==== October 3rd, 2013
==== K'vvan, Sienna, A'dan
==== Drills don't go so well. The weather sucks. Nothing a drink can't — fine. Be that way.

Who K'vvan, Sienna, A'dan
What Drills don't go so well. The weather sucks. Nothing a drink can't — fine. Be that way.
When Early Afternoon
Where Igen Weyr

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North Bowl
In the quieter spaces of the Northern Bowl, there is less activity; all is kept serene for young, forming draconic bonds. Beneath the sweep of skies' ever-changing colors, this round little panorama hosts the short distances between the Hatching Cavern and the weyrlings' ultimate destination: the barracks and training grounds. More packed dirt and tiny little hillocks than clean white sand, the floor is an uneven thing, a startling trap for the unwary and the clumsy. Further onward, the Ground Weyrs beckon, a haven for those who may seek medical attention.

"Yeah, well…" K'vvan's grumpy voice cuts through some of the drizzle as he slides down off Nadeeth's neck, the end of a conversation clear. The drill had been uneventful, but tricky, the downpour making the bags of firestone that much harder to catch. One missed bag had sent the pair out of formation badly enough to earn the growl from W'rin that had the pair twitching from the rebuke. K'vvan's long hair is flattened under the dripping rain mixed with sweat, face red with a mix of embarassement and cold.

Sienna hasn't been seen in public all that much since the birth of her twins. She's spent most of her time either in her weyr, or in the office in the barracks. But right now she's hastening through the freezing weather and mud, and rain (Ista..oh Ista…) towards the training grounds, head down and hood up, protecting her from the worst of it. Kehemath is invisible at the moment but her mind brushes welcome and warm against Nadeeth's, and Sienna glances up at the voice heard through the rain. "K'vvan?" Well yeah. There's Nadeeth so it's got to be K'vvan right? "Drills go okay?" She knows that expression.

"No, Weyrlingmaster," A'dan salutes from his shelter under Narloth's outstretched wing, the dragon indulging him, despite longing for the snug dryness of his ledge. "It was a mess up there." He looks to the skies, visible as a dark gray glower spreading away from the wing. If she's inclined to stay, A'dan invites Sienna to join him under Narloth's wing. "Do you want to run the drills again while the weather's still like this," he grimaces up at the sky.

Nadeeth's mind reaches out to Kehemath, a miffed dark yellow showing obvious stains of rain. She reaches to her friends, disgruntlement clear, and some may bleed over to the larger bronze if he happens to be listening. A'dan gets a glower from the greenrider as he turns his attention back to the straps, wet leather hard to unbuckle. "Sienna," is all the greeting she gets before K'vvan replies to A'dan, "No. But he," K'vvan's nods in the general direction of where W'rin has gone, "will probably have us up again because it was piss poor.

Sienna returns the salute and moves to the welcome shelter of Narloth's wing. "Thank you," she says to rider and dragon, frowning thoughtfully at the skies. "Probably," she says, agreeing with K'vvan. "That's rough conditions. I'd think Thread would drown in this weather don't you?" Still…practice, practice, practice?

Narloth's mindscape is a scouring duststorm. Dry and hot. He has no love for this cold, wet weather. He does have a sense of growing alarm and duty as the Red Star nears. It is this he shares. A'dan's brow furrows, a thoughtful look, "You can bet he will." Thread wouldn't let up, so neither would W'rin. He cocks his head at Sienna, "I don't want to count on it." He smiles faintly, "But we could be sure to test that out first, come the Fall." He face grows tight, considering that the culmination of years - decades - of training would be soon put to the test.

"And they say I have no sense of humor." K'vvan's sarcastic tone rips through the silence of A'dan's thought. Nadeeth bats her head against her lifemate, causing him to stumble just a bit from the force.

And for some, the mere months of training. Sienna grimaces slightly, tucking curls behind her ears beneath her hood. Glancing over at K'vvan, the greenrider can't help but smile a little bit. "Time will tell and that's the only thing that will. Until then, we prepare as best we can. I might ask W'rin if we can join you in the afternoon drills…"

"You know what he'd say." A'dan looks sidelong at Sienna. The old mantra 'weyr, wing, woman.' He squints, considering what it would be like to have little ones, so tiny, and face Fall. For some years now A'dan has only had to look after himself and Narloth. He shifts uncomfortably and draws his coat closer. "Let's get out of this cold. I don't think it's doing us any good."


Dustbowl Cantina
To enter the Dustbowl Cantina is to descend: the heart of the ancient tavern lies half underground, at the foot of ancient steps, insulated from summer heat and winter cold by the volcanic rock surrounding it. A windowless place well-lit by glows, it is homey, even cozy, with a certain bijou charm - but for the deep gouges worn in wooden table and solid stone, some //clearly lingering evidence of boisterous brawling. The wall behind the well-polished bar, though, remains free from scars or graffiti, as does the door into the small kitchen, and the stairwell up into the owner's quarters: the barkeep and his staff reign, and they guard their territory well. After all, only a fool angers the source of the booze.//

A'dan holds open the door of the Dustbowl Cantina for the other riders. Their lifemates are off to shelter in the blessed warmth of the Hatching Caverns on high ledges so as not to disturb the broodmother. A'dan hasn't been here yet, and his keen eyes alight here and there noting details, people, furniture, faces. It's comfortable enough.

It's not quite clear why K'vvan is acting budy-buddyish tonight- maybe it's just the cold. But there he is, striding in behind the bronze rider. Warmth radiates from the fire in the corner, slowly seeping into his shoulders as he shrugs out of the soaking jacket. A waved hand is upraised to the bar staff, and jerkes it to a corner near the fire not currently occupied. "You drinking yet?" K'vvan asks Sienna as he slinks towards the seats.

Sienna steps in with the two men, pushing back the hood of her coat and fluffing her limp curls as best she can, more out of habit than by any vanity. "So," she presses A'dan again, "what would W'rin say?" What does the fox say? Then, to K'vvan, a grimace and a shake of her head. "Not yet. Few more days." Which means a few more days until she's fully fostered the twins. Which means…send her pastries and cheese and wine in a few days. Lots of it.

A'dan shrugs out of his soaking cold leathers. Glad to be out of those. He chafes his hands, grinning, face splitting in a web of attractive, weathered creases. "He'd say we need all the good riders we can get." He makes a mental note to see young Mayte in a sevenday and order up a bottle for his old friend and the woman who'd collared him. When the barmaid comes he puts a mark on the table, "First round's on me."

"Forget W'rin," K'vvan says this sourly, having been the product of W'rin's 'need all the good riders' vendetta. The scowl on his face as he sprawls into a chair is firmly lodged. "What the hell is up with all the rain anyway? This isn't blasted Southern, Igen's a desert for Faranath's sake."

Sienna drapes her jacket on the back of a chair and settles into it, self-consciously smoothing out her tunic over her post baby belly. "Thanks, juice," she says and orders, glancing to K'vvan with an understanding smile. Kill him with kindness? "I think I need to take a little trip to a hot sandy beach…"

A'dan snorts at K'vvan, the younger man's flares and grousing taken in stride. When the drinks arrive, he salutes the others with a gesture and drinks. "Winters here are bitter. Harder for the contrast. Where're you from?" he asks, a toss of his head indicating K'vvan. Sienna he only squints at periodically, grinning if she catches him.

K'vvan picks up his drink, sniffing it for a moment then sipping. Apparently his vow to stay away from the stuff didn't apply when the sky let loose. A'dan's question gets a suspicious look from K'vvan, and his eyes flick back to Sienna's for just a moment. There's a question in there, just for her, can he trust A'dan? Not that a 'yes' would change his opinion much, A'dan's simply too new. "Not here." He answers finally, drinking again.

Sienna darts a look back at K'vvan, a subtle mental shrug shared through Kehemath to Nadeeth, the greens close enough that the gesture is conveyed seamlessly. She doesn't know this guy at /all/. She drinks her juice in a few quick gulps and then stands, grabbing her wet jacket. "Forgive me, gentlemen, but I'd rather be in the company of infants. No offense." And with a wink, she's vanishing back into the rain to get her children and spend another evening snuggling. Another precious, precious evening.

A'dan 's quirks a brow at K'vvan. Stability - or at least solidity - is a transitive property that A'dan has assigned Sienna by way of W'rin. He shoots her a puzzled look. He stands at her withdrawal, a bow for the mother seeing to her brood. The Weyrlingmaster he salutes. He sits back down. Curiosity piqued, "Where then?"

K'vvan the flash of insight shows more than anything else how far K'vvan has come from the scared kid who insults female riders. His own suspicions are not alleviated when the strange bronze rider presses the question. "Benden Weyr, came here about a year ago." The why is left completely unsaid and K'vvan stares at the man from under hooded eyelashes, trying to get a feel for the unknown.

"Benden." A'dan swirls the drink in its short glass, looking down at the clear liquid. "They've a solid program." He looks up, pinioning the younger rider, "You train under G'rath or T'rin?"

K'vvan's hand freezes as names long cursed are uttered. If a movie soundtrak followed them around, this would be the point where the music would pause in tension. Anger flares into his dark green eyes, mingled with still repressed pain and he rises from his seat. His voice is low and gruff, "Keep your damn questions to yourself." The cup itself is set down hard, drips of the drink spattering the table. With that the young man strides off to the door muttering.

You overhear K'vvan mutter, "Damn … always … … … a right to whatever they … … him, screw …" to himself.

A'dan stands at K'vvan's hasty departure, sidestepping to get out of the way. He notes the young man's obvious dis-ease speaking of his time at Benden and stores that away. And… then… he finds himself alone all of a sudden. He smells at his underarms, his breath. Is it me? That's all very well, he should probably get back to his weyr to go over his notes in any case. The evening drills would be soon enough and he had some skull time to spend with the analyses that he and Sienna were making on the training practices. He eases back into the damp, cold jacket, partially warmed by the fire. A sunny beach would be very welcome indeed. He downs the last of his toddy and thumps the glass smartly on the table, "Evening," he nods to the barkeep as he pulls his collar up and heads out into the rain.

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