Who

Luciana, D'ean, Myziri, Drex (cameo), Zavyr

What

Luciana and Zavyr find themselves together again - in the brig. D'ean gets chewed on s'more. Myziri delivers another pirate there, and recognizes a face from the past.

When

It is evening of the sixteenth day of the fourth month of the ninth turn of the 12th pass.

Where

Southern Weyr - Brig

OOC Date 30 Oct 2016 07:00

 

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"I'm pretty sure it was just to smooth things over, D'cen had to talk Renalde down from … much worse, from the way it looked."


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Southern Weyr - The Brig

It's clean — that's more than can be said for most similar locations around Pern. There are sturdy bars to keep that which would try to leave, in; and sparce furnishing enough to keep those who would want to enter, out. Each private cell is equipped with a latrine and cot; the group cells contain bunks. There is no privacy to be found in the brig of Southern: only meagre are the comforts offered those who break the laws of the land.


D'ean watches as the guards get Zavyr under control and of course he gets the fun of going down there with them and making sure the younger man is locked up and all that so he can report back to D'cen. Of course! The bluerider is quiet for most of the walk, but as they're nearing the cells he says, "Okay, I know this looks really bad on account of the deal we made before, but… D'cen's gonna straighten it out. I'll go check with Igen myself on the details if it's needed. We'll sort it all out. If you were a candidate it should be really easy to confirm everything with them."

"I know better than to trust." Zavyr returns, softly. "Should have left when Sharps told me to go." That's recounted as one of those 20/20 hindsight vision things. "Should have not believed the pirates when they were herding me along in the first place. Should not have come down here. Lots of shoulds. Sir." Could be that the 'sir' was shook out of the lad, because the guard on his left has sent a hard look to the youth. Zavyr's head stays down and that hair obscures his features. "Don't tell R'em I'm in a brig. Don't tell him anything. Please. Damn. I shouldn't have told you people anything." Bitter, bitter.

Luciana hasn't been able to settle since her meeting with Renalde. She's paced her cell like a caged animal, anxious and growing increasingly frustrated at her situation. It's a wonder she hasn't worn a groove into the ground by now. At the sound of more people arriving and the murmur of voices, she'll stop, tilt her head to listen and then approach the bars to try and peer down the row of cells to see who it is. Yes, Zavyr, you SHOULD have listened to her!

"Right now, D'cen needs to focus on getting Rylov back. Nothing will happen to you." D'ean sounds sure of this, but then, he's been sure about a lot of things that really haven't worked out how he expected. "Once they get Rylov, Renalde will calm down. Leevi will be back and he can confirm everything about you and Luciana helping, and you'll both be fine." In a perfect D'ean world that's how things would go. The rider looks to the guards, "You could put him in with her. It's what D'cen would want." Is it? Well, D'ean will take that one for the team. It's the least he can do. The guards seem skeptical about it, but move down to Luciana's cell to open it and shove the young acrobat in with her.

Zavyr stumbles into the pen and swings around to look at D'ean and the guards. No doubt they already took his belt, with its curious accouterments of three brightly-colored fabric balls, several coins and odds and ends. The dagger is keen-edged and lovely, as well. "And will I ever see my things again?" The question is fair; Igen Weyr still has Zavyr's first staff somewhere - evidently the lad makes a habit of touring Weyr brigs. To Luciana, Zavyr sends a bow and manufactures a grin, "Sharps. Seems these fine people have decided that I should reside in here, now. So you are not yet rid of my company." Zavyr's mood has downshifted to rather dark.

Luciana backs away the moment she overhears 'put him in with her' from D'ean. She recognizes his voice, but isn't sure who 'he' is until Zavyr begins to talk. "Oh no… No, no, no…" she chants under her breath as they approach. During their entire exchange, she can only sort of stand there, speechless. Sharp blue eyes dart from D'ean, to Zavyr, to the Guards… but they linger longest on the youth. Did they expect anger? Cursing? There's definitely cursing but it's sort of done in an overly relieved way, like she's been anxiously keyed up for awhile and waiting to hear anything news wise. Zavyr's mood may be dark, but that's just too bad. He's going to be… hugged, by Luciana, whether he likes it or not. Who knew she could even display affection? That is if the youth doesn't evade her.

Zavyr is hugged and after a moment of stiffness, the gesture is returned. Luciana will be able to feel the tremors, barely subdued from casual view and perhaps also hidden by the helpful multitude of layers that dresses out a female's thin frame into something more like an adolescent male's. Had the guards patted Zavyr down - a likely activity - the 'lad' had excused the padding all around his torso as his being a tumbler - he wears the batting to protect his spine. And cobbles hurt when he tumbles on them, otherwise. And he is, incidentally, a performer and not a pirate. But he does not allow himself to be hugged long, and steps back and away and tracks the length and breadth of the cell, looking up and along the walls at its construction. D'ean is not addressed by Zavyr's pale study. Not yet.

D'ean is preparing himself for Luciana's wrath, and he'll just step back and let the guards do their thing. Once they have Zavyr into the cell and have moved on, the rider will rake his fingers through his hair, watching quietly for a moment while Luciana hugs her friend. "He ran into Renalde, is what I gathered, and there was sort of a diplomatic incident forming over it, so D'cen wanted to lock him up." The rider explains to Luciana. "I'm pretty sure it was just to smooth things over, D'cen had to talk Renalde down from … much worse, from the way it looked."

"Lock him up?" There's Luciana's wrath. Nice, cold anger and like hardened steel. She isn't one to scream, but there's no mistaking that she's furious. She'll let Zavyr go, momentarily distracted by the youth's behaviour and distance; not only that but he's quiet and that is just downright unsettling. Never would she have thought she'd be unhappy for the day Zavyr finally shut up. It's short lived though, D'ean soon becomes her target again. "HE," Sharp gesture to Zavyr. "Did nothing! Renalde threatened to kill him when he spoke to me! He's even threatened to kill me! If anyone should be locked up, it should be HIM!" Forget that he's a Lord Warder! And, you know. Politics? Poor D'ean, getting the brunt of it and none of it being his fault.

"I could have gotten away from Renalde, Sharps. But when he started kicking furniture around, people showed up. And blocked the door. And obviously I shouldn't tell the truth. They still think I'm a fucking pirate," the word is spit with vile distaste, in the silence after Luciana's outburst. "And where the hell is Southern Hold anyway?" Then the youth subsides again, swinging into a frenetic pace, likely following the path that Luciana already trod in this small cell. His hands, as if looking for something to do, keep dragging through that mess of badly-shorn hair. He is, at least, clean and garbed in 'new' stolen clothing.

D'ean blinks in silence for a few moments while he tries to mentally mitigate the situation. He draws in a slow breath and lets it out, brown eyes moving between Luciana and Zavyr. "Southern *Barrier* Hold." He clarifies for the young man. "It's up in the mountains to the south, really cold there." Then to Luciana he says calmly, "I told Zavyr I would make sure his story is confirmed from Igen. Renalde's very upset right now. Once Rylov is found everything will calm down. He said he's going back to the hold so you shouldn't have any more visits from him. Renalde, that is. Just, ride out this evening and it'll get sorted out." He holds his hands up as he talks in a visual sort of placating gesture.

"I wouldn't hold your breath. So far, everything seems to be the opposite of what you say!" Sorry D'ean, but Luciana's not calming down as easily. She's no longer looking AS furious but her eyes still hold that steely coldness to them and she doesn't let up in her glaring. "It'd better be! That's two parts of the deal now that have been "unfortunately" changed!" She's bringing up her own situation here too, having had to trade her chance at freedom to ensure Zavyr stayed OUT and free. So much for that? Swearing under her breath, she'll step to try and firmly grab Zavyr by the arm; just to quit him from pacing for a moment. "For what it's worth now? I'm sorry I got you into the this mess, kid. You should have listened to me!" And though she keeps her voice lowered, it'll be overheard easily enough. There's little to no privacy here.

Within one of the cells - not the group cells, but one of the 'nicer' cells meant for one or two persons, are two figures who actually bear a strong resemblance to one another. The older is female, blonde and blue-eyed and somewhere in the late twenties. The other figure, lean but claiming the same height, is a washed-out, androgynous version of the first: Nearly white hair, pale-pale blue eyes, but razor thin and, right now, captured by the first so that the momentum of caged animal is corralled into a circle that has the youth turning to face the woman once more. "There's a long line of folks I should have listened to. You are in fine company, Sharps. And Lord Renalde is also in fine company, joining a short-list of folks who evidently want my blood. If I get loose of this one…" He doesn't finish, but looks over at D'ean, "Might I ask the boon of writing hides and ink and a quill, Rider?"

D'ean takes Luciana's retort quietly, a small grimace pulling at his lips. "I know." He doesn't deny that things have gone much differently than he claimed or expected. "I didn't see everything that happened, D'cen and I walked in on it all." He casts a glance towards Zavyr, then sighs. "Anyway, Renalde is leaving. I should get going. I have to report back to the weyrsecond. I'll come by when I can." To Zavyr he nods, "I'll bring some when I come back." And then he'll quickly leave before Luciana can find other things that he messed up in all of this. This is what happens when you put your faith in someone on a whim! Messes!

D'ean's leaving and gets a nod, but Myziri doesn't stop him to talk since she's currently got her hands full of Drex, though he doesn't seem to be a particularly fractious prisoner. She escorts him to one of the smaller cells, bypassing Zavyr and Luciana's without a glance, and locks him in; wouldn't do to put him with gen pop, since he's gonna squeal like a porcine, right? "You twiddle your thumbs here for a bit. Someone'll be by to ask y'some questions." She says with a little smile. "See ya around, Drex." She heads toward the exit after ensuring the cell is locked, only casually glancing at the two blondes in the cell next door as she passes - then she does a double take "You!" Well, blow her down and slap her silly. Her gaze is riveted on Zavyr, of course. "Fool." Seems Myz has a long memory.

Luciana just stiffly nods to D'ean and says little else, following his exit with narrowed and cold eyed stare. When she thinks she has a moment, she'll try to reach and place both hands to Zavyr's shoulders, her anger thawing more to something of vivid and very real concern. "Are you alright?" It's probably the first time she's ever shown it to him, so openly honest and sincere and he'll see it too: she's been frightened, recently and for probably most of the day. Worried. That moment is fleeting, however, because it's a busy night! Luciana will straighten and move away from the youth, only to startle when she recognizes Drex. The worst confirmed when she hears Myziri use the name. Hastily, she turns her back towards that cell, hoping that'll at least buy some time before recognition. Speaking of? Luciana will cast a suspicious look to her, when Myziri calls Zavyr by his nickname. She'll only watch though, leaving him to address her.

A distantly-familiar name calls out Zavyr's other moniker, and the youth straightens from Luciana's words to turn and look through the bars at the woman who spoke. A singular stillness settles over him for a moment, before he hitches, finally, on the reference: "Myziri." The tenor is the same, but the light better here in the brig, than on the moonslit night in Telgar's desert, where Myziri encountered Zavyr before. Prior to any editorial function has a chance to kick in, Zavyr speaks: "I could not meet you at the goat-inn-place, because she caught up with me, as I reached Telgar. The bounty hunter who was after me." OH. Shit. For someone trying to pass themselves off as non-criminal, the mention of the bounty hunter was likely not bright. Rather lamely, Zavyr continues, "I did try to get word to you, later. Big man, huge bronze, was at Igen Weyr and tried to search me for the clutch that had the brown dragon go *between*, here. I told him to tell you I was sorry I didn't meet you." Sorry, Luciana. That had to be the weirdest ever set of statements, yet. Even from Zavyr. To Luciana, belatedly, Zavyr nods. "Besides being here, alright." 'Here', at the moment, encompasses the entire continent.

Myziri studies Luciana as she waits for Zavyr's response to the pronouncement of one of his (many?) names. Then when the boy does speak, she listens. Only when he's finished does she speak. "You get around." She agrees. "But I'm glad you are…safe?" As safe as one can be in a brig. "Seems t'me, you probably could have saved yourself a world of hurt if you'd come with me that night long ago." A little smile. "I'm afraid I didn't get your message, though. I went to meet you. Sent Aello. Searched. Heard rumors that you'd been…taken." Plenty of people eager to tell her about that little public conflict between him and Kaetlein. "And so now you're here…and I assume tangled up in this piracy mess." Eyes narrow thoughtfully, go from Luciana to Zavyr. "Pity." She's reserving judgment on whether she finds him guilty or not, it seems. "Well. Glad to see you're not dead, any road." She looks as if she's going to leave, but hesitates "You need anything?" For some reason, she has a soft spot for this hapless boy who always seems to find himself on the wrong end of the stick.

Don't worry, Zavyr. Luciana overheard it all and is giving quite the focused stare but she's not one to pry. She won't be harassing him with questions later about it. Myziri is studied as well, with less hostility and wariness than before. If she'd tried to help him before? She's already in her good books. "It wasn't his fault. He's innocent in this and not a pirate…" Never would have been involved, if she hadn't seen him performing and dragged him right into danger — and far worse. After that, she falls silent, turning to settle herself on the edge of the cot and wait.

"I'm not a pirate. I'm an entertainer." Zavyr does, at least, stick to that story. Though, at this rate, he'll be hanged at any rate. "I need a new reputation. A new look and a new life." But Zavyr's lips twitch with that. "I did come down. Right after the Hatching. Because you invited me. It was a place to go. Sorry you didn't get my message." The last is spoken lamely. The youth looks utterly exhausted, of a sudden, with his paleness becoming a salient feature. "Sharps," he realizes he has been remiss, "Meet Myziri. I met her in the Telgar desert, when I was trying to leave my old life. And before a bounty hunter sent by my old…Lord? Caught up with me. Myziri, this is Sharps. She got me off the pirate ship I was pressed onto." She also happened to be the one who did the original pressing, but Zavyr has a rather forgiving heart, all things considered.

"Well, wish you would have gotten a message to me by a more reliable source. And why didn't you come to the Weyr?" Myziri shakes her head. But then he's introducing her to the woman, and she nods briefly "You're the one helped the healers escape." It isn't a question - Myz knows what's going on, it seems. "Too bad you couldn't bring Lord Rylov." She adds, then turns to go "You need anything, Fool, you let me know. I'll see what I can do about getting you out of here." She has to smile though. "You sure are one to get yourself into fucking messes." And then she's gone; she stinks of firestone still and she needs to eat. "I'll stop by later." She's got Drex to look after, after all.

Luciana nods her head stiffly in return to Myziri, "I am and I tried." Is her simple, if quick, reply to the rider's acknowledgement. She'll wait until she's long gone and they're left alone, herself and the youth, in their tiny cell. Silence will stretch, rife with unspoken words and the lingering sense of heightened anxiety and worry. It's with a heavy sigh and a string of low spoken cursing that Luciana finally breaks it. "… I tried to get a warning to you, kid. After Renalde spoke with me. Spent the whole day worried sick, wondering if you'd taken my advice. Hoped that you have but…" Her hands spread in a helpless gesture. Too late, now? Tilting her head to glance his way, it's clear that she's exhausted and running on lack of sleep, let alone a constant high and low of emotions. It's wearing her down, being trapped in here. "I'm sorry, kid." she mutters with every ounce of sincerity left in her right now. "I really am."

Zavyr had slept all day, his lizards coiled around him. Thus, no Hope to visit Luciana, to pick up that signal, to return it to Zavyr. The lad finally pads over to pull one of the blankets off the single cot, and flops it on the ground, settling atop it. The position is, too, quite out of Drex' vantage; he couldn't see Zavyr if he wanted to, right now. Zav looks up at Luciana as she speaks and lifts and drops a shoulder, with a quirk of his lips. "It was a fun run. Besides the firehead and anything involving that poor boy. It's another lesson in why I shouldn't trust people. And why I should quit looking for a group." Baham, Zavyr considers, would say she was feeling sorry for herself. Maybe he'd be right, "I release you," Zavyr murmurs quietly, "Of any obligation to myself, Luciana. You need not be sorry. My fate is my own. And I knew better." Hope, the little misnamed firelizard, does not return that night. Only Valor, the half-grown bronze will come from *Between* and find Zavyr, curled in quiet, open-eyed repose, on the blanket. Despite the reassurances of the bluerider and the greenrider, hope evidently eludes Zavyr this time.

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