==== November 30, 2103
==== Cha'el, W'rin, Teyaschianniarina, Mayte, Jhael
==== Cha'el is off to a good start. Not!

Who Cha'el, W'rin, Teyaschianniarina, Mayte, Jhael
What Cha'el is off to a good start. Not!
When There are 0 turns, 7 months and 3 days until the 12th pass.
Where Central Bowl, Igen Weyr

Chael3.png 1Wrin.jpg Mayte2.png jhael5.jpg


Central Bowl
Central Bowl
Cradled, childlike, in an easterly mountainous embrace, the steppes of the central bowl nestle cozily between lake and weyr. The latticework of dusty adobe paths spider out from the southerly Weyr Road, the wagon-ruts of which curve lazily to the northeastern bazaar, the adobe sprawl of the New Weyr reflected in the lake that dominates a large portion of outdoor Igen. A small footpath, just as abused, ambles away from the shores, travelling over rock and hill to the northern dragonet complex and branching itself due west to end at the entrance of the blessedly cool inner caverns. One cracked path, faint with disuse, leads southeast to the crumbling ruins of Igen-that-was. All around, the dizzying heights of the caldera's sharp-sloped sides are pocked here and there with ledges, the weyrs' draconic occupants needing no path to guide their way.
It is the eighty-seventh day of Spring and 69 degrees. Despite being clear, dry and sunny over the weyr proper, a thunderstorm drenches the outer reaches of Igen's desert.
To the north, you see a bronze dragon.
Perched here and there on the rock are Herculeus, Rum, Winner, and Maizeface.
Blue Mzadith, brown Ryglinath, and bronze Valiuth are here.
You see Dog here.
W'rin, Jhael, and Teyaschianniarina are here.
Obvious exits:
Lake Shore Central Bazaar North Bowl Dragonhealer Yard Caverns Kitchen Courtyard Weyr Road Abandoned Caverns

Slapbang in the middle of the central bowl is settled one rather large mottled brown dragon with a strange assortment of items securely strapped to sturdy sides. Still as stone with his unusually long tail coiled about his paws, the flow of life and back and forth is observed and filed away. At his side, his rider, giving the immediate area the sort of sweep of attention that openly marks him as out-of weyr. Left, right and left again, he casts his gaze about while stripping off flight helmet and goggles. “How should I know? The transfer papers didn’t exactly come with a harper’s depiction of him.” Or a map of his new home. A map would have been most useful. A rough snort from the brown. We are not amused.

Jhael wanders into the bowl, his clothing looking rather less ratty than usual. He has unlit torches in his hand and juggles them, paying attention to the sticks more than where he is walking. Even distracted though, he cannot miss the dragon in his path. He stops and continues to twirl the sticks, looking upwards at the man and dragon. "You not from here?"

Well isn't it fortitous that the Weyrleader himself comes stalking through the central bowl. Eyebrows pulled together, and a scowl as he grumbles something or other about someone under his breath, it is a colorful tirade. Hope Cha'el wasn't expecting a warm welcome. "Motherf-.." Only he's drawn back to reality by his lifemate who has informed him of the new riding pair. "You! You the transfer? You're late." Stomping steps draw him to the pair. Jhael is greeted only with a scowl. Kids. Grumble.

There is no dog this time, but there is another brownrider, with lifemate accompanying. This pair hasn't been a transfer for some time, thank Faranth. Teya is in the lead: leggy and a little bit androgynous save for the faintly-feminizing fuzzy braids her dirty-blonde hair is semi-tamed into, walking ground-eating easy but alert in a way that says 'guard' is somewhere on her employment history. Ryglinath follows, freshly washed and oiled and spectacular for it, his sullen sulk presented to the world as purposefully pugnacious politeness. The new riding pair is met with curiosity: she adjusts the angle of their approach to turn it into an actual approach, rather than a stroll-by. W'rin's arrival prompts an actual smile, one that breaks lopsided across her freckled-plain face. "Weyrleader," is accompanied with a crisp salute as she comes to a stop near the knot, and it's then that Jhael and his juggling catch her attention - for a moment, before it's back on Cha'el and Sikorth alike.

Attention drifting for just a moment to a rather lovely young thing sashaying by, Cha’el isn’t aware of Jhael’s arrival until the kid speaks. Spinning about, he comes to an abrupt halt and fits the juggler with a vaguely amused look. “What gave it away?” The brightly colored island style shirt? The dragon bedecked with oddities? Or maybe it’s the hammock tucked under strapping. And then. Weyrleader alert! W’rin’s stomping up to him. Immediately, the brownrider snaps to attention though only produces a smart salute at a mental nip from the still-as-stone Sikorth. “Yes, sir.” He’s late. “Had a bit of trouble with the packing.” A hard thing to do when someone’s pelting you with the few things you’d left behind in their weyr. Piercing blue eyes sliiiide sideways when Teya arrives and give the female brownrider the once-over. Lightly bearded features give nothing away before attention cuts back to W’rin.

Crap, someone with authority. Jhael quickly revises his plan of action and steps back just a bit, the sticks still lazily twirling upwards in his hands. He will simply watch the action till someone chases him off with a broom. Maybe the infamous weyrleader will get angry enough to punch the pretty boy new rider. Someone told him that sometimes happens. Intense interest glints in his dark eyes as he shifts his weight on barefeet.

"Trouble packing?" W'rin's gruff tone does little to belie what he thinks of the man. No wonder Ista approved the transfer. Another great rider for Igen. Massive arms cross over his barrel chest as he studies the newcomer. He'd say more but Teya steals his attention for a moment. "Wingsecond." Her smile is met with the slightest of softening of his scowl, it's a close as the man comes to a happy expression. As he returns the salute of both riders. At least this male brownrider knows how to make his greetings to superiors look good. It's a start and the giant of a weyrleader nods. "Well. Welcome. There's a weyr over the northern bowl all cleared out for you." A hand runs through his beard, "And uh. You'll be running through drills with Arroyo in the morning."

Teyaschianniarina takes that slight softening of W'rin's expression, takes it and tucks it away somewhere safe, near and dear to her heart. (Or, you know, acknowledges it and moves on.) Cha'el's once-over doesn't seem to bother her any; by now she is more than used to it, and rather than stiffen or bristle she just lets the line of her spine go faux-casual loose, her attention attentive, but not exclusive. "Arroyo," bears the faintest hint of surprise, but pleasantly so; she rolls it around in her mind and her mouth for a moment, then nods once, satisfied. It doesn't prevent another uptick of her grin over, "At least it isn't Sandblast, right sir?" directed back at W'rin. Don't think that Jhael has escaped her notice, though: he gets his fair share of face-time in the course of her casual (automatic, ingrained) glances to keep taking in the bowl's activity outside their conversation.

Salute executed, Cha’el’s hand drops to scratch at the back of his neck, fingers carefully sifting upward to test the small knob caused by a well-aimed boot. The expression that crosses his features is one of wry amusement before it smoothes away but he doesn’t add anything further on the matter. “Wingsecond?” Teya is given a closer look, gaze narrowing intently as first impression details are taken in and file-shared with the chunk of dragon behind him. “Thank you, sir.” Within the neat groom of his beard lips part to add something else and then snap shut again, a curt nod given when his wing assignment is named. But he has to ask, a brow hiking upward. “Sandblast?” The flick of attention between Weyrleader and Wingsecond includes them both in offering an explanation. Sikorth. Ever so still, is the one watching Jhael, sizing him up, sketching his usefulness, marking him on his dexterity. Cue the slow blink of several lids. Shutters down. Shutters up.

The weight of the female rider’s gaze doesn't escape Jhael's notice. It doesn't do much to cause him to shift though. Instead he gives her a bright performers smile and causes the unlit torches to take a more complex twirl just for her and he bows slightly while they whirl up above her head. Hello lady.

Whatever softening there was cools over as Teyaschianniarina brings up Sandblast. She would. So much for a pleasant day. W'rin grunts heavily at the woman, upperlip pulling back and up in the slighest of sneers. "Fucking Blasters aren't as bad as they use to be." If his look is cool, his tone is icy. And that look of stone falls on Cha'el next. Wingsecond. Got a problem with it? A single brow pulls up in the subtlest of challenges. Jhael, for the moment is ignored, except why not throw a look of anger at the boy as well. Everyone is catching a piece of the weyrleader's wrath today.

And who is this coming in to view? A dark-haired short tomboy, hands crammed into pockets, just out for a morning stroll. Mayte espies the familiar form of W'rin, the somewhat familiar form of Teya, and the completely new forms of Cha'el and Jhael and continues on in that direction. Her only greeting upon arrival is, "Hi!" like her mood is matching the weather.

Weyrleader’s wrath meet duck’s back. Whoosh! Or so it would appear to roll right off of Cha’el given that he barely reacts to it. The explanation growled is good enough for him. For now. Wingsecond? Had he said that out loud? Something akin to a low groan coming from Sikorth marks that indeed he had. “Well met,” that goes to Teya as does a smile full of charm and complete with a friendly twinkle to blue eyes. “Cha’el, brown Sikorth’s. Formerly of Ista.” Mayte’s arrival is marked as movement from the corner of his eye when attention slips back to W’rin, the tomboy afforded a similar flash of charming though his next goes to the burly Weyrleader. “Don’t suppose you could recommend a good place to find a cold ale?” Jhael is still being stared at! There must be something about the boy that draws Sikorth’s interest for that long, long tail of his begins to slither through the sand toward the lad.

Jhael isn't one who has learned that Dragons are something to be paid attention to yet. So, the movement of the tail is ignored as more people join the grouping. Does everyone know the Weyrleader? Jhael makes a point to make sure that he makes the introduction… perhaps when the man isn't so angry and likely to squish dirty traders who get in his way. The angry look in his direction is enough to get him moving again, a rather energetic half-skip which takes him a good foot or so away from the angry man. "Suppose I could tell you a place to look for an Ale." A half smile crosses his face at the offer.

"One of our wings," Teya provides Cha'el, her tone professional-clean, cool-even - but if W'rin's cool is icy, hers is a brisk, pleasant breeze. "That is, after a great deal of thankless work, fit to be called so. Their current leadership follows in footsteps well," she doesn't go so far as to incline her head toward W'rin, but there is a sideways cut of her eyes, a fractional tip of her head; acknowledgement, then, and still gratitude, "placed." Mayte's arrival is met with a nice spring thaw, professionalism still present in the face of her Weyrleader and a new transfer (and a young man she still watches with half an eye) but tucked back, replaced with a genuine smile over, "Mayte," because she does so try to be good with names. Speaking of - Cha'el gives his, so she offers hers in return: "Teyaschianniarina, brown Ryglinath's," he's still there, in the background, being very proper and in no way affronted by the copper-opal gleams in his hide, "Parhelion Wingsecond, formerly of High Reaches."

Of course everyone knows the weyrleader. Which is why W'rin hasn't bothered to introduce himself, though he does jab a finger in the direction of his bronze and grunt, "Valiuth." For his part the bronze manages to not look quite as angry as his rider, though as distracted as ever he barely bothers to look in the direction of the humans speaking. Teya's comments of the leadership of Sandblast draw an agreement marked only by a heavy exhale through the nose. The appearance of the vinter girl draws an honest, if only fleeting, grin from the man. "Mayte." The poor child who the weyrleader practiced his parenting skills on before his twins were born, also receives a slight incline of the man's head. "Ale. The Cantina is well stocked. And the Oasis Inn on your restday." His finger moves from where it was jabbed toward the bazaar to indicate the cantina, and lands on the road leading out of the weyr, "They got good whiskey, dunno know about their ale."

Oh good, we're still at the introduction stage: "Mayte. Senior Apprentice, VintnerHall." As Cha'el asks for a good place for ale, she can definitely offer as somewhat of an expert (in-training), "There's Corks and Works just off the Bazaar, if you're looking for something to take away." That information is free, as opposed to what the store might earn should he decide to shop there, though she doesn't disagree with W'rin's suggestions. Did they just reveal all the decent local watering holes? Oops. Teya gets a cheeky grin back, "Hello, miss! How's your dragon doing?" Jhael gets a quick look-over before dark eyes slide to Cha'el again, lingering briefly. It takes a bit of effort that the Vintner pulls herself to look at W'rin again, "Hey, Weyrleader." For having been sort-of-raised for a few months by this man, Mayte is remarkably well-adjusted.

With further explanation forthcoming from Teyashiannnn….gah! - He’s never going to be able to wrap his tongue around that one - Cha’el turns chin to shoulder and glances back at Sikorth, a brow lifting as silent exchange is made. From Sikorth there is no reaction. At least not outwardly that is. Mention of High Reaches draws an odd twitch of features before they smooth back to that courteous mask he wears so well. “They are ready for Thread?” Cha’el goes on to ask of Sandblast, the clipped tone he couches the query in suggesting it comes not from him but from his ever-watchful lifemate. He has another question but it waits until he’s had a chance to tip an interested look over Mayte. Vintner? Niiice! “Well met, Mayte.” And on the topic of booze: “And where would I be most likely to find my new wingmates?” He asks, revealing that indeed, he is not a lush, despite the blaze of rumors that are likely to have followed his rapid departure from the island Weyr. Slither. Halt. Slither. Halt. Sneak attack from the rear goes Sikorth’s tail and then pauses just outside of the circle deemed to be Jhael’s personal space. Is the boy observant?

If he wants to stay in the weyr area, Jhael will someday have to learn that dragons have minds of their own and aren't just animals. Alas, his thirteen turns have not prepared him for this, and the arrogance of youth doesn't allow him to believe he could be so ignorant of something such as that. Thus, the tail continues to be completely ignored. Mayte gets the flashed frown of annoyance for running all of his plans (not like W'rin didn't either, but Jhael's not stupid) for misdirecting the new rider. However, soon enough the bright player smile is back on his face. Perhaps it was time to get going, yes? With that goal in mind, Jhael tosses the sticks in their most complex formation and begins to back away from the grouping.

"Teya," is supplied, because there is a look that almost universally follows the use of the brownrider's full name, "is just fine. Sandblast is ready," and oh, there is pride there, solid and well-founded though she has no direct hand in having made it so. "Igen," she looks to W'rin, looks to her Weyrleader for the support that she absolutely does not question will be there to back up, "will be ready for Thread." Formerly of High Reaches apparently translates to presently, entirely of Igen, given the simmer of quiet-fierce pride that provides the foundation upon which her present professional sense is built. She tamps it back, scrubs the heel of her left hand against the top of her thigh as she re-shifts focus back to Mayte, easing back into genuine pleasure for the answer that she can give. "He's doing quite well. We've been back in the air with the wing, and he couldn't be happier. Well," there's a brief pause, a conspiratorial look before she adds, without any real change in volume to make it a genuine attempt at secrecy, "right now he's annoyed because he's had a wash and a good oiling, so he's too-damn-pretty."

"Are they ready for thread?" For those that know him well, or spend any sort of time in meetings with him, the sudden drop in the volume of W'rin's voice marks the calm of a growing storm. "Are they…." The setence cuts off into a low growl as the weyrleader stalks a few steps closer to the newcomer. "Are you questioning the readiness of my weyr? How the fuck dare you come in here - your own weyr didn't want you - and come and question me and mine." The rhetorical question comes with a wave of sudden and explosive anger, the protectiveness of his riders which use to be contained to a single wing, now spread across all riders of Igen. Nostrils flare as his beady eyes widen at the brownriding male. "The question is are you ready? You'd better be or you can find your way out of my weyr." Teya's back up draws his attention away from the male brownrider and to the female. He regards her for a moment, the tension in the break of their uneasy alliance had never eased, though for a moment the man seems ready to give in some to the memories of when they actually got along, but it only momentary and he throws his hands up in the air, with a command for her, "Get him fucking settled in, maybe teach him some manners - or at least to have some faith in his fucking home." Cause now he's one of them. And with the same low grumbling of muttered curse words the weyrleader stalks back towards the caverns. Welcome to Igen, Cha'el.

Jhael looks on rather sad. Why didn't he punch him? THAT would've been a tale someone might've paid a few marks to have told.

Despite W'rin's temper he's yet to hit anyone who hasn't deserved it - Walls and glass objects, however, are never safe in Igen Weyr.

As Corks and Works flips its 'Closed' sign suddenly.

Mayte doesn't miss that flash of expression from young Jhael, but you gotta be faster to trick a trickster, so she leaves her expression pleasantly blank, even while watching the brown tail. Maybe it'll trip the boy. Or not, as he starts to leave, so the Vintner nods at Cha'el: "Well met." This? This is business-flirting, the slightly brighter smile she gives Cha'el that unfortunately, riding talk gets in the way of. Sheesh. Nothing ruins a good sale like W'rin getting cranky. Looks like Pern needs a MeteorologyHall, or anything that can predict W'rin, if that's ever possible. She does listen in to the Weyrleader's rant to get the gist of it, and then watches him stomp off, lips moving as if she's making some calculations. Afterward, Mayte does look over at Teya a little awkwardly. "So. Um." That could have gone better, right?

“Teya,” the female brownrider’s name is echoed with the very tiniest smidge of a sheepish curl to Cha’el’s lips, a nod following when she deems Sandblast to be ready. However, the moment W’rin rounds him, brows quirk toward a frown and his jaw tightens. But Cha’el does not shrink away from the bigger man’s wrath. If anything, the jab about the circumstances surrounding his expulsion from Ista rankles. Up goes that bearded chin and shoulders square, features blanked of anything but the hard light that chips blue eyes. “I merely enquired out of professional interest, sir.” Tone clipped, attention front and center he doesn’t give any further response, merely watching the Weyrleader stalk off through a haze of frustrated silence. Fan-bloody-tastic! Way to go, mate! The mental tongue-lashing he gets from Sikorth doesn’t help any either. But he’ll deal with that later. Right now, he’d needs to get squared away and so in the dust of W’rin’s exit, his attention cuts to Teya. “If you can point me in the right direction, I’ll get sorted.” Gruff.

Jhael has drifted several steps away by this point, but he's totally not running away from the conversation. Perhaps there is still a chance he could do some mischief in this general vicinity before Willimina or Analetta clue into his disappearance and drag him back to the caravan.

Teyaschianniarina sees that moment, she totally does, but she doesn't respond to it - in the face of W'rin's wrath she is pleasantly stoic, expression just this side of neutral; it is entirely on-duty, business-closed as she salutes smartly. "Yes, sir," is as much a promise as it is an acknowledgment, and that neutral shades very subtly towards disapproving as she turns back to fully face Cha'el. "We don't," is firm but non-combative, "tolerate dead weight here, not now, not anymore. Come on." Ryglinath is moving before she is, all relentless forward momentum while she begins to take her first steps. She hasn't forgotten Mayte, though: the apprentice gets a half-grin, friendly rather than performance-polite, and a, "Yeah," of agreement. She has an assigment, though: she doesn't actually wait to make sure that Cha'el is following her as she starts cutting through the bowl, heading north. She just assumes that he will.

This impromptu greeting party seems to be breaking up, so Mayte adjusts her hands in her pockets and gives Cha'el a pleasant nod of the head, and Teya gets a warmer, brief grin. Same page, man. Same page. As Teya starts off across the bowl, Mayte shrugs almost helplessly at Cha'el, "Have a good day, sir," before she moves away, back onto her previous route of making… uh, sure the walls are still standing! Very important job, that. Jhael is on the receiving end of a nearly inviting look, if he wishes to join, and Mayte starts off in the opposite direction of the bazaar, side-stepping something on the ground.

Deadweight. If one listens closely enough, the grinding of teeth against each other can probably be heard coming from Cha’el. Dressed down not once but twice within the first hour of his arrival has to be some kind of personal record. But if there’s something to be said for having a hard taskmaster for a lifemate, it’s that he knows when to take his lickings and when to keep his mouth shut. This being one of those times. Gone is the smooth charm that had lingered about the brownrider like a second skin., in its place, nothing more than hard-cut professionalism. With a curt nod to Mayte, he turns smartly on a boot heel and follows after Teya, piercing eyes boring into her back while a sharp exchange is conducted between the newly arrived brownpair.

That look promises that he might get put to WORK. Jhael has zero interest in such activities but… Jhael twirls his sticks again, then catches them and stuffs them under an arm. Maybe there would be something in it for him after all. Barefeet are silent as they shuffle after the apprentice.

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