Who

Beris

What

Gossip shouldn't be listened to, especially if one's partner is a dragonrider.

When

It is midmorning of the twenty-eighth day of the seventh month of the fourteenth turn of the 12th pass.

Where

The Pit, Igen Weyr

OOC Date 25 Jul 2018 23:00

 

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The Pit

One does not enter The Pit so much as descend into it. Why else the name? The Steen ancestors paid for their square footage with sweat, excavating the area and building curved walls up around it. Wide, smooth steps descend into a large entry area that overlooks the pit and galleries. Floors, ceilings and walls have been whitewashed with limestone paste, increasing the amount of light reflected back from the numerous glow baskets hung on the walls. A rounded doorway to the right leads one into the business' "office", which is furnished in spartan style: cushions for kneeling or sitting upon, a desk that's low to the ground constructed of the same whitewashed stone as the rest of the building, and niches carved out of the walls themselves for decorative pieces. Here is a small sculpture of men wrestling, there is a wooden carving of a champion with a foot upon his vanquished foe.
Continuing on through the lobby brings one to another set of six stairs that descend into the galleries surrounding the sand-filled pits. A low wall separates audience from combatants, but even at its highest point, those in the galleries are never more than twenty feet away from the action. The sand is raked daily, with fresh sand added whenever the blood to soil ratio becomes too great.


Rumours circulate in the Bazaar, as they always do. If there’s anything that the denizens of that place love to do, it’s gossip. Beris has learned, over her Turns working there, to filter them out of the backdrop of conversation happening around her.

Today, though, something catches her attention. Rumours of a Wingleader nearly being murdered, pushed off a rock. One of the men is laughing, saying something about dragonriders and their fights between one another for power. Another says he heard the man broke his back.

There are no names said, but something is making Beris’s stomach twist into a tight, horrible knot of worry. A dragonrider being pushed off a rock? R’ku was going out to help with setting some sort of station up - would he be putting that up on rocks? Is he the Wingleader in question?

She can’t leave in the middle of a shift, not without being sure. The men have moved on now anyway, considering their bets on the next fight. Beris serves their drinks, returns to the bar, and tries to overcome the sick feeling she now has. It’ll be okay. It’s not him. It’s another Wingleader. What are the chances it’s him? Don't be stupid. It can't be him.

It’s an uncomfortable few hours as she works, putting on the facade of friendly customer service. The worry gnaws at her.

Then Cava appears, a scrap of hide tied to her leg. All Beris can hear is the thumping of her heart as she retrieves the note from the fire-lizard, the sick feeling coming back as she unrolls it. Her eyes dart over the messy words and though there’s a sense of relief, her stomach sinks. It was R’ku - but he’s alive, thank Faranth. Injured, but alive.

Swallowing hard, feeling tears of relief prick at the backs of her eyes, Beris takes off her apron and leaves for the infirmary, her co-worker’s confused question unheard. She’ll deal with those consequences later: right now, she has to see with her own eyes that her weyrmate is okay.

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