Who

W'rin, Cha'el

What

Cha’el is back after being away for a few days and Weyrsecond and Weyrleader compare notes and hatch plans.

When

It is midmorning of the seventh day of the first month of the second turn of the 12th pass.

Where

Igen Weyr, Star Stones

OOC Date

 

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Star Stones

The climb up here on foot is steep, narrow stone steps carved high into the sandstone, and from the top the precipice-drop to the jagged-craggy stones far, far below is treacherous. It's a wide sweep of ledge, a dragonlength and a half jutting out from a rough cliff wall. The wind here is ceaseless, dusty-dry during daytimes and biting at night. But for those who brave the climb to this lookout perched high above the Weyr's bowl, the view from these sandy-red rocks is breathtaking. Igen stretches wide-wide-wide around, a vast expanse of deep blue lake and lush green swamp and the myriad rust-rich colours of desert and rock. The real purpose of this spot, though, is highlighted not in its view of what is below but its view of what is above. Three tall rocks stand, one balanced across the tops of the other two, at the focal point of the ledge, perpetually framing one slice of the desert sky beyond.


It is midmorning a cold Igen winter day; the bright shining sun a cruel joke as freezing air hits skin. Igen's weyrleader is tucked up high above the weyr the star stones his current refuge for thought. The leaderships plans for the attacks on cotholds, the losses and injuries in thread, formations, riders with serious issues, all swirl around in his head, along with his current preoccupation, a shiny and large ornament for his tights. Half the reason for his seeking of a place of solitude, the man adjusts first a little to the right, and the the left, lifting a leg to shake things into place, all the while muttering quietly to himself about his brilliant plan.

Cha’el, recently returned from a few days off and away from Igen, looking tanned and more relaxed than when he’d left, comes trudging up the stairs, breath clouding the air before him as he crests the top and steps out onto the wide sweep of ledge. Sikorth, is…somewhere above one presumes by the sweeping shadow that blots weak sunlight at intervals. A broad smile begins to form when he claps eyes on W’rin and then drops right the hell off when his attention to drops to what the Weyrleader is fiddling with. Choking back laughter: “The fuck, W’rin!? Scared Thread’s gonna eat your nuts?”

Of the two Valiuth is the only one who takes any notice of the circling shadow, a rush of sea water and a roaring ocean is felt in the collective mindspace but only for a moment before he retreats back into his own counsel. W'rin only glances up from his meddling as Cha'el approaches. "Thread? Naw. Not even rot, the fuckin' pecker wrecker. This is to control the goldriders. I can play their game. Only I don't have any lovely lady lumps to plop in their faces, so…" He flicks at the codpieces, which causes him to suck in a breath and wince. Noting silently it does not make a good cup. "How was your trip?"

Into an ancient arrangement of monoliths that sea water rushes, through which hums the steady beat of a war machine’s blades beating the air. Sikorth is there. Ambling closer and eyeing – okay Cha’el is staring – the codpiece W’rin is messing with, blue eyes glint with merriment. “Mate, not even the goldriders will get me to squash my junk like that.” In other words, the bronzerider is a braver man than he. Good humor slips a little at the question put to him and then returns but with a different angle of a smile attached to it. “Good. Just what we needed. Its not…easy but,” broad shoulders shift in an awkward shrug, “You move on, you know?” Turning his gaze to the Weyr spread out below, the Weyrsecond’s next is threaded back by the icy wind. “We any closer to getting a handle on these attacks?”

W'rin's shoulders lift and fall heavily, "Gotta try something. S'like they want to be treated 'fairly' but then they play dirty." Gold stitching on one's junk, is now playing dirty. "Good, good. Cause stuffs not looking up here. Our sweep shift did shit, and with thread falling the way it is, and injuries, we can't afford to send more out at a time. Your refugee ground crews report anything back?" His attention turned fully away from himself, he faces the Weyrsecond. "Apart from assigning some of the healing riders at holds…" The man huffs a breath out into the cold, the steam lingering for a moment before him.

A snort uttered by Cha’el fogs another cloud of air in front of his face and he hunches down further in his jacket. “When did you ever know a goldrider to play fair.” He having very personal experience with just such a thing. “You should corner Mayte, see if there’s some kind of Goldrider’s Code To Fucking With Men they get taught during weyrlinghood.” Because that would explain SO much. Returning his attention back to W’rin now that he’s done readjusting the goods, the Weyrsecond cuts his head to the side in a gesture of frustration. “Fuck all from them. One of ‘em did mention having seen a ‘shifty looking guy,” the air quotes evident in his baritone, “but he’s the kind to call a wher a dragon so…” shrug. “Before I left I sent out an advisory limiting travel on foot and by runner. Maybe if we can limit ground traffic we won’t have a repeat of…” Words are cut off and subjects switched back to W’rin’s shiny new crotch decoration. “What’s Sienna’s take on that.” Amused once again.

"They don't. That's why I'm not either anymore. I've tried treating them with respect, and whateverwhatever, but they don't do the same fuckin' shit for me. So fuck 'em all." W'rin's tone, for once, is rather good natured, as if enjoying the competitive nature of his relationship with the current goldriders. "Ah. The shifty looking guy with the hair, and the eyes." The Weyrleader drolls with a sigh. "Aye, but if we limit ground travel we don't get supplies as quickly. And we don't have the dragon power to follow every caravan." Though the idea has crossed the man's brain, "Maybe if we had a schedule. You want an escort, we'll take all caravans from a to b and such and such a time and day. Then if they risk it on their own…" He lifts a single shoulder. "What are your thoughts?" Then with the drift in conversation he looks down, "You think I'd show Sienna this thing? You try explaining to that weird ass weyrmatecousin why your decorating your dick for other women. Fuck man, I ain't smart, but I ain't that dumb."

The look Cha’el flashes the bronzerider says it all – Solidarity, bro! “Time to up the game.” His Weyrsecond goes on to say with a crafty grin in place. “Leave that,” a drop of chin to the other rider’s codpiece. “Lying on the table after a meeting. Or take it off in the middle of the next one with ‘em and have a good scratch.” A nod for the new groundcrew recruit spoken of. “Aye, him. Weasel they call him. Caravans stand a better chance,” though not much of a one, “then single travelers.” Dropping to silence, Cha’el considers the suggestion of flying guard for caravans. “Could work. Assign riders randomly on the day to keep an eye on things from the air.” It bears further thought for sure. “While I was away I had a thought. Maybe try putting together a false sweep schedule as a decoy. See what happens. Only way to know if its an inside job or not.” Weyrmatecousin? Cha’el almost swallows his tongue but this time doesn’t try to throw up a smokescreen. Choked laughter again. “Nooo thank you. I’d rather dangle my dick in a newly hatched flit nest than touch that one. You’re a brave man, my friend.” Because surely word is going to eventually get back to Sienna.

"I'm trying to make it attractive, Cha'el. I don't understand women a whole lot, but I think scratching is not exactly the way to turn them on. Cupping, maybe?" W'rin may run through a few in-meeting senarios, with his eyes rolled upward, finally he shakes his head, "Naw, too many dudes in the room. Maybe, if they linger after. Or just roll in when their alone, like Linny tried on me. Figures Sadaiya would bring her on permanently. The two are the same. At least Mayte is sane." The man blows heavily out of his nose, "For now. I wonder if they turn them crazy in weyrlinghood, or if that happens slowly after…It's been so long since we've had a new one." Out of the shell that is. The weyrleader snorts and shakes his head heavily, "Easier to ask for forgiveness with that one." Sienna that is. "She's got a temper, but she likes to work it out between the sheets."

Now Cha'el is just plain CONFUSED. "You want to attract them? You're playing a dangerous game there, Bossman." There is however a sincere nod of head on the matter of the youngest goldrider. "Got a good head on her shoulders that one but if she hangs around with those other two for too long…" It's a scary thought. One that lends a shudder to the brawny brownrider. "Linny's…interesting." How's that for diplomatic? "Heard her son's standing down in Southern for their latest clutch." Dark brows tick upward and then open laughter rolls free on the matter of temperamental women. "Best kind there is." Suckers for punishment the two of them must be. "I'm thinking of getting a lock. Bigass motherfucker." Hands pull out of pockets to demonstrate the sturdiness of said device he seeks. "For my shit. See if maybe that'll keep her out of it." And prevent it from sailing over the edge of the ledge.

"You know, not to sex-em up. Cha'el. But like they do to us, when the goldriders really want something their dresses are mysteriously shorter. Have you noticed that? Just saying." W'rin points at his codpiece. "Just saying." Head is inclined, his agreement so complete about Mayte the nod takes some of the shoulders with it. "Maybe we should take her out drinking. Make her one of the boys before they sink their claws into her. She always had good sense, though not always the best with customers…" She really is more like the male side of Igen's leadership. Finally the man can't take it anymore, "Why the fuck you keepin' your cousin in your weyr. She that hot? You know there is a distinct hot to crazy ratio, even for." He coughs, "Family." His hands making a measuring scale, which bobs up and down to indicate what the woman's hotness would have to be for W'rin to keep her around for as crazy as she sounds.

From W’rin’s face to the codpiece and back to his face again as he explains and the Weyrsecond is able to do little but laugh and shake his head. “You’re crazy.” Just sayin’. “But I like the way you think.” That to taking Mayte drinking. “Maybe see if we can’t organize something at the Oasis Inn.” Cha’el likes that one! Noooot so much when the bronzerider pounces on the topic of his weyrmatecousin again. Loooong, Cha’el eyes him and then eventually, so quietly his mumbled words might be ripped away. “She’s not my cousin.” Shifty-eyes. “And she is hot. Seriously hot! Direct ratio to crazy hot. She needed somewhere to stay.” After he kidnapped her. Ahem.

"Oasis Inn." W'rin agrees, taking a moment to rake fingers through his facial hair, "I wasn't suggesting Rosie's. Though, that might be amusing, and I hear some goldrider's get their kicks that way…less messy than taking it out on males." Politics and sex, it's a bitch when you don a not. "Just her though, Sadie's okay and Linny is a wreck, I don't want it to be … the Oasis is where we go to not deal with shit. Let's keep it that way." Color the bronzer confused as he quirks a brow, "Not your cousin?" Didn't the man say that once. "Hot is good, and crazy usually means good in the sack. But really with the getting in your shit and throwing stuff off the ledge, maybe you should tie her up when you leave for the morning. She could be a danger to people in the bowl. One complain, Cha, I swear…I'll tie her up myself."

“You got a point there.” Cha’el concedes on the Oasis Inn. “Maybe somewhere out of sweep area. “There’s this pub in Fort she might like. We could take her there.” Far and away where pulling Mayte over the dark side might be better accomplished. “Gotta train ‘em while they’re young.” Goldriders that is. On the matter of the woman currently residing in his weyr, there’s a certain expression that makes a brief appearance before the brownrider tucks it away and lifts a brow at W’rin. “Would you risk the consequences of tying Sienna up? And I don’t mean to the bedposts either.” Because that shit might find him castrated. A laugh follows next. “I would pay good money to see you try to tie Ksenia up. She’s wild as a southern feline.” And he doesn’t look to be complaining. Too much.

"Fort is a neutral area, if they don't make too much of a scene of us being there. We'll take her." Date settled, with out Mayte's consent the conversation draws back to their women, stolen or otherwise. "Hey, my ledge isn't hundreds of feet above the bowl." The weyrleader retorts, "If my woman goes back shit crazy and starts throwing my crap out of the weyr the worst that will happen is the goldriders'll make fun of me. Yours drops a chair off your ledge it could kill someone." His eyes roll over to the weyrsecond, before scanning back out over the bowl, watching the occassional and dragons blinking in and of between. "How much money?" Cause that could be arranged.

“Done deal.” Cha’el concurs on the Mold-A-Goldrider date. He can’t however deny the valid point W’rin makes on the matter of dropping things from dizzying heights. “Far as I know, no one got hurt.” Although there was that one cross-eyed drudge that is now suddenly seeing straighter than before. Perhaps one of his boots had beaned the lad on the noggin? “And she’s stopped trying to escape now.” Ahem. How much money? The brownrider scrapes a thumbnail over his lower lip and eyes W’rin, “A seven’s salary.” Yeah, he is so making that bet. Probably get shoved off the ledge himself for doing so buuuut some things are just too good to resist and clearly he likes to live dangerously.

"Escape?" The rest of the conversation is lost on W'rin, at least the previous bits. "That's why I thought she was your cousin, you were keeping your bat ass crazy cousin, I thought…" But then bets come up, at least the man has size working for him, so the probability of being a puddle of goo on the ground of the bowl is reasonably low. "Alright. A seven day's salary. Yours though, you don't get more if I lose." He's got some sense, "And we don't tell her. No unfair advantage givin' her the heads up. Two days, after our meeting with Telgar?" He cracks his neck to one side, "Better go pick out a rope." And he gives a readying glance to his dragon. Time to go. "See you this afternoon for wingleader meeting."

Escape? Shiiiiit!! “I meant as in trying to escape the consequences of her actions.” Cha’el hastily qualifies. Ahem. Broad the grin that appears and he sticks a hand out to shake on the bet. “Two days after our meeting with Telgar! No heads up given.” Putting out a mental call to Sikorth for a lift back down, the brownrider gestures at W’rin’s codpiece. “And you might wanna wear that. She’s got sharp knees.” In a flurry of dust, the big brown lands and flips his wings neatly to his sides. “Later!” A salute is given and then the pair of conspirators are parting ways.

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