D'wane, Kyriel, Va'os


D'wane is working, Va'os is… doing his thing and they both welcome in a new transfer from High Reaches!


It is afternoon of the twenty-second day of the second month of the thirteenth turn of the 12th pass.


Council Room, Southern Weyr

OOC Date 04 Feb 2018 05:00




Council Room

Spacious, this room is cut from the same scale as the living caverns: vast and given to inspiring awe for those who enter. The floor is tiled in a shining cross-hatch of dark and light, an ironic chessboard setting for the looming and overlarge council table. Weathered it is, long and rectangular, with a matching sideboard twice again as long as it is. This is a room for meetings, for work, for decisions: such is evident by the hearth in the corner, and the always-fresh pot of klah.

There's a reason why anyone with any sense usually runs the other way when a new Weyrleader goes fishing for Weyrseconds. D'wane did not do that months ago and so here he is now, in a hidework hell with more reports than one might think possible about the latest 'Falls and all the many, many casualties that have inflicted Southern lately. He's taken a break from actually reading to cradle his head in his hands for the moment. "Ughhhhh…" It's a grunt of complete despair. "I'm gonna need more klah. Do we have more klah?"

Did someone say klah? Va’os is the one to stick his head in through the council room doors but it’s more to stage whisper, “Is it safe?” Ever since that pre-dawn fiasco in the Weyrwoman’s Office, the Weyrleader has probably done his best to steer clear of Mayte unless he absolutely has to. And since the council room is a 50/50 chance? Well… once he realizes it’s just D’wane (run faster next time, bud), he’ll finish entering the room. “… looks safe.” He jinxed it, didn’t he?

Slow footsteps approach the council room. Perhaps the steady nature of the young woman's breaths covers her nervousness, but it is unlikely. They are still too shallow and her face is a shade too pale. Kyriel freezes when she rounds the corner just in time to see a man adorned in Weyrleader's knots enter the fancy room. She gasps sharply before she can stop herself, her grip on the papers in her hands tightening. The sound of wrinkling paper informs her of her involuntary action. She looks down at them and purses her lips. "Yeah, I know," she murmurs, seemingly to herself. After glancing around to make sure no one's watching, she presses the file - her records and transfer papers - against her stomach and rubs her hands against them to flatten them out. Once she deems them suitably flat and straightens them for what may be the twentieth time that day, she forces herself to resume her calming breaths and closes the distance between herself and the door. There, she hesitates for a moment longer. Is her hairdo, half of a braid over a layer of gentle curls, still in place? Yes. Has the simple yet elegant deep blue dress she wears been marred in any way? No. Are her inappropriate brownriding knots in place? …Yes. Kyriel forces herself to lift her chin up and knock on the door.

Somewhere, Mayte is probably cackling about the fear she's struck in the heart of the two wayward bronzeriders and just waiting for the most inconvenient time to pounce upon them to extract her revenge. Until that point, D'wane is also living in fear. He nearly jumps as someone besides Pebble responds, not that the little bronze troublemaker was doing much more than sleeping on one of those piles of hides. Once he realizes it is indeed Va'os and not a goldrider, D'wane slumps back into the seat, waving a hand at the mountain of work in front of him. "Safe enough, until we have to actually rearrange the wings and of course there is going to be some bitching." No way to make everybody happy, right? Especially when everybody's a bit short staffed from all the recent injuries… and that's right when there is another knock at the door. Not the same one Va'os came in, but the outside door. "Think that's the klah?" To Va'os, and then to the door. "Come in if you have klah!!!"

It’s the worst, truth be told! Never to know when one is to be pounced upon! Maybe Va’os is getting a taste of his own medicine, given how fond the bronzerider is on sneaking up on people from time to time? Like now. Score one for him, when D’wane jumps! “Woah, woah. Wait! Rearrange?” Back it up there! He frowns, then grimaces as he makes his slow way around to his seat and not-so gracefully flops down into it. “Catch me up?” Even if he probably read those very reports — he needs a refresher! Va’os straightens at the knock at the door and shoots D’wane a ‘I hope so!’ look. “… and not a goldrider.” he mutters under his breath. Properly, he’ll call out: “Or just come on in!” They don’t bite!

<Southern Weyr> Tsiroth senses that: Somewhere on a tropical beach that doesn't look very unlike Southern, a makeshift fort of palm fronds has been constructed. Scrawled in the sand is a message 'Goldriders keep out. Or not' (Rocketh)

…If she has klah? Kyriel wrinkles her brow and bites down on her slower lip. If she walks away, she'll be ignoring orders, but since she is very much without klah, she'll also be ignoring orders if she goes in. She could introduce herself and explain why she's there through the door, but the very thought is appalling on many levels. Decisions, decisions… Before she worries herself into too much of a dilemma or has to choose one of her unappealing options, someone else tells her to come in whether there's klah or not. She can't help letting out a breath of relief before opening the door and stepping in. Her gaze is only allowed to linger on the bronzeriders before her long enough to match the faces to the knots. While there are no flaws in her posture for her to correct, it maybe emphasized by the utterly perfect salute she offers the pair. It is at odds with the undertones of nervousness that she can't quite blot out with politely emotionless formality when she speaks. "My duty to you, Weyrleader, Weyrsecond. I-I am Kyriel of br-brown Castyrith, Impressed at High Reaches Weyr, applying for transfer to Southern Weyr." There is a barely perceptible wince when she stutters. She forces herself to continue despite her discomfort and demurely steps forward, to keep her head up, yet not make eye-contact, and focuses on keeping her hands from twitching and feet from shuffling.

"Where do I start?" D'wane sighs and eyes the hides as if they have personally offended him. "Tiglon is down three, plus that fatality. Siberian is down three, Liger, Leo, Serval, shards, even we're down two. Atrox is down one, plus got that rider transferring out to Puma for pregnancy…" The list goes on and on it seems. The weyrsecond actually has to check his notes to make sure he's getting the tallies right. He is distracted a bit by the entrance of the new rider and only looks slightly disappointed by the fact that she doesn't come bearing klah and just communicates that in a look to Va'os. D'wane's got some very expressive eyebrows, after all. His eyes widen as Kyriel gives a rather elaborate introduction. "Do you always introduce yourself like that? Seems like it'd take forever…"

Va’os sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Yeah… Yeah, I’m starting to see the picture.” A big, bad one! Which he won’t ditch D’wane to solve on his own (for once). Only now they’re going to be delayed on tackling that massive task and it’s probably with some relief on his part. Kyriel is going to earn herself quite the curious look over by the Weyrleader and his grin, while broad, is genuine. “Don’t fault her on being formal,” he mutters as a teasing aside to D’wane and gestures for the new brownrider to step forwards and sit — or stand! “Welcome, Kyriel! Make yourself comfortable and relax a bit. Sorry there’s no klah…” Woe is them. “Those the hides we need?” A gesture to what Kyriel holds, along with a twitch of his fingers to indicate to pass them over (they’re going to just get side-passed to D’wane).

Kyriel's cheeks light up in a bright pink blush. She forces it down before the pink can turn to scarlet. Finally, her head is lowered, but as it is only for a brief nod, it offers her no relief from gazes of Southern's leadership. "My apologies, Weyrsecond. It is what I was taught is appropriate." At least, that particular introduction is what she had been taught was appropriate was appropriate when first transferring in. The painfully formal demeanor, however, was what she was supposed to do when speaking with anyone who outranks her. Coincidentally, most people outrank her, socially if not officially. That is why surprise flickers across her face at the Weyrleader's display of friendliness. It is quickly hidden beneath a carefully neutral expression, which only lingers for a moment itself before she attempts a small, hesitant smile. An element of confusion is added to the gesture by the hint of suspicion that she is unable to prevent from manifesting in her eyes. Faranth knows J'llor didn't smile when he had to see her. He certainly wouldn't have told someone not to fault her or offered for her to sit down. With stiff movements, she hands the file to the Weyrleader and nods. "Yes, sir." She then delicately sits down on what is very nearly the edge of one of the chairs, her back still straight and her shoulders stiff. Her eyes spend several moments glued to the hides before she forces herself to look away.

If anybody else here knows what is taught at High Reaches, it'd probably be D'wane. There's a reason his temporary transfer was quickly made a permanent one, but he's just shrugging off the formality at the moment as he takes the transfer hides from Va'os and gives them a quick scan. "Which flight did you fly in at Reaches?" It's definitely in the stuff in front of him, but just letting her stand/sit there while reviewing seems like it'd be even more awkward that answering questions he could find the answer to. "We got more than enough gaps that need filling…" Is muttered towards Va'os but plenty loud enough for Kyriel to hear as well.

The grin twitches to a grimace for a moment when Va’os catches on the word ‘taught’. He may not be from High Reaches Weyr, but he is High Reachian born; while most of his past is vague and ambiguous there is one thing known — he and his family did not agree. “No need to be sorry, either. You’ll find that things are a touch more… easy going here.” Not to say that Southern is lax in any way or form but there are differences for certain! He gives her another curious, expectant look when D’wane asks his questions and for the observation, he’ll merely tilt his head and mutter back. “No kidding. Should we just draw lots, then?” He’s kidding! … maybe.

Kyriel's shoulders relax a little at Va'os' reassurance. Her expression threatens to switch to one of curiosity when she catches that look on his face. One of her eyebrows twitches as she grapples with the impulse for to ask a question, only for D'wane's question to all but bodyslam it out of her mind. She furrows her eyebrows and glances at the file, but doesn't dare say that the answer is right there, even if it would save her from having to answer the humiliating question. The quiet scheming between the pair sees her biting her lip and hesitating a moment longer. More than enough gaps? Draw lots? They're making it sound like there's been a slaughter! Rather than allow herself to worry, she steels her shoulders - again - and forces herself to answer the question. It wouldn't do to waste their time by dawdling… even if she was revealing just how little her home Weyr thought of her. "I was never assigned to a wing, Sir." At least they might not be too upset about High Reaches foisting them on her if the riders of Southern Weyr really are dropping like flies? Most Weyrs wouldn't be eager to accept the inexperienced and unseemly, even the more easy going ones. There is a chance that the rumors she's heard about Southern really are just rumors. There's not a place on Pern that doesn't at least have some limit. Despite everything, she can't resist the urge to say a little more with the tiniest hint of defensiveness in her voice. "My transfer was filed immediately upon graduating. They… said there was no point in giving me an assignment. Castyrith and I have good weyrlinghood records." Outside of socializing with their fellow weyrlings. And that whole egg thing. How about overlooking some details?

"Got any dice? I hear there's a certain bluerider that could make us a custom set…" D'wane has his own kidding back, but that's quickly smothered back to a semi-professional expression, although eyebrow arching just a bit when she mentions that she hasn't even been assigned a wing. "Really?" But he just shrugs. "Don't want to put her in high flight, even if Leo's been hit hard. We could keep an eye on her in Jaguar though…" He looks towards Va'os. His wing, his call, ultimately. He's done his job throwing out the suggestion.

“Let’s not fuel some bad habits, hmm?” Va’os knows who D’wane was subtly implying there and keeps the joke running just a wee bit longer. There’s a scoff for Kyriel’s revelation and then a brazen, “You serious? What got them so pissy that they couldn’t even sort out where to place you?” It’s mind boggling, even for him! “They’d probably have fits then, if they ever happened to care to look at our rosters, eh, D’wane? Faranth forbid…” Oh, right. He’s supposed to be doing Important Things, right? Frowning thoughtfully, he’ll add to the Weyrsecond’s shrug. “Worth a shot. You wanna fly with the all-boy’s Wing, Kyriel? Mid-flight’s not so hard to figure out your strengths. We can see then for ourselves if you’ll fit.” Or not and then they’re back to square one!

Oh. Well then. Kyriel cannot crush down the impulse, fostered by turns of being around well-behaved ladies, to give Va'os a scandalized look for his lack of class. However, it's also accompanied by very genuine relief. If these two are so surprised by her admission and the Weyrleader is really willing to speak badly (and crassly) about another Weyr in front of someone transferring from said Weyr, what he said about it being laid back must be true. Those whispers about it accepting Pern's screw-ups must be more fact than fiction. She never thought she'd be in this position, but despite all of the trials laid out ahead of her, she's glad. Her expression lasts for a moment longer than her last ones. "I wasn't really… supposed to impress," she explains. The nervousness from earlier has begun to fade. Perhaps inappropriate outbursts really are helpful sometimes? "I was searched for a gold egg. Castyrith hatched from it instead." You know what they say about all that glitters. One of High Reaches' queens got to learn a fun lesson about making assumptions without being absolutely certain. An embarrassed flush returns to her cheeks. However, it isn't entirely because of the nature of her impression. "…I'd be happy to accept, if you will have me. I didn't expect to fly with many other women back at High Reaches." The low number of women riding colors other than gold meant that she would have been surrounded by men if she stayed at her home Weyr anyway. Except… A tiny smile tugs at her lips. J'llor would never have invited her to his wing.

If only Kyriel knew the history of most of Southern's recent weyrleaders… and considering practically half of Jaguar is made up of former convicts, she might have more facts to support that theory very soon. D'wane snorts at Kryiel's comment about not 'supposed' to have been impressed. "Stick around long enough and you'll learn. Nobody knows who is supposed to Impress except for those little hatching dragons. And…" There's a quick look back down just to confirm it, "Castyrith made his decision about what you were supposed to do. Welcome to Jaguar. Meet me right after dawn before drills." Va'os might not be the earliest of risers, but D'wane is! He'll volunteer to run the newbie through her paces before full wing drills begin.

True, Va’os is a convict but if the whole story was known, that becomes a slight grey area — at least in his opinion! It’s not like he wanted to be in the mines, okay? He just made some shit choices. “D’wane said it right! Might not be weyrbred myself but all I’ve ever heard is that the dragons know… So obviously you had the right stuff for Castyrith! And we’ll see that you settle just fine here in Southern. Welcome, Kyriel!” And while he does gesture in an outward spread of his hands, he does not go as far as to scoop the poor brownrider in a hug! He does, however, stand from his chair and moves to offer his hand to shake. See? Perfectly harmless! “I’m going to go find some klah… Or do you drink?” Celebration time! Or… not. “And we’ll sort out which weyr to put you and Castyrith in…” There’s a pointed look to D’wane then. Does he have that covered too?

Unfortunately, Kyriel is not weyrbred. Getting used to everything would probably be a lot easier if she was, even with her High Reaches origins. But that's a problem for another day! A few more things need to be signed, her weyr needs to be assigned, and she needs to meet her new wing filled with convicts before even thinking about anything else. Or finding out that her new wing is full of former convicts. For now, she shakes the Weyrleader's hand. She still looks a little nervous at the contact, but she is not quite the anxious wreck tied together by lace and an empty knot that she was when she knocked. "Klah would be lovely," she says."I don't dr- I don't drink much." If they catch her correction, they'll likely discover the reason for it soon enough. One cannot be bonded to Castyrith and be allowed to be completely ignorant regarding the joys of wine. She has a lot ahead of her, and even more once she has gotten through it, but after this meeting, the path ahead looks a little less daunting.

Fine… everybody else can go have fun without him. D'wane will stick here trying to figure out this mess of a puzzle of wing assignments. And possibly he'll have Rocketh ask Amani about some actually weyr assignments so Kyriel might know where she's living by noon. And Va'os better come back with the promised klah or he'll have a very, very grumpy weyrsecond.

Of course Va'os will return with the promised klah! He likes D'wane enough and doesn't want a grumpy Weyrsecond after him too!

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