anyone slipping on anything, right?

Cerise might give everyone their wish- Th'seus for his sandwich, Kalea and Kultir for a distraction, and Hannah for not needing to intervene. She doesn't seem intent on actually lingering for very long. But she does pull up to the selfsame table just vacated by our resident victorious bronzerider. A mug of klah is taken, a redfruit and…that's all. Because, well, she has no pants on and is therefore lacking pockets. Two hands mean two items, and once she has them, she turns, fixes Hannah with a rather sharp (and not at all happy) look- then proceeds on towards the exit into the bowl. Hopefully it isn't too nipply out there.

Kultir doesn't bother to look up at Kalea's comment to not worry, what else does she expect him to do? He lost his job, he embarrassed a woman he cares for AND got her in trouble, what's not to worry about? He sighs heavily and pushes himself upright again, hands automatically going around his mug which (amazingly) did not spill and gulps the contents down. He's thankful that the whole thing is over but now the consequences, or possible ones at least, start running through his mind. Now what is he supposed to do? Cerise is noted exiting and a blush colors his cheeks as he catches himself staring, not good … not now … NOT in front of Kalea.

Hannah sighs. Scoops up the stylus, smacks it down on the hides, and stalks after Cerise. COULDN'T LET THE DAY AFTER BE HAPPY, could she? Those siblings… Battling her way through the lunch crowds, the tiny weyrwoman is off to get her a piece of that girl's hide. Or. Maybe she's making a quick get-away so she doesn't have to deal with Renalde. It is a mystery!

Th'seus goes home.
Hannah goes home.
Cerise walks to the Bowl.

Kalea is still trying to figure out how Kultir has come to believe that any of this is /his/ fault. She's the one who pretty much could be accused of kid-napping if he were any younger. It takes her several moments to draw her attention back to the drama between them though. As she has to watch Cerise leave, just in case anything more interesting were to fall out of the woman's mouth. She looks up at Kultir intent on imparting some comical quip, and..oh yes, she notices him noticing Cerise. Well now. "Maybe I spoke too soon," she mutters and watches him watching the other woman. She heaves a resigned sigh. She probably just made a fool of herself over a boy who'd turn her over in a heartbeat for the other teen. And it's not like she could blame him. She told him herself he would this very morning. So she just sits there quietly looking up at Kultir with a curious quirk in her eyebrow.

Kultir blinks as Cerise moves out of his line of sight and looks up at Kalea. "What?" he asks, confused why she should be giving him -that- look. What's he done now? is his resigned question to himself. After a moment he groans and rubs his left shoulder where Garrick gripped him so tightly. "Now what?" he mutters. "Now what am I going to do. I've got no job … Garrick is probably going to get me tossed out of the Weyr." Especially if those other stableboys have anything to say about it. Well, he's gotta figure something out since he can't live off charity for the rest of his life.

Kalea chuckles and shakes her head at Kultir. "Nothing except I was waiting on you to drool over her," she finds she isn't jealous. Well only a little and not enough to act stupid. She's not a crazy woman all evidence to the contrary today. "You'll find another job," she tells him simply. "It's a big Weyr and there's plenty to do around here." This is stated with quiet confidence and when Kultir makes a comment about being thrown out of the Weyr she starts to laugh. "Oh you think so?" She shakes her head and reaches out to grab her mug of juice. "You're coming home with me and nobody is going to throw you out. Of the Weyr or otherwise." She shrugs her shoulders and sips her juice. "My Wingleader will no doubt get on me for the scene I caused. But I'm not overly freaked about it." She shrugs her shoulders and smiles, "I'm not normally someone he has to bother with. So I'm sure it'll all turn out alright. We might want to go get your things though.. if you have anything you want in the stables. Before it gets tossed."

Kultir blushes at her comment and shakes his head. "She's nice enough. Just not my type." he says in reply to that possiblity. He smiles and cocks a shoulder in a slight shrug. "I sure hope so. I don't want to leave … not here, not … you." He stands and offers his hand to her with another shake of the head. "I never kept anything I wanted to actually -keep- out in the stables. Those boys would have made off with it in a heartbeat if I had." He waves toward the resident dorms. "I kept all my stuff under my bed in the dorms. Don't have more than a change of clothes and a few things from home that my Mum sent with me." He sighs and scrubs a hand over his face and through his hair. "You go out to Ryadranth. I'll run up and get my gear and be back down right away."

It's starting to sink in for Kalea what exactly she just did. Kultir's home is now with /her/ and she's responsible for all intents and purposes for him. Oh boy! She blinks at the hand he offers her for a second and then unwraps her good hand from around her mug, slips it into his and rises to her feet. "Bring the blanket off your cot too. One of us can return it later. For now I'll need it to help secure your things for the flight home," she tells him. The word home echoing in her own head and not sounding half bad all things considered. She could do a /lot/ worse than Kultir. She smiles up at Kultir and nods her head. "Alright. We'll be waiting for you outside."

Kultir smiles and nods. "Give me just a moment and I'll be down." he says, giving her hand a squeeze before heading up to the dorms for, he hopes, the last time for a long time. Just a few moments later, down he comes again, a carrysack over one shoulder and a blanket bundled up and tucked under his arm. He trots out the cavern entrance and calls, "Got it. You're sure about this? I can stay up there …" he says, waving back toward where he'd just gathered his gear from. That few minutes it took him to get up there and back, the realization has sunk in and … it's SCARY.

You go to the Lower Bowl.
Lower Bowl
Cleaning efforts have made this a lively epicenter of creation and destruction alike: dross and debris have been removed to show cobblestones beneath, here in this shallow part of the bowl, quite a distance lower than the western plateau. The bowlwall itself is still dingy, though the openings to the various caverns have been covered by hide doorways or fitted with proper doors. Directly south, the crumbled area of bowlwall has been cleaned up, a gentle land-bridge heading towards the fields; a whisper of the stables can be seen through the gap, nestled against the entrance bridge.
It is Winter and 65 degrees. It is cloudy.
To the north, you see one person.
To the northwest, you see a green dragon.
On the perch are Loogey and Jigaloo.
You see Stark and Stormborn here.
Obvious exits:
Ground Weyrs Craft Complex Living Caverns Upper Bowl Weyr Entrance Herder Complex
Kultir walks in from the Living Caverns.

Kalea is waiting for Kultir outside. Apparently word travels fast! As she knew that it would. And she's speaking with another wingmate when Kultir appears with his gear. She and the man turn almost in the same instant when Kultir hollers at her. "Yes, I'm sure. There's no logical reason for you to stay in the dorms," she tells Kultir. Stating the obvious, which has the man standing next to her laughing. He claps Kalea on the shoulder and walks toward the caverns. Hesitating his step as he passes Kultir, "You're lucky /boy/. I'll be surprised if you last a sevenday. /I've/ been trying to get a piece of that since she got here," he mutters low so Kalea can't over hear him. All the while Kalea has scrambled up Ryadranth's neck and is waiting for Kultir to join her.

Kultir blinks at the older man and turns to watch him walk away, a frown creasing his brow. He stumbles slightly as he tries to walk backwards to watch the older rider and ponder over the man's words. Turning back to walk correctly he makes it to Ryadranth's side and tosses his sack and the blanket up to Kalea before scrambling up behind her. "Who … who was that?" he asks, trying very hard not to sound like a jealous child.

A gust of wind carries the man's name away but the rest of Kalea's response is spoken while she wraps his pack in the blanket and secures it to Ryadranth's straps, "he's in my wing. He's one of the few 'round here who've always been nice to me. Even though I'm and old timer to most folks." She secures Kultir's belt around him. Still deft at her tasks even with her sore wrist. "Hold on tight," she tells him once he's secured to herself and Rya. She settles herself comfortably as Ryadranth gathers herself and launches skyward.

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