Who

F'in, Cha'el with NPCs Kitara and Filom handled by F'in

What

Cha’el happens across an Igenite bronzerider playing hide-and-seek with a pair of children and finds himself mediating a dispute that erupts.

When

It is before mid-morning of the tenth day of the ninth month of the fourth turn of the 12th pass.

Where

Smithcraft Hall, Large Clearing

OOC Date 27 Apr 2015 22:00

 

finn_ham.jpg Chaelgif5.gif

"Mr. Weyrleader, Sir. I have a grievance."



Large Clearing

A shaded trail meanders through the tropical forest into a large clearing. A large stream winds through the northwest section of the clearing, flowing quickly down toward the sea several days away. Wind rustles the leaves of the trees above, casting sun-dapples around the forest floor. To the north a well maintained road leads to the Smithcraft Hall. The area is thickly forested with many pine trees.


"-eventeen, eighteen," Standing off to the side of the stream, his head hidden in arms crossed against the trunk of a tree, a young man leans. Clad in fawn and cream, trousers and shirt, little color to him, save the sunset orange scarf that loops amply about neck and shoulders. "Nineteen, twenty!" He straightens, blinking eyes open and turns, a smile skirling across scruffed features. He snags a jacket — a rider's jacket — folded over a low branch, it's quick, the flash of black and gold and the dustdevil below it, but it's there. "Ready or not, here I come!" The young man turns and looks, this way and that, eyes as blue as the open Istan sky above, peer to. Fro. To again.

In said clearing, there's a large lump of what could be rock if not for the wings tucked flush along its sides. Big and imposing, the 'rock' hunched down, watches on in stony silence. Meetings, they can take a man from one end of Pern to the other. Which might explain the rider coming along on foot following the road leading from the Smithcraft Hall. Tall, well dressed with a flight jacket fit along his shoulders that bears the fancy loops of high rank, he's whistling a tune. Until that is, Sight and sound of F'in is caught. Then, the Weyrleader rocks to a halt and eyes the younger rider through a smudge of amusement. "Hope she's worth hunting for." Is the surmisal of this game the other man seems to be engaged in.

Fro. To. Fro-oooh! HELLO. Mr. Whistling …Weyrleader?! There's a startled blink as the knot is parsed and F'in draws up and salutes that fancy schmancy tangle sauntering his way, the precision of it entirely spoiled by the broad grin on the man's features. "She?" His head tilts before he pshawww waves at the Weyrleader, "Oh. Sure," Another wave at the trees ringing the forest, "Two of 'em, Sir, these twins, really put me through my paces." Still grinning to beat the band, "We met, Sir. About two turns gone." Meeting the Weyrleader of another Weyr whilst a Candidate is memorable. Even when said Weyrleader turns up amidst shenanigans. "You… hey. Your weyrmate. She was pregnant." That's a question, after a fashion. Still grinning.

Having come to a halt, Cha'el stirs back to purpose and with hands in pockets meanders closer to the young bronzerider. "Twins, eh?" Where F'in might have expected amusement to deepen, the trace of a scowl creeps across the Weyrleader's expression. "Mmmm." Currently his only response to having met him before. "She was." Focus latches intently on F'in as if Cha'el might be considering leaping forward to grab him in a chokehold. "Aye. She was." Something shifts in the depths of ocean blue eyes. Perhaps a tinge of humor being kept in check by that grim expression now in place? "We have twins." Notice the tightening of skin about his eyes in the manner of papa bear eyeing a thieving cub that might seek to mess with his own. "Girls." Not grinning. Though that flicker of something else at play is becoming harder to contain and his jaw grinds.

There's a rustle across the way and F'in's eyes go over Cha'el's broad and set shoulder, "Shhh, shh." Because silence helps in Hide and Seek. A hand, fingers spread, index tipped highest to shush the Weyrleader. F'in tilts his head. He blinks alarmed… noticing Sikorth for the first time. Serious camoflage. Sikorth's keener senses might sense a presence there in that undergrowth. A bright and active mind bubbling with wicked amusement. And elsewhere… another. The rustling subsides and all there is to hear is the babble of the stream on its seaward venture and the wind in the trees and the cries of avians. "Dang!" He smiles, eyes lighting, "Twins? No kidding? Man," he shakes his head, planting hands on hips, "I thought twins were rare. Girls, huh?" Still grinning. Oblivious. "They're what? 'bout turns now?" He shakes his head. How time flies! His gaze drops, eyes distant, remembering. The smile gutters out in a wash of shadowed pain and flickers back, like a candle near snuffed by the passage of wind. And then, glowing again, as if the breeze had never passed. His voice lowers, "Sir, your dragon. Can he help?" F'in's chin tosses out vaguely in the direction of the rustling.

Finding himself shushed by a stripling, the Weyrleader hikes a brow and looks even less impressed than before. Slowly, he turns a look over his shoulder but not immediately seeing anything, leaves it to his bastard brown to keep an eye on things and returns the full brunt of his attention onto F'in. "They are. Identical. Coming up on two turns. Still babies." Forgive the nature of the protective father if he maybe over emphasizes that last word. "I remember you." Just in case the bronzerider thought Cha'el's memory might be faulty. Longer and in deeper silence he regards the cheerful chap before him. "Help you find these twins of yours?" Now a smile cracks but its one that were F'in one of his riders, he would recognize it as something that doesn't bode well. "Sure, he can. Right, Sikorth?" Said dragon rouses himself with a strange creaking sound and swings the brunt of his attention onto the Igenite and then sloooowly licks his chops.

"HEY!" There's a scuff of sound — up! Leaves filter down on the summer breeze. And bark debris. Into F'in's hair and "Ach!" eyes as he looks up, startled, flinging an arm over his eyes. "No fair! That's cheating!" Shrill indignance. The piping voice of a young boy. "Kitara! Dragons are cheeeeating!" Rustling. Across the stream. A pale face peers out from the brush. "That's no fair!" F'in barks a laugh. "Nuh-unh!" He's blinking rapidly, painful, hand dashing at his eyes, but still grinning upwards. Yes, still grinning - F'in's face must HURT. Or else he has cheeks of steel. "No, you said Rhakanth couldn't help." He leaps up, making a swipe for the boy's boot. There's no chance he'll snag it but the boy tucks his leg up anyway. Indignance! "That's no fair! Mister! Tell him that's not fair!" F'in laughs again at that, "Uh," he clears his throat, "That's Mr. Weyrleader Sir to you, Filom." Kitara is stalking across the clearing, stiff-legged, bristling adorably as only a pre-pubscent girl can. Incoming.

A sudden commotion and vegetation being flung upward and instantly turns of training come into effect that have Cha'el instinctively throwing an arm across his face, twisting his upper torso away from it all. Here and there a leaf might settle into dark hair starting to curl for need of a trimming, but he's mostly unscathed and his vision is free when he whips back around again with a low growl beginning to form in this throat. But then he's presented with the sight of …children? From F'in to the boy he goes after and then to the girl that appears his gaze skips. Confounded. Sikorth in the meantime, suddenly goes from blocky rock bastard, to big ole teddy bear and sends a whuffling greeting Kitara's way. "These are the twins?" Finally, amusement breaks free and the Weyrleader rubs at the back of his neck in a faintly sheepish gesture. "Siblings of yours I presume."

"Your dragon looks… hungry." F'in notes, smile faltering a bit under that intent regard he's under — just noticed — before the dragon turns to rocky goo at Kitara's stomping form. Her face is screwed up. Fist planted on her hips. She curtsies to Cha'el. Stiff. "Good day, Sir." Polite. Curt. She straightens, face brightening. "Mr. Weyrleader, Sir. I have a grievance." Stomp. For good measure. "I ask a ruling." She lifts her chin imperiously and there's a distinct impression that there'd be stuck out tongues if the Weyrleader weren't here. Oh. Wait. F'in is totally sticking his tongue ou— what? Nope. Nopenopenope. He didn't. Cha'el didn't see anything. Filom has scrambled down and posted up by his sister. The likeness is clear. "Yeah. A grievance." Croak. A hasty bow, awkward. "Sir." F'in draws up, as dignfied and Grinny McGrinnerson can appear. "No, Sir. All my kin are in Igen." And no explanation of just who these children are.

"Naw, he's just real protective of twins." Cha'el's expression turns shrewd despite the relaxation of features leveraged into place now. "Don't like nobody messing with his girls." And there it is, the crux of his earlier disgruntlement. Set aside when Kitara executes that adorable display of manners and is then joined by her brother. "A ruling, huh?" The Weyrleader scrapes a thumbnail across his lower lip to disguise the smile that threatens and glances at F'in just in time to catch…him sticking out his tongue? Brows and mouth twitch but are forced into obedience and instead adopt a sombre line. Hands clasp behind his back in a most formal pose and the three before him are considered. "State your grievance, young lady." The floor is first opened to Kitara while F'in will find amusement in the look that flicks his way.

"That's a st… an unusual fixation," says the man whose dragon is deathly afraid of spinners and has him shining glass baubles over foreign Star Stones to make Foretellings. F'in looks at Sikorth and grins at the happy whirling he's turned on Kitara. He nods. "That make two of us." Clink. Clink. CLACK. Oooooooh. F'in finally works out Cha'el's disgruntlement. "Three of us." Kitara narrows eyes at F'in, her little arm flinging out to stab a finger at the bronzerider, "He said tha-" The boy elbows his sister, whispering low and urgent. "Kit, that's not how yer s'posed to do it." Sidebar. "Yer s'posed to say his whole name." Kitara's face screws up, "You're not the boss of me, Filom. Daddy sai-" F'in clears his throat and looks down at his boots. Kicking at a pebble. Hey pebble. Don't mind these very serious proceedings. The two look over to him and then up at the Very Grave Weyrleader. "Oh. Um." Bobbled curtsy. Hasty bow #2. Less awkward. "F'in, bronze Rhakanth's of," uh, "Igen Weyr promised he wouldn't use a dragon to find us." Narrowed look. Filom pipes up, "We seek a dress for his breeches of…" blink, he shrugs, wide-eyed at Kitara. Kitara shakes her head. F'in clears his throat again supplying a murmured, "Contract." to the floundering pair. "Contract!" The two pipe together, pinning intent little stares up on Cha'el.

There's a tight-lipped smirk that drops onto F'in when finally he parses what had really been at play and then Cha'el turns the full brunt of his attention to the matter at hand – The grievance against the younger rider. "Mmmmm." Contemplation hums in the back of his throat and he tips a look up to the sky. More to hide the hard time he's having keeping a smile off his face than anything else. "I see." Back to the complainants his gaze goes and then over to the offender in question. "F'in, rider of bronze Rhakanth out of Igen Weyr. Did you or did you not make use of a dragon to ascertain the whereabouts of these fine young people?"

F'in draws up. He's been grinning or trying not to grin this whole time, so the poor restraint makes no nevermind to him. "Stop laughing. This isn't funny. You che-" Kitara elbows Filom. "-eated." Quieter, trailing off. F'in schools his face to solemnity, eyes dancing. "No, Sir, Weyrleader. I did not. I used my eyes when they popped out of their hiding spots to accuse me." He squares his shoulders, looking off into the middle distance, shifting feet as he tucks his hands behind his back at parade rest.

Continuing to maintain that gruff air of judge and jury, Cha’el looks from accused to defendants and back again. Behind him, Sikorth grunts and fastens an intent look on proceedings suggesting he may be the ‘jury’ in this scenario. “Do you swear by your dragon’s egg?” The Southern Weyrleader finally asks of F’in.

At the rebuke from Filom, F'in makes a game effort to look very grave and accused. The oath that he's being asked to swear is no small one and he blinks momentarily, fixing the Weyrleader with a surprised look and then looking intently at Filom and Kitara. "By Rhakanth's egg, I do so swear, Sir." Say that three times fast. The bronzerider's clear blue eyes return to the middle distance, his face fallen easily now into neutral planes, the bright blue of his eyes pinned forward.

It is indeed a grave oath for a rider to swear by but when F’in steps up to the plate and does so, Cha’el rewards him with an approving nod of head before turning his attention to the two children. His eyes twinkle with appreciative amusement for the scenario as a whole. “Bronzerider F’in, has given you the most sincere vow a rider can. Are the pair of you prepared to accept his words as truth?”

"But he did!" Filom's chin comes up. "He was gonna ask your dragon to find us! I heard him!" But the faltering of F'in's ready smile has Kitara's eyes gone a little wide. She cocks her head, small face smudged with dirt, where she rubbed at her cheek. "Sir?" She raises her hand. Polite little thing, "If he's lied… what happens?" She swallows, "To him." F'in's brow twitches. For all that this is redress of a minor grievance in a child's game, he's just sworn a very serious oath. Kitara's uncertain tone sends a little shiver of alarm up his neck. "Even if he didn't mean to."

“Ah, but going to ask and actually asking, are two different things, are they not?” Cha’el puts to the little girl, bending slightly so as to catch her eye. Attention flicks quickly sideways to F’in and lips twitch about a smirk. “He has sworn by his dragon’s egg. Therefore, if he has lied, this will be a matter for the dragons,” a nod goes to his own watching on with great interest, “to decide.” Sikorth in turns bares his teeth in the equivalent of a draconic grin that holds the idea of some or other onerous plan being hatched.

"Yessir," the two answer in eerie harmonic unison. They share a look, Filom begins, chin still lifted, "Um. Sir," he glances at Kitara who won't meet Cha'el's eyes. Or F'in's, "If he knew we'd call out 'cause he was cheating, that'd, um," Kitara digs a toe in the dirt, Filom drives on, "That'd count, wouldn't it?" F'in blinks, eyes widening. He's trapped. He had — in fact — promised not to use Rhakanth to search for the children. And that's the question he'd answered when Cha'el had put it to him, because in truth, he hadn't. But… Cha'el's question hadn't been that. The tall bronzerider swallows, "I promised not to use Rhakanth, Sir. Not 'a dragon.' But," he clears his throat, "That's not what you asked me." He lied. On Rhakanth's egg.

Suppressing a smile, Cha’el gives a small shake of head. “No. That was a clever ruse on bronzerider F’in’s behalf. Its not cheating, it’s calculating. Playing on another person’s weakness.” Which in itself isn’t fair when the disparity of age makes the playing field uneven and so F’in earns a look next. “Mmm.” Contemplative, the older brownrider falls to silence and takes everything into consideration even glancing once again to his dragon initiating a mini mental conference. “Our ruling is this.” Sikorth is included. “While bronzerider F’in didn’t actually cheat in the true sense of the word, he did mislead you with clever wording. And so.” Cha’el straightens and lowers his voice to add gravity to his words. “You are now both due a short flight around the clearing on his dragon by way of compensation.”

"But, I didn't!" Now who's affronted? "I wasn't luring them out!" F'in splutters, his demeanor breaking at Cha'el's pronouncement. "I cheated asking for Sikorth's help. But I didn't do THA-" The young bronzerider's teeth clack together as he realizes he's talking over Cha'el, rest of his rebuttal bitten off. In truth, F'in always cheats at bets and contests. Ask anyone. Age is not a consideration. Never play cards with him. Or always play cards with him. His face is screwed up, brows furrowed mightily as Cha'el and Sikorth confer. The pronouncement of his guilt is… fair. He'd twisted the words, there's no question. But the deeper manipulation is not at issue. The sentence earns that smile back onto F'in's face and a flicker of pale eyes towards the Weyrleader. The young man straigtens and salutes, "Thank you for your judgment, Sir." The two children are talking in low, urgent voices, "I get to go first!" They say in unison. "No, me!" Also unison. F'in clears his throat at the twins who blink and turn to gape at the Weyrleader. Kitara blushes and drops into a curtsy, Filom blushes too, collects himself and bows. "Thank you, Sir," they pipe together. Kitara tugs Filom's sleeve and nudges her head at Sikorth. She clears her throat, "And you, Dragon Sir." It's a new title. They curtsy and bow again. "Me first!" Kitara rounds on Filom. F'in purses his lips and clears his throat again, "First one catch me a snipe gets to choose." Filom freezes. Kitara freezes. The look at F'in. Cha'el. Sikorth. F'in. And in a flurry of shoves and flying limbs they're off. "I wasn't joking, Sir. They really put me through my paces." He laughs, scratching at the back of his head, grin slipping wide, "Two girls. You're in for it."

Watching the various reactions to the ‘sentence’ passed, Cha’el rocks back on his heels and finally allows that smile its freedom. It’s a warming change of pace compared to some of the situations he’s had to preside over. “You’re very welcome.” He says to Kitara and Filom giving a snappy salute in return to their curtsey and bow, chuckling when F’in delivers a workable manner in which to decide who goes first. Tracking the children as they scurry off, he in turn starts toward Sikorth pausing at the big brown’s side with a hand to straps readying to mount. “Children are our future. Its our job to ensure they’re safe exploring life’s boundaries.” Maybe there’s meant to be a lesson for F’in to take away from that, or it could be that he simply speaks of his own pair of rambunctious youngsters. In short order, he’s mounted, strapped in and touching two fingers to his temple in farewell and then Sikorth launches straight up in a flurry of powerful wings, scattering debris in his wake.

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