Dione, Q'fex


A new entrant to the Weyr gets the lay of the land.


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


Archive Library, Southern Weyr

OOC Date


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Archive Library

Where once books reigned supreme, this open space is now dominated by a stalwart skybroom reaching to the sky through a broken ceiling. What was once evidence of collapse is now ornately carved with engraved ivy, matched by a clever contraption of stone that allows the gap to be closed in inclement weather. A small garden occupies the space around the tree-trunk, all manicured bushes and flowering shrubbery enclosed by a grated gutter. The walls are lined with bookcases, while a spiral staircase leans on the western wall to wind upwards to the second level. Tucked in the corners and scattered in the main areas are tables and chairs, cafe-style, and comfortably worn overstuffed armchairs. It is the perfect place for individuals to gather, to enjoy the offerings of the food-cart or a spirited conversation.

Timor: 1_m27.jpg Belior: 1_m8.jpg

Exploration on a cool day, with humidity still thick in the air, is the best; it's a wonderful time of day for it as well, with just enough heat to cut through the autumn rain's chill. Dione wanders in just a bit after the tenth candlemark, pausing in the doorway as large green eyes widen with delight. The skybroom's appearance merits a small clap of her hands, and quick steps take her into the room. There's a small twirl out of sheer happiness at the new, unexpected sight, and a hum of fascinated appreciation. More than double her age, but still pretty, especially that head-down, concentrating profile. "Good day!" Cheerful, but not loud; that's saved for her hair, bright enough to draw eyes and communicate the bubble of excitement inside. There're enough loops on his shoulder that she guesses: "Weyrleader?"

Dark eyes glance up from being absorbed in his reading, and Q'fex allows the girl one of his drowsy smiles. "So they call me," sayeth the man, considering her hair. "You aren't related to Arianne, are you? Or Bailey?" He just needs to make SURE, see. The answer qualifies how frequently he can say the word 'whore'. Riding the coattails of such question is a, "First time you've been back here, hmm?" He nods his chin towards the tree and the garden that neatly sprawls at the foot of it.

"Not," Dione notes thoughtfully, "that I know of, unless they happen to be from somewhere in Nerat." She slips her attention back to the tree and garden, wandering forward until all she can see is bark and branches, with a thin sliver of a staircase reaching to the second level. "First time I've been in a Weyr at all. I didn't know they ran to gardens. Dusty affairs normally, aren't they?" One spin of her heel carries her around and towards him; there's little escape from her determined, happy stride. "Pleased to meet you, sir. I'm Dione," she introduces herself with the formal, factual respect of someone that had it beaten into them since childhood. "New bartender at the Kitten."

"The hair," Q'fex explains himself inexplicably. Such is the way of the man. "Really?" Dark eyebrows lift. "You think weyrs as dusty affairs, with Nerat beholden to the jewel of the sea?" He references, of course, Ista Weyr in all of the glory of her black-sand and lush-greenery. "Kids these days," he mutters, more to himself than to her. But he finds her amusing, at least, or so indicates the crows-feet about his eyes. "Q'fex," he introduces himself negligently, "Kraakenaeth's. Have a seat." He gestures across the table at the empty seat that faces the one he is currently in. It doesn't seem to be a request. "Do you have a preference in how you take your klah?"

Dione wrinkles her nose at that. "They don't have a tree in their archives, I think. Besides, I'm from a tiny, landlocked hold there, I've never been to the Weyr itself." So there. She takes a seat amiably, with the slightly rolling step of someone that's spent a lot of time on ships, and sits in much the same way, legs stretched out and ankles crossed. "Very light, please, with plenty of sweetener." One hand lifts to cup her chin, and she considers him thoughtfully. "Kraakenaeth." Lips tilt. "He sounds fearsome. Shall I pour? It'll be practice for tonight, see."

"Ista is beautiful," Q'fex replies. "I'll see to it that you visit. I've a… bluerider, I think, that hails from there. In Ocelot. Or Br'er - he takes any excuse to visit a different beach." His lips curve into a private smile. "Oh no, child, they do - the fancy things." He gestures off as if to explain it: there's a slate board over there, with a number of lattes and foamed things and icy deliciousness and all of that. "You don't want to meet him." Kraaken, presumably. "He's not fit for company." Another private expression, this one more irrascible.

The young woman tilts her head in the direction indicated, and her eyes widen a little. Fascinated, instantly, she hops up and makes for the slate ledge, staring down at the bounty. "Shards." It's deeply, deeply respectful. One fingertip swings back and forth, before it finally settles on an icy, sweetener-swirled confection that's cold enough to have condensation on the outside of the mug. Her look over her shoulder is questioning: what does he want? "I'll ask Br'er if I meet him one day." The smile's curve is traced with her eyes, and her expression turns curious. "some things not fit for company can be … quite interesting."

"I'm sure you will." Q'fex hefts his glass of milk in silent response. No klah for him. Indigestion, you know. "Meet Br'er, that is. He's … notorious." Or something. "Put it on my tab," he calls to the girl who mans the cart this morning, and she nods cheerfully. "Not Kraaken." Being interesting. He shakes his head. "So how new are you, then? New enough to not know about the tree. Or the klah. But not new enough to be jobless. A few days?" Brow heft in query.

Dione makes herself at home at his table. "Two days," she admits cheerfully. "It cost me nearly a day to argue Sevreni into a job - strict, that one - but she finally gave in when I pled with her, and promised my firstborn in service of the Kitten. She gave me today off to settle in and look around. Later tonight's my first time serving there." There's a glimmer of curiosity. "The butt-pinching kind of notorious? Who should I walk big circles around?"

Q'fex settles in, a look of satisfaction crossing his face at a guess well-founded. "Sevreni isn't a bad sort," he states, lips curving. "Just be wary of the riders, since I'm sure you aren't used to how… they are." Q'fex was holdbred, once. He remembers. Vaguely. "They are all butt-pinching notorious. Br'er is typically too fastidious for all of that, though," reflective. "But." He glances around briefly then leans forwards, his face very serious. "Avoid Lendai at all costs."

She takes a long sip of the icy beverage, mumbling an appreciative moan around the rim of the mug. Her eyebrows shoot up, however, as he cautions her. "The Weyrwoman?" she echoes softly, somewhat incredulous. "I… ah, yes, I'll watch out for the riders, of course. I'm not — I mean, I've not had much time to deal with them on that kind of level, but I've had to deal with sailors before, and you wouldn't believe how they get when they've not seen a woman for some time." Her nose wrinkles. "I assure you though, I'd treat the Weyrwoman with utmost respect — my parents raised me well enough, Weyrleader. I wouldn't want to offend anyone that can toss me out on my backside."

"Sailors. Yeah, we're worse. But at least it won't be a surprise." Or that big of one. Some riders are raaaaaunchy. "No," Q'fex returns, glancing about him with that selfsame serious expression. "Avoid her at all costs. She's a little," his knuckles lift to rap on a temple, just below where salt-and-pepper hair sprouts thickly. "Touched." Then, leaning back more, "It is a good idea, generally. The whole," Vague handwave, "Respect. Thing."

Respect. Thing. "Alright," Dione muses, slightly more nervous. "If you say so." She rakes hands through her hair, tousling the red locks thoughtfully. "I'll try to avoid her if I see her. Thanks. And for the other advice. I don't want to spend my entire career brick-red. It'll be an adaption certainly." Her brows wrinkle. "It's an indelicate question, but waht about the whole flight thing?" One hand flops, inviting him to draw his own conclusions on the rest of that sentence. "Women in the weyr have so much freedom, it's almost unthinkable. Back home, I'd be married two Turns and with a kid already.

"I do say so." Q'fex is very good at that sort of negligent command. "Whole flight thing?" He smirks. "Well, you just missed the last gold flight, so you're safe for a while longer. The worse you'll run into is riders whose dragons have lost greenflights, the next turn or two." He glances up at a wide-eyed weyr messenger coming in, and sighs with exasperation. "Good luck, Dione." He takes his milk and his book, nods once at the girl and rises to his full height, to meet said messenger and head towards the guard-warded war room with deliberation to his steps.

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