Midafternoon, Spring at Igen Weyr - the beauty of the sunny day marred outside by humidity so thick one could drown in it. But for those inside the chambers death is much slower, and devestatingly mundane. Keroon's Lord Holder has been droning on in filibuster fashion for nearly an hour, and for those seated around the table acting serious are being put to serious test. Even the Lord's only assistant is not immune to his garrulous master; forehead planted in the table, the slow forming of a lake of drool, and the occassional snort of deep sleep. It doesn't seem to phase the man, and it is at this particular moment that Igen's weyrleader tosses a small pebble across the table, clinking it against the head of one of his dosing wingleaders, and shooting the startled man a glare. Not Going Anywhere For A While?

Linny is not so secretive about her utter boredom— elbow on the table, she's got her chin planted in the palm of her head, head tilted to the side as glazed-over eyes stare at the Holder. This may be her area of expertise, but that doesn't mean that it doesn't bore the crap out of her sometimes. Even if she should be paying attention (there could be a test at the end, right?), the goldrider's mind is anywhere but in the meeting. After realizing she's gone a long period of time without blinking, Linny does so and her eyes flick over to Cha'el, going wide with that expression on her face that so clearly reads 'Holy crap, kill me now.'

Kill him. Kill him now! Or sound the Thread alarm. Something. ANYTHING!! Fighting wings. Fighting formations. An interest in the weyrlings being trained up to join the ranks. The guards. These are Cha’el’s fields of interest. Listening to some pompous blowhard. Not so much. However, the Weyrsecond is doing a fairly good impression of giving a shit as the Lord Blabberpants drones on and on, his left-hand twisted in that uncomfortable manner that lefties have and stylus making the occasional scritch-scritch across the parchment before him. He’s taking notes, see? Ooooor….maybe not for that which he so diligently works at resembles a stick figure with a knife stabbed into its eye, blood drip-dripping from its gory socket to pool at its feet forming the words – Death By Boredom. The smack of pebble to wingleader forehead, jerks his attention upward, attention flicking from pebble-smacked to W’rin, a smirk in place for the Weyrleader. Just as he’s about to go back to his ‘artwork’, he catches that look coming from Linny. Cool as a cucumber, the doodle he’s been working on is given to Sikorth to convey to Kaelydith along with the comment – Dryer than Faranth’s tits.

It is a sad state of affairs when W'rin is the one in a meeting who is holding himself together with some sense of decorum, well minus the projectile-as-discipline approach is taking to those who aren't able to at least appear to be on task. And his ability to aim has been getting significantly better recently, due to the frequency of meetings Lord Tirvin needs to sedate his narcissistic appetite. And as muffled trumpet of a speech carried on like horrible background music at a funeral of a person no one liked, the only clue the weyrleader is DYING is that his stylus is pressed down so hard its pushed through the parchment and he is currently trying to tug it out of the wood of the table. People he trusts misbehaving? He hasn't noticed. Yet.

A little grin tugs at Linny's lips as the message is relayed, taking her head out of her hand so that it can cover up her lips, because there's no reason why she should be looking any semblance of happy right now. After she gets herself under control and the hand can be removed from her face, she leans back in her seat, crossing her arms over her chest while eyes go unfocused. Now, to Sikorth, Kaelidyth relays Linny's version of what she thinks Faranth would look like… with dry, flaky tits. The details are, well, gross, and with that passed along to Cha'el, the goldrider's eyes go amused, trying to keep the emotion off of her face. Really, she's behaving. Really really!

Attention briefly distracted by the amusing sight of W’rin trying to surreptitiously tug his stylus free from the table, Cha’el’s hand pauses in further doodling. The incoming ripple across his mind stiffens the Weysecond’s frame and for a moment, he looks like he might be about to throw up at the image provided. Grabbing for his lukewarm glass of water, the brownrider chugs it back and squints at Linny. Quick as a wink, the favor is returned, the image this time of the Lord Tirvin’s head pasted onto the body of a mule, great big honking hee-haw sounds braying forth as he gestures pompously with a hoofed foot.

With all celebration of Arthur pulling Excalibur free from the stone, W'rin wrenches the pointy writing utensil free - and just as surprised as the king the sudden release of pull sends the man's arm flying upward. The Lord Holder gives the giant a perturbed look, but isn't thrown off until he sees the smile on the goldrider's twitching lips, narrowed eyes level on the female as he continues his speech, to her as if it were a private audience. His entire theory on the unfair distribution of beans through out the holds beholden to the weyr will be given to her in full dramatic form, as titilating as it sounds.

Attention is pulled away for a moment by W'rin's arm, brows wrinkled together for a second, and then they are back on the Lord Holder—-ah crap. Now Linny must play the part of the attentive weyrwoman, expression turning polite and interested, as fake as it may be. Really, she does great for awhile. Until Cha'el's image in her head. Before she can stop herself, a bark of a laugh comes out of her mouth, but she's quick to cover it up as coughing, following the initial noise up with more coughs into a fist, even adding to the dramatics of it by reaching for her water to soothe that 'coughing' fit. Over the lip of her glass, Cha'el gets /glared/ at. Oh, it's on, bitch.

Beards are such wonderful things. One of their many uses being that of disguising minute movements of the mouth, such as catching one’s lower lip to prevent a snicker from being freed when W’rin triumphantly jerks his stylus free. Its quiet, and its subtle, but somewhere in the background, Valiuth will receive the muted sound of applause along with the glimpse of the laurel wreath of a champion, the sender, disguised behind a thick fog. Cha’el for his part appears absolutely rapt by the tale of beans even managing a widening of eyes for the bit about a lad named Jak trading his herdbeast for a mere handful of them. In truth, his sly mind has whipped up yet another morsel for Linny to peruse, blue eyes glinting with glee when his earlier one hits its mark. “So what you’re saying, sir,” yes, the Weyrsecond suddenly has something to say, “is that all that work doesn’t amount to a hill of beans?” Such innocence in the sift of his baritone EXTREME interest etched across his features while the goldrider is given the next image via dragon-text: The Lord’s portly wife with matronly chest portrayed as two sagging sacks of beans and the words – Simply Titillating!

Laughter? Laughter! Tirvin stops mid-sentence about the plight of the lowly bean farmer, or maybe it was the plight of woman who has to sleep with the Jak after he ate the beans, in any event someone was having a bad go of life and Linny laughed. LAUGHED, and the Lord Holder is none to happy. The look says it all, you-have-thrown-the-holder-off-his-groove, good thing there are no windows near by for tossing, so instead the man, well known for being a womanizer, is reduced to coughing pointedly at the goldrider's rudeness, hands folding in front of him. He'll wait to finish until she's said something. And he's got no where to be. She's only saved by Cha'el who gets a suspicious glare from the man, and then a slow nod. "Yes. Exactly." W'rin, off to the side, buries his forehead between thumb and fingers.

Not laughing. Coughing. "Sorry," she murmurs for her outburst, placing the water back down on the table and resuming her interest in what the Lord Holder has to say. Cha'el's next image gets no reaction out of Linny; she doesn't even look over at him. But if it's tits he wants to think about, it's tits he'll get. For her revenge, the goldrider sends him an image of herself, completely naked, laying on his bed. After all, she dropped off that rum at his weyr, so she must've taken a quick peek inside. In any case, we'll just say that her hands aren't playing chess and her face looks rather happy about that. Eyes narrow ever so slightly at the Lord Holder for the anger she feels for the brownrider, lips pursed together tightly. Feel her wrath.

If Cha'el ever felt like sharing with W'rin, now would be a good time. Be a buddy.

Cha'el might just have shared that image with the whole damn Weyr given the unexpectedness of it. Whups.

Blah, blah, blah, yackety-schmack, ding-dong. On and on the Lord goes and then dead quiet as he focuses his FULL attention onto Linny. Smiiirk from Cha’el. Quickly swept from his face when the Blowhard levels a reply his way. Taking up the glass of water again (why don’t they have booze at these meetings!?) Cha’el’s just taken a mouthful when that image of Linny slams behind his eyeballs. Oh, he’s feeling something alright but it sure as shit isn’t wrath. It’s an explosive coughing fit when he inhales the water instead of swallowing it and just like that in his moment of near-death-experience, the image is sent spiraling out to the entire Weyr!! WHUPS!

<Igen Weyr> Valiuth senses that: Sikorth thinks « Beneath the drift and drone of a meeting in progress, conveyed as so many vtols buzzing with the occasional bray of a mule, an image is suddenly and convulsively flashed before the minds of every dragon in the Weyr: Its Kaelidyth's, completely naked, laying on a certain Weyrsecond's bed with hands not occupied with playing chess. She is however, alone and apparently rather pleased with herself. Just as abruptly, the image is smothered like a lid set to a pot with a blazing oil fire on the go. WHOOPS!! »"

<Igen Weyr> Sikorth senses that: Winds swirl in lazy amusement as Valiuth is awoken from his fitful slumber by the surprise image, « What is the woman doing? Mine says he has seen better technique, so I can only assume she is trying to clean something. » (Valiuth)

Sudden confusion twists at the edge of Sikorth's awareness. Not pushing, those ribbons twine just on the edge of a thought. That image, of the new gold in the weyrsecond's bed is confusing. A Link is missing- secrets are being kept… for the moment. (From Nadeeth)

Sikorth thinks to you, « I bespoke Nadeeth with: A blank space of stunned silence is all those ribbons will encounter for a couple of seconds and then, a creature never before seen that resembles a sheep, peeks its head, well, sheepishly out from behind a monolith. « My bad. » Comes Sikorth's embarrassed reply. « Kaelidyth's cheated with a sneak attack from the rear. » Is the grumpy addition which probably explains NOTHING! »

Tirvin's anger is rising, his speech impeded by grumpy stuttering caused by Igen's weyrsecond there is a tension in his shoulders, and veins popping out of his forehead. W'rin shoots an angry look over the whiskey glass he is sipping out of, eyes narrowing at Cha'el. But then there's the sudden image of Linny broadcast through out the weyr's mental communication system, and whiskey is both swallowed wrong and spewed across the table. The choking weyrleader's eyes roll, oh-so-slowly, from male to goldrider. "What. The. Fuck.?" He'd sound angrier if he wasn't having to shift awkwardly for comfort. The poor out of the loop holder is in the background of the scene throwing his arms up in disgust and defeat.

<Igen Weyr> Sikorth senses that: Eisheth, amused, speaks. «The Weyrsecond has a present. How lovely.»

Why. Why her? When it's revealed that the image of her meant only for Cha'el has been sent Weyr-wide, Linny's left arm wraps around her chest while the elbow on her right hand it rested against her wrist, her forehead going into her right hand while eyes shut. Skin seems to pale underneath her perpetually tanned skin, and despite the choking fits of Cha'el and W'rin, she seems oblivious. Finally, with a sigh, she picks her head up, spinning her finger to the Lord Holder. "Is there anyway we can wrap this up? We've having…dragon issues." Which is a good way of putting it, no? "Or we'd be happy to reschedule this, at your earliest convenience."

No amount of reassurance is taken from with this answer that comes from the small sheep. The ribbons twist themselves tightly together then pull back, mildsadness for the secret she must keep from K'vvan. «Mine inquires why the silence.» (From Nadeeth)

<Igen Weyr> Sikorth senses that: Sikorth thinks « Dry as an Igen dust storm, Sikorth speaks on behalf of his rider who can't come to the phone right now as he's choking TO DEATH! « She forgot the bow. » For said gift. »

Confusion still rests at the core of those knotted ribbons, not helped by the sudden uptick in wind when those blades shift closer. (From Nadeeth)

<Igen Weyr> Sikorth senses that: No, no matter what angle he looks at it from he just doesn't get it. « A bow seems highly impractical for this particular job. » (Valiuth)

Ever so helpfully, the wingleader sitting off to his left (Aforementioned Pebble Head), claps Cha’el between the shoulder blades, leaning close enough to murmur, “Kudos for ‘tapping’ that.” Tapping it? Get it? Wing, knot, tapping? Says the waggle of the smirking bastard’s brows. Behold the GLARE Pebble Head is rewarded with. “Fuck off!” The Weyrsecond growls under his breath and glances warily first at W’rin and then Lord Tirvin. So not looking at Linny. Nope. No way!! That shit’s about to hit the proverbial sandstorm as it is. “Brainfart.” He mutters to the Weyrleader while the goldrider does her diplomatic best to soothe the Lord’s ruffled feathers.

Sikorth thinks to you, « I bespoke Nadeeth with: There is within the steady purr of thrumming engine, assurance that all will be explained in due time. Just…as soon as his rider has finished having his ass handed to him by the Weyrleader. »

Silence this time, as those ribbons disappear completly, leaving behind only the slight chill of between as a clue to where they have gone. (From Nadeeth)

Tirvin, who has simply given up on anything meaningful happening (nevermind those gathered had given up about the time his mouth opened), simply lifts his eyebrows at Linny's request and shakes his head in disapproval. "You'd really think at your age you'd all have better control over those beasts." And with a huff he and his entourage pack up their things and stomp angrily from the board room, muttering about the stupidity of dragonriders, and that they'd be better off if the dragon's were in control. Which leaves W'rin, slowly pulling himself out of his surprised stupor, and back to the mess that just happened in his council chambers. Where the fuck is Sadaiya when you need her? "EVERYONE BUT CHA'EL AND LINNY GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!" The next 1/2 hour the chamber will be cleared of all, but the three, as W'rin berates them for their behavior - even if it will be a few days before he can make eyecontact with the junior weyrwoman, that wasn't really what they meant when they asked to borrow her. Just another day of Igen's award winning diplomacy.

Sikorth thinks to you, « I bespoke Nadeeth with: Sad Sikorth, is sad when the ice of Between freezes him out. »

Surely, Linny spends that time apologizing profusely, considering that she's a visiting goldrider with hopes of getting placed there, not to mention that her speciality is in diplomacy. Doesn't really make her look great on either account. Of course, her naked body thrown out there for all of the Weyr to see is not brought up. Speaking of that, that in and of itself is the best punishment for the goldrider. Having to walk around the Weyr with riders looking at her, leering at her, surely making comments, male and female alike. We'll hope that this diplomatic disaster is enough for her to think twice before punching someone in the face for making a pass at her. Cha'el, well, he gets but a glance of a glare before she storms out of there. Even if she wants to wish him good luck getting that image out of his head. Not the right time for smugness.

Dragon porn, like internet porn - but only shared with the people you work with.

Kaelidyth links = NSFW!

We stare, because we care.

Stoically, with hands clasped behind his back, at attention with eyes cut straight forward, Cha’el takes the verbal beating from the Weyrleader, his mind frantically pinwheeling for the next ‘bout of ‘splainin’ he’s going to have to do. Only when the reverberation of W’rin’s booming voice has finished bouncing off the council chamber’s walls and Linny storms out, does the Weyrsecond’s gaze cut after her, eyes narrowed and lips pursed. Bloody women playing dirty pool!