With such a dreary day there's little to do but take a break; after all, even businesswomen need that odd day off. Sevreni has chosen to spend hers in the library with a cup of extra-sweet klah and a blanket. She's ensconced in one of the deeper armchairs, socked feet up in the chair and blanket neatly tucked in around her. The book on her lap is thick, dusty and apparently very interesting, given the way she has her nose stuck in it. One hand is lazily wrapped around a warmed mug, and there's a small, slight smile at something she's reading.

Early morning drills done, one young rider has opted to seek solace from the frigid drizzle within the hallowed halls of the archives. S'yn wears his black flight leathers with the emerald tunic, the Lynx patch sewn on his shoulder and the simple wingrider knot on the other, a mug of steaming klah in hand. Gloves have been tucked onto his belt and it seems that his flight helmet has been left behind somewhere, his short locks a bit disheveled from its use. The denizens of the library aren't particularly paid attention to initially, the youth more keenly interested in escaping into another world it seems, his long strides carrying him into the rows of books and scrolls in search of something, though what has perhaps not yet been determined as keen amber eyes scan the shelves in search of intellectual sustenance.

There's a tickle from the corner of her eye, a slash of black-and-emerald that draws attention. When Sevreni lifts her head to have a good look there's a blink of curiosity — she's definitely not used to seeing riders that young — and a bit of a stare. Still, seconds later she's back to her book, giving a happy sigh at the almost-too-sweet taste of her klah. Pages ruffle as she turns them, and silence reigns for the moment, allowing those inside the library to hear the far-off drumming of another bout of rain starting. Winter in Southern. Gotta love it.

Absent sips of klah intersperse S'yn's perusal of the shelves, the youth either used to the looks his age garners or else oblivious to them. His head tilts slightly at the sound of a renewed rush of rain, eyes going out of focus as he communes with his lifemate for a moment and then turns back to his self-assigned task. Deft fingers come to curl around a bound spine in claim, pulling the book free to examine it, the klah mug set aside for a moment so he can flip through the pages slowly, skimming the contents before deciding to keep it. The mug is taken up again and he saunters over to where the reading nooks are, coming to perch in a comfortable chair not far from Sevreni, the long lean frame slouching comfortably as the book is perched open on his crossed legs and held open. His own little world? So it would seem.

"You are a very unusual boy, aren't you?" That's Sevreni's first comment, and hardly a surprise: young, bronzerider, and tall, taller than she, which is no mean feat. Her eyes, when they lift from the book, are dark and distant, though not without kindness, and she uses one finger as a bookmark so as not to lose her place. The other hand, still curled around the klah mug, lifts it idly to her lips and she sips thoughtfully, taking the time to look at him now. It's a critical inspection, from the strange amber eyes to the long riding boots and the sloppy bow-ties. The mug is waved idly: "Sevreni."

It takes a few seconds for the commentary of the tavern owner to percolate through S'yn's psyche as being actually directed at him, as opposed to… some other random lad in the library. Amber eyes roll up from the paragraph he's reading to regard Sevreni with a glint of curiosity as he takes in the older woman with his hawkish gaze that belies his age with a keen intellect swirling behind those orbs. His examination only takes a few seconds before he offers her a lopsided grin and a dry chuckle, echoing the mug-wave. "S'yn, bronze Iaxryth's," he offers by way of return before taking a long pull from the cooling beverage. "I suppose I am," he admits after lowering it again, the book turned over in his lap to mark his place as he turns his focus toward conversation instead of his character contemplation. "But aren't we all in some way?"

The woman considers him for long moments. Then, "No," she says quite decisively. "Some people are quite boring. I will admit, however, that this Weyr has the highest number of unusual people I've seen." Gently stated, not combative, but certainly firm of position. Sevreni shifts her lean frame over to the other hip, reaching down to tuck in a slip of blanket that came loose. No flower, she, certainly too lean and firm-willed to qualify for traditional beauty; "May I ask how old you are?" Certain to be shocked, she, to hear the real total. Still, there's politeness too, a dip of her regal head: "My compliments to Iaxryth. I hope he is beneath an overhang at least, the weather is quite miserable."

A low chuckle rolls from the bronzerider at that firm declaration, the corners of his eyes crinkling slightly with the wry smile that curls his lips. "Perhaps disinteresting is another form of unusualness that goes under appreciated." Another long pull of the klah is taken now that the beverage is of optimal drinking temperature and then lowered to rest on the arm of the plush chair. Features cant in a lopsided expression of amused tolerance as the woman inquires as to his age, clearly having received this question many times before. "Fourteen Turns," he responds simply, his tone smooth though his eyes are clearing gauging her reaction to this unusual information, though more out of curiosity than anything. S'yn's smile deepens at her well wishes to his dragon, inclining his head politely toward her. "Our thanks and yes, he's found himself a suitable overhang to shelter in from the sleet. He appreciates your concern." Eyes go out of focus briefly and a ripple of expression flickers across his face too quickly to read before being smoothed into that polite but nonchalant attentiveness once more, eyes returning to Sevreni's own.

Sevreni's laughter isn't often heard, but it sounds now, short and soft. "I must say one of the most fascinating things about the Weyr is watching riders' expressions. One always wonders what is said to make them spasm like that." His age earns little but an eyebrow from her; dragons know best, isn't that the motto of any Weyr? Still, "Younger than I thought, almost half as young as I am. I'll not expect to see you in the Kitten for another two turns or so then, unless you're dicing or playing dragonpoker." Statement, yes, and question all wrapped into one, a neat economy of words. The last of her klah is sipped, and her book flicked open to the right page again, though she doesn't look away from the boy just yet.

"Well, I cannot vouch for what another pair might be conversing about, but I'm afraid Iax says things that aren't always safe for polite company." S'yn chuckles a little ruefully. "I might think he's been listening to some of your patrons if I didn't know better." The inquiry-statement is brooded upon briefly as he takes a long sip of the mug, nearly polishing the klah that is starting to go into the too cold zone rapidly. "I'm afraid I've no Bitran in me, blood or bone. I gamble often enough with my life to have a stomach to loose my hard earned marks atop it." Though his humor is maudlin his tone is cheerful, the rich aureate eyes not overly dampened by such things; else it is a good facade he dons. "Still, curiosity might compel me if naught else, though I suppose it depends largely on if you allow those of my age within the confines of your domain?"

"No drinking there, certainly, until you're of age for it," Sevreni admits calmly. "And no chasing the girls either, they're there to work and not to play footsie with any riders." To her credit, the statement makes it clear that that ruling goes for all riders, not just the young. "Else, I say you are as welcome as all, since we serve food there if you're tired of Weyr fare, and there are often dragonpoker games that are not dependent on marks. It'll give you a chance to meet others as well." All to the good in her opinion. With a decided movement she makes sure her mug is empty, unfurls her legs from the blanket and folds it as she stands. "A pleasure meeting you, S'yn. Clear skies… much clearer than the moment, I hope."

S'yn chuckles softly before polishing off his mug. "I have no interest in either for the moment, so you can rest assured I shall cause no fuss." The offer of food and games for fun rather than fiscal gain strike his fancy, the prospect of social engagement at least briefly entertained. "I appreciate the offer, madam, and shall certainly contemplating taking you up on such hospitality in the future." His formality is likely born of unfamiliarity with the woman more than anything, though he seems genuine in his acceptance of her offered entertainment. "As it was a pleasure meeting you, Sevreni. I look forward to further encounters." Far too naive to realize any possible innuendo in his statement the young bronzerider simply smiles at her. "Our thanks. Stay warm out there and dry besides. The ailments here at Southern can be downright unpleasant." He watches her go for a moment before turning his book back over, content to lose himself in the pleasant fiction and escape the gruesome reality of life as a rider, if only for a few candlemarks.