Who

Ivy, W'rin, G'tan

What

The Weyrleader and one of his wingriders gang up on the littlest brownrider and discover that she just can't take a joke.

When

It is midmorning of the first day of the second month of the second Turn of the 12th Pass.

Where

Living Cavern, Igen Weyr

OOC Date

 

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Living Cavern

Dim light from hanging glow-globes cannot fully camouflage the ravages of time and neglect on Igen's busy living caverns, though hints of its former glory peek through in the decorative cuts to the cave's natural limestone and the high quality of dusty, tatty-ended tapestries. Here and there, skybroom tables — stained dark by wood finish and a decade of grime — sit in loose groups, flanked by wicker chairs with pointy, broken rattan that pokes out to invariably find unprotected skin. The seemingly randomly placed furniture, however, at closer inspection, forms a sort of cross-shape of negative space. At the northernmost walls and nooks of the caverns, a long buffet table with tarnished lazy susans hosts an array of finger-foods and pitchers for the interested, refilled occasionally by drudges that shuffle in from the curtained entrance to the south, beyond which lies the kitchens. To the east is a large arch leading outside and, across from that, to the west, a set of rattling doors that open to reveal the tunnels and stairs of the inner caverns themselves.


Having made the voyage from drills to caverns, Ivy's not likely to go back out in the freezing (okay, slightly above freezing) weather any time soon. She has nested in a warm nook of the caverns with a mug of klah near her hand and a piece of hide on the tabletop before her. Laboriously she scrawls upon it, tip of her tongue peeking out of the corner of her mouth in concentration.

It's warming up - that's what someone told W'rin during a meeting. Maybe. It wasn't relevant so he wasn't really paying attention, but he did vaguely remember hearing it and so as he strides in from the inner caverns, he's left his jacket in the council chambers, because clearly that meant it was a decent number of degrees outside. "Bloody morons…" is mumbled under his breath as he wraps his arms as far as he can around his barrel chest. Mug of klah obtained, and a chair near hearth sought, mostly filled already he drops himself down near Ivy with a grunted 'hello.' He'd wave, but he's busy trying to keep his hands arm around the glass he's using as a liquid heater.

Since Whirlwind is also done with drills for the morning, here comes G'tan, steaming drink in hand along with a plate of food. Never mind that he already had breakfast this morning. Drills make him hungry, alright? And Faranth help the kitchens after a Fall… Anyway, he's warm enough, still in his leathers, though his face is still ruddy from the air up high. Casting around for a hearth seat, like most everyone this morning, his blue gaze lands on two familiar faces in the form of Ivy and W'rin, which sets him moving thataway. There's even an empty spot there, it seems. "Sir," he greets, voice still a little raspy from the cold, "mind if I sit here?" His gaze turns to Ivy, and he smirks. "Must be deep stuff. Worth a stuck-out tongue 'n' all."

It's hard to miss W'rin, and Ivy's attention is on him even before he grunts at her and sits down. "Sir," with a shy smile but a sharp salute. Another one of each for G'tan as he takes a seat as well, and then pinks a little when he references her expression of concentration. One arm reflexively twitches as though to cover the hide, though she stops herself. "Oh, no…it's just a letter. To a friend." The uneven march of letters might give some indication as to why her first instinct was to cover it up.

The salute draws a the smallest of appreciative grins from beneath the bearded face as W'rin relinquishes his mug to return the gesture. "Ivy. How is Udath?" A practiced attempt at 'small talk', which Sadaiya has been working on him with, though as the conversation progresses to other things the Weyrleader may misread the covered letters and 'the friend'. He draws little quotation marks in the air with fingers. "A friend." Eyebrows lift. "Either that's a love interest or you're hiding some sort of illegal escapades." A joke? Serious? Any indication he might have given is hidden by the klah which is lifted in front of his mouth.

G'tan settles down into the empty seat, permission given or no, and sets down his own mug to return Ivy's salute as well as to shoot one to the Weyrleader. He glances between W'rin and Ivy as he shovels a bit of food into his mouth, assuming the other bronzer's words to be joking and smirking as he eats. "Could be spyin' for Arroyo," he suggests. "Writing up a report, for all we know. Though it's shoddy work, doin' it in public." Maybe he should make it a goal to make Ivy turn a different color every time he sees her.

Whether W'rin is joking or not, Ivy is blessed with far too much sincerity and turns wide eyes on the Weyrleader with an earnest headshake. "Oh, no sir! Just my friend Diya. She's N'zi's sister down at Southern." Wouldn't be a very fun goal for G'tan; he'd always meet it. She turns a shocked and slightly scandalized look on the other bronzerider. "I would never," she breathes.

"Diya." W'rin, whether he was joking or not before, joins in on G'tan's joke, at poor Ivy's expense. "I don't know, sounds like you just made that up. And how do we know N'zi really has a sister?" Settling back in his chair and giving a knowing look to G'tan he turns back to Ivy. "I'm afraid we'll have to assume the worst for now. You're spying. What do we do to spies, G'tan?"

But G'tan doesn't know he'd always meet it, so he'll be happily surprised. Win-win! The bronzerider cackles gleefully for a second when he gets that shocked reaction from Ivy, clearing his throat going straight-faced when W'rin decides to play along. "Well, she's not being a very good spy, so I think just a seven of exile oughta teach 'er. Volcanos near Ista, maybe?" he suggests, fingers grating against the stubble on his cheek. "Or we could just drag her to Whirlwind for a seven; that'd probably scare 'er well enough."

Ivy looks from one mean bronzer to the other, looking increasingly horrified until it starts to occur to her that she might be being trolled. She pulls her scrawled hide closed to her body and hunches her shoulders up, wide-eyed stare phasing into narrowed glower. "You could ask him," she suggests acidly, followed up with an exasperated, "I'm not afraid of a bunch of Whirlies."

"Aye, but she's trying. Seems like we can't give her a break just because she happens to be bad at it." W'rin flips a finger up as he makes his point, but then shrugs. "Perhaps you're right though; tying her up during Threadfall is probably a wee bit harsh." But just a little bit. Her attempt at name calling is met with only the lift of both eyebrows as the Weyrleader throws three fingers up in the air. "One - two hardly constitutes a bunch, though I suppose I could count as more than one." His eyes flicker to the other bronzer for confirmation. "Two - Whirlwind is the best damn wing in the Weyr. Three - I'm not just a Whirlie rider." His eyes fall on his knot; yah he went there. But there is still a joke a foot. "Awfully defensive isn't she, G'tan? Seems that's a sure sign of guilt."

G'tan could almost count for two…but W'rin has him beat by a leap and a few bounds, there. He nods solemnly at W'rin before taking a drink of klah, not quite hiding the grin Ivy's comprehension brings about and listening intently as W'rin ticks off his points. At the last, G'tan nods, looking at Ivy and thumbing over at W'rin's knot. Ooooh, how long can they stretch this out? He nods at the other bronzerider again. "And verbally combative, sir. It's almost like she's daring us to make her talk."

It really is a lot like there are at least five Whirlies there, at least in terms of sheer volume, ganging up on one very tiny 'Royo who is starting to look like a fluffy angry kitten. "I'll show you verbally combative," she grumbles under her breath, though with a nod to that knot W'rin is flaunting there she adds a quiet, "Sir."

The grumble causes W'rin's anger to show, his lips pulling into a frown, though the 'sir' seems to calm him some. "Enough then, G'tan. It seems our friend here is no good at taking a little rib sportingly." No need to get anyone in trouble if it can be avoided. "Though, I'd suggest you work on how to respond in high stress situations, Ivy. It may not always be a joke, and you can't…" He draws a finger back and forth to indicate 'react that way'. The Weyrleader shakes his head gently. "Remind me not to send you on any details with holders. You're almost as bad as me."

Whoops! Now there's a bristling kitten and a grumbling bear in the room. G'tan clears his throat yet again, clued in that it's time to let the joke drop even as W'rin says so. He's not quite as pragmatic as the Weyrleader in evaluating Ivy's reaction to being picked on, though his lips purse momentarily to show he does see W'rin's point. "Didn't mean any harm by it, Ivy," he says, giving her a bit of a smirk before finishing off what's on his plate and arching one brow in a bit of amusement at W'rin's last.

BUT THEY STARTED IT. Which Ivy does not say, and ducks her head so if there's any trace of insubordination (or embarrassment) the other riders will not see it. "Sorry, sirs," she murmurs, setting the pen she had clenched in one hand down next to her scrawly scrap of hide and pushing both away from her, replacing them with her klah mug, in which she hopes to drown the unfairness. It must be noted, though, that a scrap of a smile appears at being compared to W'rin.

Things were calm; W'rin came in, tried to be social, mucked it up and made someone upset. All in a day's work. Too bad he can't just call this one and go back to sleep — stupid meetings. Eyes follow the letter as it is shoved away before falling back on G'tan with a shrug at his apology to the female, missing that anyone is impressed - rather than insulted - by the comment. The man just sits awkwardly in the silence that follows. Good thing he showed up; this could have been a pleasant conversation, and where is the fun in that? A moment passes, and he coughs just to fill the air. Eyes pass from the bronzer to the brownrider and back. "Well, so. This has been…" He grumbles, "Something." And curling his fingers around the arms of his chair he hoists himself into the air to leave.

The only reason G'tan isn't filling the silence is because his mouth is full. Soon, his other eyebrow joins in arching with the first as he watches first the letter being pushed aside, then W'rin getting up. "Usually is, sir," G'tan says with a lopsided smile, and he ticks off a salute at the Weyrleader once again. "Back to work?" he questions. Briefly, his gaze slips to Ivy trying hide in her klah mug. "Still would've picked on you for the tongue," he informs the brownrider in a stage whisper of an aside.

Ivy doesn't quite fit in the klah mug, much to her dismay. She peeks a little sidelong at the mountain as he rises from his chair. "Very nice speaking with you, Weyrleader." It's a knee-jerk, well-bred holdergirl response that hopefully W'rin will realize is not intended as sass. She slides that look over to G'tan and his stage whisper. "I'm really bad at writing, is all," she reveals with a wry look.

All in all it seems an appropriate response, and so W'rin dips his head in farewell to the female, then shoots G'tan a knowing smirk. And then heads back into the inner caverns. "Meeting." Is his answer to the other bronzer.

G'tan chuckles quietly once W'rin is a few strides off, then glances at Ivy over the rim of the mug he's just lifted to his face again. "Well, I promise not to pick on your for it again, in that case," he says, apology in both his eyes and tone. "Or any more for now, too, since I've got a sweep to go prep for. Ivy." He ticks of a salute her way, adding a wink as he rises. "Clear skies." And almost as quickly as W'rin, he's up and away, leaving dirty dishes where they out to go before heading out the door to meet Zinakoth in the Bowl.

There's a tinge of relief in Ivy's face when G'tan promises not to tease her further…on that one item, at least, and confusion for the salute. No one salutes her. "Clear skies." Luckily he's on his way out before she can salute back and get them into a neverending loop of saluting. She watches the door out to the bowl for a moment after he's gone, then turns her attention back to the klah. The letter remains on the table, unloved, until she packs up and heads out herself.

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