Who

Dione, R'ik

What

When faced with a dark, scary place, Dione does not do the sensible thing, and gets the fright of her life.

Sexy Weyrleader ghost half-nudity, please don't click picture at work.

When

It is midmorning of the thirteenth day of the fourth month of the seventh turn of the 12th pass.

Where

Dark Cavern, Antechamber, Secret Garden, Igen Weyr

OOC Date 03 Mar 2016 22:00

 

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Dark Chamber

This area is little more than an anteroom and currently piled high with both rubble and debris, looking almost intentionally so as the two are jumbled together in ways that do not suggest some kind of collapse. In fact, the wall appears solid, if the strip visible at the top is any indication. Whatever it was used for in the past, now it's just a filthy, dirty mess that will take some sweat and strong backs to clean.


In an area that appears to be little more than a gaping hole clawed out of the earth and rock, stands a raven-haired male with his hands in his pockets and head tilted back. He's staring at something just above his head. Breaking from stillness a hand pulls out of his pocket and lifts toward the lintel that currently holds everything up. Did he just hide something up there? There's a glance over his shoulder back into the stores and then he's on the move, heading toward an antechamber on quiet feet.

Dione has never set much stock in this sleuthing business, but it's like the whole Weyr has detective fever in the aftermath of poor Sven's death, and really, it's just too good a plot to miss out on. Fieranaoth had his thing to say as well about plotting in the absence of information, which led her down here in her dustiest clothes carrying a glowbasket. No, she's not good at this. Still, there's an abrupt halt from her as she sees someone moving up front, and she peeks around the corner… yeah, that's a guy, no mistaking that back. Softly, softly she starts to step closer, craaaaaning to see what he had done to the lintel, and trying to see who it is she's so inexpertly following.

Is that a scrap of black material peeking out of a small gap between the lintel and the rock or is it just a trick of shadows on the eye. Perhaps if Dione were taller, like say with the reach of arm a guy of six foot might have, or there were a ladder nearby, she'd be able to verify what her eyes are telling her. Meanwhile, the male with broad shoulders and narrow hips keeps moving with only the smallest turns of head, barely even chin to shoulder. Does he know she's on his tail? He has no means of light with him which must surely indicate his familiarity with the path he's on.

This is better right? Brighter, with glows on the walls and less creepy looking it even looks like it's been recently scrubbed. Just one problem though. That guy that Dione was following? He's disappeared. How sure is she that he was even corporeal? Does she know what Sven looked like? Would she be able to recognize a ghost if one crossed her path?

Dione would absolutely be able to recognise a ghost if it crossed her path. They're a staple in some of her novels. Granted, she wouldn't recognise a ghost of Sven, but perhaps she'll luck out and it would be an aeons-old, super-hot Weyrleader trapped down here with a penchant for ruffly shirts and casual chest-baring. Even in the event that that's not true, she breathes a little easier as the glows create a more welcoming space in the dark. Setting her glowbasket down on one of the benches, she looks around the room, moving to and fro to see where a ghost's exit might be. In the end she frowns, and is reduced to patting gently on the walls lest an entrance is hiding somewhere in the confusing play of shadows from the glows.

Sorry Dione, no super-hot Weyrleader type ghost here, just a couple of neatly stacked boxes that cast long shadows. And silence thick and heavy - A veritable vacuum of sound. Until that is, her investigation leads her a shade too close to those boxes. Several things happen at once: A strong arm chorded with muscle snaps about her waist while a hand clamps over her mouth. Then, in a low rasping growl that carries thick lashings of Telgar's countryside, "Why are you following me?" Unmistakeably male.

Dione sure hopes that the arm has scream protection, because she absolutely loses it. It's not even a well-mannered girly eek, it's the kind of scream that shatters glasses and eardrums alike, and it would have been a fearsome thing if her mouth had been free to give uttering to it. The person belonging to the arm can surely feel it, and the sudden fight to get free because hell no, she is not going to die in a hole in the ground no matter how old it is or how hot the ghost is. With adrenaline running rampant through her system, that scream echoes in the corridors of her mind, the intricate palatial residence that Fieranaoth exists in, and somewhere in the weyr there's a tremendous roaring snarl from the massive blue, giving rage-filled utterance to his rider's fightened plight.

A shudder drives through Dione's 'attacker' though it has more to do with the anger from her blue caught by the bronze lounging nearby and flung into his rider's mind. As if she's suddenly burst into flame, she's quickly released. When she turns, she'll find one jet-haired Jaguar bronzerider scowling down at her with sharp pale eyes pinned to her. "Tell him you're okay."

Dione stumbles away from the hold on her and concentrates on a different hold, that being the one on Fie that stops him from sending out an all-call of terror. She slumps forwards, hands on her knees, and shivers as she concentrates. It takes some time to talk the blue down - seriously, has he met Fieranaoth - and she's almost sweating with the effort as she straightens and turns. Her eyes narrow in turn, and she reaches out to give him a smack on the first part she can reach, nervous terror making it hard enough to sting somewhat. "You ass!" she calls at the familiar face looming over her. "Do you want me to die from fright?" R'ik can be a scary mother, but she's worked with him before, and right now her indignation makes her glare at him mutinously.

R'ik neither attempts to soothe frayed nerves nor avoid well-earned retribution that lands a slap of palm to his chest. He just stands there staring hard at her. Eventually, stubbled features a contrast of shadow and light, he breaks his silence, "No, I want to know why you're following me."

Fulminating, Dione rests one hand on her hip and fantasises about kicking him in the ankle. "I'm here because I'm curious, of course, and I can't help it that you're wandering down here looking like you're the second coming of the Coin Killer," she points out, fright making her tones exquisitely elegant, vowels like cut glass. She sniffs and turns away, scooping up her glow basket to examine the walls again. "I thought you were a ghost, okay?" she snaps out as she searches. All mentions of chest-baring are held under tight lock and key. "Everyone's talking about this place." Her eyes narrow as she looks at him over her shoulder, and she budges away a little towards nominal safety. "what are you doing here?"

R'ik would probably even offer her his ankle if it meant his junk was safe from being kneed. Arms fold across the breadth of his chest and an inky black brow hikes upward. Mention of the Coin Killer draws a black expression into place. If he could, R'ik would dig him up and kill him all over again for what he did to Hannah and the others numbered among his victims. "I ain't no ghost." Duh, Captain Obvious. "It's thattaway," he goes on to say jutting his chin in the direction that he had been heading in. "If you wanna gawk at dried bloodstains." Voice flat and emotionless with something hard snapping behind his eyes.

Dione looks at the dark hole, squinting at it. Then, back to R'ik, who seems to be glowering. Then back at the hole. Then back to R'ik, and proves that girls never really do grow up in certain aspects. There are puppy-dog eyes there, and a slight tightening of her jaw. "I'm kind of frightened now," she admits, scooting back closer. "Come with me? Please?"

Not having answered on why he's down there, R'ik eyes Dione when suddenly she's got the jitters. But since he was headed in that direction any way, he simply turns and heads off toward that dark hole, expecting she'll just follow him. Discarded in the shadows he'd jumped her from, glinting dully, lies a chisel. There's a name etched into the handle but the letters have been worn through turns of use. All that now remains is, a U, two illegible letters, an I and then another letter that segues into something else."

Right at the heart of the matter is the fact that whilst Dione is a rider, and faces Thread almost every day of her life, there are some experiences she's not had, experiences which R'ik probably just scowled at and they died. Totally ignoring the glint in the shadows - sorry, vaguely familiar chisel! - she scoots on after R'ik as he heads in that direction. She is in fact so close to him that she might even attempt to tuck one finger into one of his belt loops, breath coming fast and furious. "It's safe, right? I mean, with you here and all. Totally safe. Have you been here before?"

Look, coming up behind R'ik is never a good idea and has already earned more than one person an instinctual reaction that left them with a few bruises. BUT, this is Dione and he knows Dione is there and she'd said she was scared so maybe the hook of her finger in his belt is expected. "Safe?" That earns the bluerider a strange look. One part dubious, the other quite unexpectedly, gathered in a devil's grin. "Depends who you're talking to." And then there they are stepping into the secret garden, her last question conveniently overlooked. It's beautiful and entirely unexpected in contrast to the route taken to get there. "Huh." That's R'ik's oh-so eloquent response. So maybe he hasn't been here before? Either that or it has something to do with the way he's intently scanning the area. "Not a bad place to die." Eerily pragmatic.

"Oh, very funny," Dione mutters as she lets go of the poor man's belt. "I don't want to die here, no matter how scenic it might be." There's a short, thoughtful pause. "And you're not allowed to die either, unless we see that ghost… okay, moving on." Moving on swiftly. "It does have a certain homey charm, I wish I had a small garden in my weyr like this." She carefully peeks around the edge of his arm, then scoots to the side to stand next to him, lifting her glowbasket. "What do you think this place was used for?"

Dione is afforded a wry tilt of mouth. "Yeah, I'm a regular stand-up comedian." No. No, he's really not. Hope to Faranth he never tries to tell you a joke, Dione. A snort follows next and R'ik breaks away from the bluerider's side to take a meander about the place moving with gait of a man exceedingly aware of his surroundings. Pausing near an old desk, he runs a finger through the dust gathered across its top and then glances toward the flower beds. "A garden?" Stick dry humour there. With more thought attached and a shrug of broad shoulders, "Coulda been some secret hideout for weyrwomen." Because he could totally see Southern's four goldriders disappearing to such a place to nibble pastries, braid each other's hair and do whatever it is women do when they congregate.

Dione does not have an embarrassment of female friends, so she just shrugs at the thought that it was a secret retreat. She chooses to make her way to the little pool that she can hear, kneeling down next to it to plunge her hands inside and splash water on her face. From there she gently touches a fern before standing. "It's kind of ironic, really, dying in a place like this. I wouldn't exactly call it peaceful, but it's certainly something." With a turn, she stands on tiptoes to peer at the window, then out.

Realizing that he's probably leaving fingerprints all over the place by touching shit (Does Pern even have fingerprinting kits?), R'ik wipes his hand off against the ass of his trousers and pockets it. Safer that way considering the evidence already collected that implicates him in Sven's untimely demise. "You ever meet the dead guy?" Sven. He has a name! Following Dione's gaze, the bronzerider nods and shifts restlessly in place. "Better'n face down in a midden." He drawls.

"No," says Dione. "I never really got to know him. The first I knew of his name was when an acquaintance asked me whether I heard he was murdered." The thought of it makes her swallow, rub at her lips. "You know," she says quietly. "I've thought about going out with Thread eating at me, but this… this is foul." Grimacing, she scuffs at a mossy patch, but her brow furrows when she sees something glint. "R'ik? Come over here, look at this." One immaculate fingernail points at the small necklace virtually hidden away, and she picks up a few links on her nail. "It's not in today's style…"

R'ik's thoughts concerning the harper's death are shielded from his expression creating a rendering of cool indifference. Having rested his ass against the very desk he'd touched, conveniently smudging any prints with the seat of his pants, the bronzerider frowns over at Dione when she goes digging in the dirt. "Don't-." But she's already picked a section of it up. Stubble framed lips compress and he shoves away from his lean and ambles over to where she's crouched, whatever had brought him down here, shelved in the presence of company. Squinting down at the piece of jewelry, pale eyes take in its form and design. "There's something engraved on it."

The bluerider shoots him a look. "There's only so much we can see with it wadded down in the grass," she murmurs apologetically. She slowly continues hoisting it out of the soil, looking at the clumpy dirt sticking under one of the wings, in a smear across the body. "It's beautiful. Whoever made this was a master, I've rarely seen such detail." Another of her nails tap on the pendant to loosen some of the soil sticking to it so that she can see what's engraved there. "Fiona?" Puzzlement. "Is that a familiar name?"

He's probably better acquainted with how an investigation is carried out but probably only marginally so since he'd been on the suspect end of things. And so, where another might caution Dione to leave the item in situ, R'ik seems more than happy to just let her get on with it. "Could hock that for a small cotholding." He remarks of the piece. "Only Fiona I knew was my mother's milking cow. Don't think that's her." Smirk. "You gonna keep it?" He'd so keep it. Finders, keepers and all that.

Dione is startled into a cackle at that, delighted laughter ringing up afterwards. "You are a terrible person!" she snickers, slowly swiping her thumb to and fro over the pendant. "I'd like to keep it, yes — I wonder if this kind of thing is what was stored in the crates here? Or was it what he stumbled over? Sven, I mean. Did someone bump him off because he uncovered treasure?" She gives a huge sigh and straightens. "Would you… could you perhaps let Hannah know about it, and ask her if I can keep it after the investigation's done?"

That laugh is met with a dark grin from R'ik which fades the moment Dione questions the motives of Sven's killer. Still standing at the bluerider's side, his attention pulls away from the piece of exquisite jewelry in her hand and strikes off in the direction off the doorway at the other end of the hidden garden. When he speaks there's a graveyard grate to the rasp of his speaking voice as he notes, "Harpers are always sticking their noses where they don't belong. Stands to reason a time will come when their herd gets thinned." Jerking his attention away from that door, R'ik glances down at Dione, his expression once again smoothed free of any tells. "Prolly better if you ask her yourself." A pause and then he adds while abruptly stepping back. "You might need to sign a claim on it or something." Yeah, that's totally why he's neatly extricating himself from any involvement in the item's recovery.

She turns to watch him quietly as he prowls forward. "You know," she says apropos of nothing. "I don't think I've ever seen you scared of anything. I envy you." She wanders forward just enough to pat his shoulder once before she lets her arm fall. "Still, Fie is starting to get louder and more insistent, and I don't want him digging his way down here. Come with me to the Kitten for drinks one day? Old times' sake."

The look R'ik levels on Dione is long and intent, silence shrouding about him until he breaks it to state in a low tone. "We're all scared of something, Dione. Anyone who says they're not is either lying or a dead man walking." Not in the zombie kind of way either. The offer she goes on to make dispels the grave moment and a corner of the bronzerider's mouth hitches slightly. "You forget. I don't drink." Well, only on the very rare occasion. "But for you? I might make an exception." A hand lifts and fingers flicker in a shooing gesture. "Go tend to your blueblood." Har, har. "I'll be along in a bit."

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