Who

Cha'el, Reilan, Thierry

What

A summons is made. Proposals are put forth. Germs are spread.

When

It is midmorning of the fifth day of the third month of the first turn of the 12th pass.

Where

Igen Weyr Council Chamber

OOC Date

 

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Council Chamber

However disheveled the corridor outside might lie, THIS room - the sole dominion of the Weyr's upper elite - is always sparkling, ever swept, ever dusted, its walls scrubbed free of the grime of ages. A certain spartan grandeur fills the Council Chamber, with its foreboding stonework and heavy wooden door. A round table fills the bulk of the space, an ancient creation of fire-hardened wood, carved with the three dune'd symbol of Igen Weyr. Chairs surround: hard-backed things (with thin cushions) for the most part, but two grandiose chairs, on opposite sides of the table, that seat Weyrwoman and Weyrleader. The walls are lined with elegant old tapestries, depicting scenes of ancient Igen glories.


Morning, neither early nor late, finds Igen's Weyrsecond gathering together a sheaf of papers after a meeting held by the Weyr's leader has come to a close. With each of the attendees taking their leave, its not long before Cha'el is left on his own in the impressively appointed room. Muttering a comment under his breath about idiots with more marks than sense, he stands, stretches his arms above his head and heads stiffly over to a table where the dregs of lukewarm klah is still set out. Grumbling as he fails to find a clean mug and then again when a clean teaspoon defies detection, he eventually makes do with pouring klah into a glass tumbler and stirring sweetener into it with the back of a stylus.

When Reilan came to him earlier in the day, Thierry was miserably sick curled up in his room at the tunnelsnake fighting ring. His angry little blonde friend persuaded him out of bed though, and now? Now the poorly teen's led his fiesty little buddy across the Weyr, undoubtedly leaving a trail of germs in his wake. He's certainly heard before he's even close to knocking on the door to the council chambers; his rackety cough echoing off the walls and his delightfully snotty nose making him disgustingly sniffy. Thierry's puffed out by the time he tries to get Cha'el's attention by pounding once on the big wooden door, and yet he's not sick to turn to give Reilan an encouraging, snotty smile before rasping out a croaky, "Weyrsecond? You in there?" Faranth forbid he trespasses into the realm of the riders without /permission/.

So many glances have been stolen at the grossly sick Thierry on the way across the bowl. Reilan might be angry, he might even be livid, but there's at least /some/ worry for his friend. Even that wobbly calling for the Weyrsecond once they reach the doorway gets a wince out of the blonde, huffing softly. "/Thierry!/ I wasn't ready!" Premature knocking! "You didn't /have/ to come with me. That guy the other night was right, you could keel over dead any minute by the sound of you." There's a small noise that comes from his throat at that, perhaps a snort….or maybe he just burped or something. "You haven't even seen a healer, have you?"

While the coughing is heard echoing out in the corridor, it's only registered on the periphery of awareness. Having just spent two hours in deep concentration Cha'el is experiencing that delightful post meeting discombobulation and meanders aimlessly about the large table while he tries to scrape his brain cells back toward a coherent heap. The voice that follows that rap to door isn't immediately recognized. "I swear by Faranth's arse, if that's you, Erissa, I'm not hungry and I don't need a shoulder massage."

"I'm not gonna fucking /die/, Rei." But Thierry doesn't sound so sure; his coughing up a lung after doesn't really instill confidence, either. "Don't need no fucking healer, either. Sara gave me some shit." That's had him knocked out, fellis-downed, for /ages/. The sound of the /right/ voice on the other side of the door makes him smirk, and he reaches out to teasingly pat Reilan's cheek. There's probably snot on that hand, somewhere. "C'mon, Worm." He pushes the door open, poking his head through before stepping in, tugging Reilan by his tunic. "Broughtcha someone, Weyrsecond." With his bright red nose, stuffy speech and raspiness, Thi's very clearly sick - just as the huge sneeze he makes proves. He doesn't bother covering his mouth, though he does wipe down afterwards with the hem of his scruffy tunic. No uniform for him today!

Reilan is pulled right along, rubbing at the side of his face just to make /sure/ there's no snot that's been transferred. "We're just going to go on in then? I really think that..ugh, fine.." He bats Thierry's hand away from his tunic though, tugging on it to pull the garment straight again. He does pause to take a look around the large room though, tugging his bottom lip in for a chew. Otherwise his mouth may have hung open a little. "And he's brought you about a thousand gallons of mucus, too." It's finally said once his gaze lights on Cha'el, arms curling around himself just a bit so that he can hold onto either elbow for the time being. The blonde clears his throat though. "I was…told that I needed to come see you?"

Cha'el jerks about at Thierry's entrance and announcement, sea-blue eyes pinning in surprise to the out of guard uniform for having left his sanctuary of the Bazaar and entered Weyr grounds. Attention then flicks to Relian but zips right back to the guard at that sneeze, the grimace that follows, undisguised. Immediately a hand shoves into his pocket and a neatly folded square of fabric is produced. "Here," held out to Thierry as a dryly amused look falls onto the blonde lad for his comment. "You look like shit." Aimed at the red-nosed sickly looking one with a nod going to his mate. "Not so much need as requested," the Weyrsecond tells Reilan putting him under a closely assessing scrutiny that might be a little uncomfortable. "Word has is that you went to a girl's aid in the Bazaar." Brows lift in silent prompt for the blonde to tell his side of the story.

Thierry's got another sneeze coming on, so he blindly fumbles for the handkerchief offered by Cha'el - there's sticky-finger on skin action there before he manages to grab the fabric. Just in time for him to sneeze a bucketload into. He makes a grossly phlegmy sound in his throat, and without waiting to be asked wanders right over to the klah to help himself. Clearly, he's comfortable in the Weyrsecond's presence. "'s /cold/," he grumbles, bumping cups and things around to try and find a clean one. "Worm's fucking /wicked/." For all he may be snotty, he's still capable of doling out praise. "He was gonna fuck Phib over before I… I-I…I-CHOO." Definitely no clean mugs now, not when they've been sneezed over.

Clearly, Thierry has no problem wiping his germs all over the klah pot. He's trying to poison anyone in the council chambers, obviously. Reilan does look a little surprised at bringing up /that/ information, the teen going a tad red when praise begins to spout from Thierry of all people. "I..well.. I did, yes. I suppose? She put herself in a bad spot, and I couldn't just /leave/ her there or anything… And Thierry smokes too much and and runs badly." Uh. Whoops? Right under the bus! He clears his throat a little again though, shaking his head. "I was just trying to keep him off of her, though. That's all.."

While Thierry might have reason to be comfortable about the Weyrsecond, there is nonetheless a brow lifted look that follows the guard when he goes to help himself to klah, this being the inner sanctum of the Weyr and all. "Help yourself to something to drink," Cha'el tells him wincing and curling his tumbler of tepid klah closer against his chest as if to save it from the germs being spread about with that thunderous sneeze. Probably too late but worth a try. "Aye?" Keen blue eyes drift over to Reilan at the praise given his heroic efforts. Moments later a smirk curls about his beard framed mouth. "You still smoking that shit?" A flick of attention goes to Thierry. "Gonna fuck your lungs up good, kid." Back to the blonde lad, approval evident. A few moments of silence and then the brownrider extends a hand, "Cha'el, brown Sikorth's." No need to add his title. "Thank you for your service." A glance to Spreader of Germs. "And his."

"Uh-huh," is Thierry's reply to Cha'el's question about him smoking; he dips his hand into his pocket and pulls out his toke-pack to prove it. They go right back in, while he moves on from the not-so-interesting cold klah to case the rest of the unfamiliar room, pausing in front of one of the tapestries to frown at it, while sniffing, snorting and generally making gross cold sounds. "What you wanna see him for, Weyrsecond? Rei's alright. Don't cause no shit or nothing… not /really/, anyway." Dark eyes slide over to his friend, fixing him with a frown. "'Cept when he's trying to fuck me over. Right, Worm?"

There is a /hand/. One that gets stared at for just a moment like it might have claws and barbs and possibly other germs before Reilan finally reaches to accept it. "Reilan…/just/ Reilan. Not any other name you might have heard." There's a pointed look at the snifflesnorting Thierry, lashes lowering just a little bit as he watches his friend. "You do that just fine without any help from me. Just because I tell it like it is doesn't mean I'm doing anything /against/ you." He does let go though, dropping his hand down to his side now that the grip he had around himself has been broken. "Erm..you're welcome, I guess?"

Gripping the blonde's hand when his is accepted, a firm clawless and germless (?) shake is executed before Cha'el releases the clasp and utters a low chuckle. "So Just Reilan, what is it you do around here when you're not rescuing damsels in distress and telling this one," a jerk of thumb over his shoulder to Thierry, "how it is?" The latter probably a full time job on its own. Sorry Thierry. Speaking of which, the guard recruit is beckoned over. "No training for the next seven," the brownrider tells him with a pointed look.

Thierry sticks his middle finger up at Reilan, snarling at him. Half-heartedly, though; there's no real animosity there. The recruit cough-sniffs his way across to the table when beckoned, plonking himself into one of the chairs and flopping forward in sick misery. "Couldn't if I tried," he whinges, dropping his head forward onto his outstretched arm. "I'm /dying/, Weyrsecond." Cough cough, and all that jazz. He at least holds the borrowed hankie up to his mouth, using the same movement to blow his nose. The snotty fabric is /still/ held to stifle his coughs, despite being so… gross. And green, most likely.

Reilan gives a small sniff, watching Thierry as he finally sits and then melts into the table. "You /just/ said you weren't dying. Make up your mind." There's a sigh though, and he reaches to push a bit of hair behind an ear, glancing slightly back at Cha'el as he begins to move. He'll take the somewhat nervous meandering to the standing still. And even though Thierry likely breathed germs all over that tapestry, Rei goes to look at it, taking a peek over it before peering back again at the Weyrsecond. "I work for Thierry's father, most of the time. It's mostly running around and doing whatever needs doing, although I've been..thinking..of changing. Thierry said I should try the guard and..well. They're hiring women now, so I suppose they can't say I'm not built well enough for it." Skinny and..pretty..he might be, but there's still some pride as a man there, after all.

"Recruit!" Cha'el barks the moment Thierry's butt hits that chair and the lad sprawls his upper half across the table in abject misery. "That's the Weyrleader's chair! To your feet." Because this is a space of decorum! And that really is W'rin's chair. Hopefully the germs shrivel and die before next his tights clad butt plonks into it because a man that size probably capable of producing a volcanic amount of snot. Gaze tracking the rather effeminate looking blonde lad, the Weyrsecond cocks a brow at the reply given and then gives a short nod of head. Tumbler to lips, a mouthful of by-now-cold klah is swallowed sending a shudder of distaste through the brownrider. Setting it to the table, he scratches at his chin in thought. "The guard, eh?" Contemplation narrows tighter focus onto Reilan. "With those looks and that build, you could pass for a woman if you needed to." The observation lacks the sardonic note that might cast it as insult. "You any good at acting?'

It's been drilled into Thierry to react when he's being yelled at, and he raises his head sharply - even if he is groggy. "Wha—?" How did he pick /that/ chair, of all the ones to sit in? But he gets to his feet, runs the back of his had under his snotty nose, and trudges to lean over the back of the next seat along. "Didn't know," he says glumly, running his hand through his hair. "Sorry." The mopiest apology in the world, as he sinks into the next handy chair without thinking about the consequences of picking /that/ one. Back down his head goes, resting his cheek on his arm. Let the others talk! He's got some getting-better to do.

Poor, poor Thierry. Poor /anyone/ who is left in the wake of his plague spreading spree. Reilan watches the older boy flop about, wincing just a little bit. "You really should've just stayed home.." Even if it /was/ Rei who didn't want to come all this way into the scary Weyr-place by himself. He wrinkles his nose just a bit though, taking a quick look back at Cha'el for the talk of his…figure. He doesn't deny it though. The teen knows fairly well that he's not build brawny or tall. "Hopefully not something that I'd ever../need/…to do. It depends on how I'd need to act though. …Why?" Oh, there's suspicion there, and the blonde's eyes narrow ever so slightly. Just what is being implied here?

The devil in Cha'el has him wanting to bark out 'That's MINE!' the moment Thierry relocates his butt. But one, that would be a lie, and two, the poor kid already looks to be at death's door. And so instead, "You should be in bed." No shit, Sherlock! By a good few of the riders standards and some non-riders too, Reilan's a pretty one with definite potential if maturity doesn't rob him of that fresh-faced beauty. But that's not the reason for the Weyrsecond's enquiry as evidenced in his next. "A male, trained to defend himself and collect intel that could pass himself off as a woman, would be extremely beneficial to any guard. Or Weyr for that matter." The brownrider tells the blonde lad. "You'd be able to move in and out of places that none of us," the obviously masculine, "would be able to."

"Gonna sleep here," Thierry grunts snottily to Cha'el, raising his head to peep at the brownrider. "Fellis is /fun/." Maybe someone dosed himself up on meds of some sort before he was dragged from his room? "And Rei needed me, so I came, and…" he's interrupted by a huge yawn, which turns into a cough. "… here's comfortable. 'til you're done." He waves a hand, suggesting they go on without him. Don't mind Patient Zero.

"You've had /fellis/?" Well no wonder. Reilan looks boggled though, and nearly livid at his friend, though there's a bit of a groan right after. "I swear if I'd known I would've tied him to his own bed with his socks." Snarling at the older boy will have to wait though until he seems..more alive. As it is, Reilan seems content to lower his voice somewhat and let Thierry rest. Which is probably good, considering that he looks about ready to explode for a few moments at Cha'el's…suggestion. His mouth opens, closes, opens again, doing a fairly good impression of a fish as he attempts to work out some form of language. "I'd have to put on a /dress./" And he would look oh so pretty in it! "..And stuff my chest, even. And..and..this…it.. I mean, I could pull it off, of course. But that's so…humiliating.."

"Ahahaha, Worm with boobs." Thierry's not asleep /just/ yet.

Brows steeple at Thierry's confession followed by an expressive roll of eyes. "Fuck. Now I'm gonna have to drag his ass back down there." Probably bodily by throwing the germ-infested snotbag over his shoulder. Leaving the teen to sleep though tossing him an amused glance for his drowsy comment about boobs, Cha'el turns the focus of his attention to Reilan. "Aye, a dress and fake tits and probably even make-up. But that won't be until you've been trained in self-defense, subterfuge and information gathering." There's a pause in which once again the blonde is set with an intent look. "I won't lie to you. It can get dangerous. Real dangerous. Life and death shit. But if you're really interested, I know a harper out of Benden that could be brought in to work with you."

/Glare!/ Oh, there is a glare shot at the back of Thierry's head for that. Maybe the older boy will drown in his own snot there on the table. "I sure can't carry him. I've /tried/ to lug him back home when he's drunk." Poor Thierry woke up in a gutter. Still, the boy does sigh a bit, bringing a hand up to rub at the bridge of his nose. Then both hands, right over his eyes. "Ngh..well if you're going to put it /that/ way.." Danger, life and death. All of that sounds /so/ appealing. "I'll do it. Although I reserve the right to kick Thierry in the balls if he makes fun. All part of the show, after all..most women can't stand him anyway."

All Thierry has to add to that is a snotty sleep-whimper, and a snore. If only he /knew/ what you just said, Reilan… if only he knew…

"I'll help you," Cha'el tells the blonde lad glancing over at his friend. "How long's he been like this?" Back to the subject at hand, the brownrider is quiet a moment, Reilan eyed in that same contemplative manner before his mouth twists about a smirk for his last. Gravity sweeps back into place again and arms are folded about the Weyrsecond's broad chest. "How old are you?" He asks.

Reilan puffs a breath out, though his eyes roll upward a little during the mental count. "The idiot got mad and ran out of the baths /naked/ maybe two days ago? I helped get him warmed back up but he was gross in the morning." And apparently won't go to a healer, either! Silly boy. He does walk over to the chair though, peering over the back of it at the slumped Thierry before shrugging and moving away again. "Me? Sixteen, sir."

Brows all but crawl into Cha'el's hairline. "Naked? Outside? What the shards made him do that?" Incredulity pattern's the brownrider's expression as he stares at the snot-riddled sleeping beauty. At Reilan's reply, focus is switched. "Still young." The Weyrsecond murmurs to himself. A sigh is exhaled next and he sweeps a hand through his hair. "There's someone I want you to meet before you make a final decision. If you're serious about this, neet me at the Cantina a seven from now. If you don't show, no shame. You could still apply to join the guards."

"What else?" Reilan tilts his head, lips curving up just a little bit more. "Women." There's a faint laugh for that, however, making sure not to be too loud about it…lest Thierry wake and come after him, anyway. He does watch Cha'el curiously though, giving a faint nod now and again for what's being said. "I won't miss it." At least if he /forgets/, he goes to the Cantina almost every day anyway! There's another nod, however, the teen's expression sliding into something a bit more determined. "Thanks."

Amusement flashes through sea-blue eyes. "Women, eh?" Yeah, Cha'el's going to take that one up with Thierry once he's more compos mentis, of that he can be sure. Its too good to pass up. A quick smile is given to Reilan along with a dip of head. "You accept this training, you might not be thanking me in a turn." Smirk. That having been said he moves over to where the sickly guard is slumped. "C'mon, sleeping beauty, time to go home." That said as the brownrider stoops and slinging an arm about his back, hauls him to his feet. "Gimme a hand here, kid." That to Reilan.

Thierry's a sleepy, floppy weight, though he does grunt when he's hauled up, his head dropping towards Cha'el's arm. He snores stuffily, mumbles something in his sleep, and smiles smugly. Someone's /dreaming/.

Reilan shrugs as he heads over to help with Thierry's other side, wrinkling his nose up just a bit. Even mostly asleep, Thierry is still kinda gross. He can only hope he doesn't catch the funk from him! "Thank you now, curse you later.. I'll get there when I get there, yeah? Should drop him off at the infirmary instead of the bazaar, really."

"Plan to." Cha'el returns to Reilan. "Here, hold him up." Presuming that the slender blonde does as instructed, the brawny brownrider ducks in under Thierry's arm and with a grunt, hauls the snotbag across his shoulders in a fireman's lift. Germ infestation, complete. "Get the door there would ya." He might be a big guy but the guard's a dead weight of mucus.

Being shifted /that/ much makes Thierry stir gently; he whimpers something quietly, followed by what might even sound like a 'love you'. But… that can't be what he said, right? Just a funny sniffle!

Reilan does at least manage under the weight for the time he needs to, wobbling slightly. Though there's a slightly sideways, bug-eyed look given at his friend for those sniffle-mumbles, gladly letting Cha'el take over. "Yeah..the door. Mmhm." He heard no such strange mutterings! The blonde makes tracks the the door instead, hauling it open to stand aside.

"He probably says that to all the boys," Cha'el retorts flicking Reilan a smirk for Thierry's mumble declaration. With the door being held open, and thickly muscled arms keeping the slumped Thierry in place over his shoulders, the party of three make their way to the Infirmary where the guard is unceremoniously dumped onto a cot and left in the care of the healers and his blonde mate with the latter reminded about the meeting at the Cantina in a seven's time.

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