==== December 12, 2013
==== Yules, El'ai
==== Yules and El'ai chat briefly about full wing-ridering.

Who Yules, El'ai
What Yules and El'ai chat briefly about full wing-ridering.
When Six months until the 12th Pass
Where Living Caverns

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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.


Late enough that the bulk of everyone has fled the living caverns in favor of better places to be, whether that be the baths or some time in the library the end result is a fairly vacant living caverns. El'ai happens to be tucked away in a corner with some hot soup and a cup of what looks like wine. (/gasp). Lendai's flight has luckily left El'ai not the Weyrleader — as if he had a chance — and so the bronzerider sits at a table. The turns at Southern have weathered the boy somewhat, hardening the cherubic curves and giving a more adult cast to otherwise boyish looks.

It's late, it's cool (for Southern), and that can lead to restless, sleepless evenings; or perhaps there's something else causing that. Whether it's Talicanitath rising or the weather, or something else entirely, Yules is definitely not abed yet, though it might do her some favours. Normally smooth hair is bunched and sticking out, her Weyrling uniform is slightly askew, and there's the faint dusting of shadows under her eyes. She's still surreptitiously rubbing under one eye as she makes her way through the Caverns to get sandwich provisions and a glass that remarkably does not get filled with Klah. Looking for a place to sit, it seems there's really no option; the young brownrider makes tracks over to where El'ai sits by his lonesome and asks with a salute, after rejigging the glass into her other hand, "Good evening, sir." Grave, serious tones, "Would you mind if I sat down?"

The 'sir' is what brings El'ai's attention upwards, blinking those startling blue eyes up at Yules. "What? Of course, sit, sit." It's not been so very long since his last encounter with Maosa's arrival at Southern, but the baby-innocence has started to wear off, and wear down; life is paring him down to the man he'll be come. Looking closer at the brownrider, the bronzerider seems to consider the girl. "Almost done with weyrlinghood, huh?" This query is tossed out with an innocent curiosity.

It's good that El'ai didn't actually say no, because Yules was starting her descent onto the chair, plate landing on the table with the clang of a plate that just hopes the table is close enough beneath it. "Thanks," the Weyrling says courteously enough; though instead of opening pleasantries, Yules starts assembling her sandwich. Wherry meat, lettuce, a spot of jam, and a piece of split crusty roll to wrap around it. When El'ai says something, it takes her a few moments to answer: "Yes. We're almost at a Turn old, now," and the sandwich which was coming to Yules' mouth gets paused, "Well. Desmeth is." Just in case El'ai got confused by Yules at all. Wouldn't be the first time. Yules bites into her food and studies the bronze person back. Swallow, then, "Have you been flying for a while, then?" Sure, there are tales of El'ai, but meeting the man, the myth, the legend? Different, and Yules is, despite the drawn look on her face, not about to let this opportunity pass.

"Huh." Seems to be El'ai's favorite word. He's ignored his dinner now that this specimen of a girl is sitting in front of him. But contrary to the tales, he manages to hold in his enthusiasm but the startling blue of his eyes sparkle merrily. "So you're about to get stuck in a wing, huh? Who ya think will grab ya?" His own Ocelot badge is somewhere on the riding jacket that's slung somewhere carelessly. Dark hair falls across his brow, but he leans in just a bit. JUST A BIT. "Long enough! I'm old enough to fly Thread." The upper end of that sentence comes a little squeaky. Just in case Yules has opinions about this fact, see.

Girls, the other wh… er, the other side of the species. Yules chews on another mouthful of food, watching the younger, but older, El'ai steadily. Swallow. "Yes, I believe so." The question of a wing gives Yules pause, her shoulders giving an unconscious hitch as she leans back. "I would like Ocelot," Yules says steadily enough, and then adds thoughtfully, "Or Lynx is a good wing as well." Something about bitches in britches on browns, perhaps. And speaking of bitches, Yules blinks at her tablemate before her, unable to say much more than, "Good." Perhaps a bit of lifemate prodding passes behind her eyes because Yules tries to expand on that, "In that we'll need everyone. And you're not the youngest rider we have, now." From the way Yules is starting to colour, only the solid clack of teeth finally brings a painful end to that line of explanation.

Not all of the boyish cuteness has been woven out of El'ai just yet, as some of that infectious earnest happiness infiltrates that expression, those eyes. He leans forward, something honest and clean about the way he so eagerly expresses his opinion of, "I haven't been for a while, but I don't want to be anyway. A real man will be ready and I intend to do my sister proud." This is a very important concept to the bronzerider, still young enough to want to Impress an older sister. "Anyway, I think you can lobby the wings — well, that's what I tried to do. I lobbied for my sister's transfer too. Life's something you gotta grab with both hands. Don't just sit there waiting!" A bright smile curves his lips, "Besides, Ocelot is best."

The earnest, young, bucolic innocence is either stunning or scaring the shells out of Yules, because she's watching El'ai carefully. If we poke El'ai somewhere, does he giggle, or break? Best not to try: "To… do your family proud," the words sound like Yules is dragging them out of an old etiquette book, "is very admirable." Even as Yules is nodding mostly in agreement, she can't stop her mouth from opening to ask, "You tried to lobby the wings?" Whether that was her plan all along, the young woman's contralto is soft with bemusement, "But it worked." Sentences; grammar's way of asking questions without sounding like you're asking anything. "And is the Weyrleader… tough? Fair?" This might be some taboo questioning, so Yules softens her voice to not carry far and leans in closer, "Does he train in all the weathers?"

El'ai has no compunction to the timbre of his voice, letting the words fly between them at a slightly-louder-than-normal decibel, "He's fair. He's awesome. He's the Weyrleader." Seems Q'fex can do NO WRONG in El'ai's eyes. "Br'er once told me that Q'fex was the best matchmaker and could find me a women in Igen's brothels." Rather than blind innocent belief, a touch of ironic humor taints the pristine waters of what was once entirely too sweet. Tempered now. "Of course. Why not lobby? I got myself and my sister to Igen, and then to Southern." Well, the Southern was all Bailey, but who's counting that? "I even stepped over those other," twisted like a dirty word, "goldriders to get my sister transferred. It's our Pern. Not theirs." Firm belief, that.

Yules winces as El'ai doesn't quite get the indoor-indoor voice idea, but drops her sandwich to the plate to cradle her chin in her fingers. "And did it work?" she asks suddenly, not a hint of sarcasm in her tone, "Did he find you a woman?" Do tell, curious hazel eyes track El'ai's startlingly blue ones until a crash of crockery in another area has Yules looking away, however briefly; then back to the seeming-so-young bronzer. "I'll think about it," Yules avers, and then wonders aloud, possibly mistaking philosophy for something entirely different, "Not theirs? You mean, the Oldtimers?" Water off a wherry's back at this time of night, Yules shrugs, "They gave me Desmeth." And that's all she has to argue that point right now, reaching for the nearest reason in mind (literally). And speaking of lifemates nearing maturity, Yules takes a long breath before asking, "So, is the Weyrleader a hard taskmaster? Does he like to set easy tasks for people, or hard ones? Does his team all get along and participate in all the things together?" It's unclear what things Yules might be referring to, but she's only getting some air to continue, not letting her witness get a word in edgewise: "How does he solve a disagreement between his riders? When he gets mad, does he yell, or does he go real quiet?" That's hardly the last question the Weyrling has to ask tonight; Yules slowly picks at her sandwich while letting El'ai respond briefly before she interrupts with more questions into the night until at least Yules looks like she's about to fall asleep in her seat, murmuring, "Just one more thing…"

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