Who

Thierry, T'ral, Tuli

What

Thierry is fishing for information about E'lai. Tuli is her usual delicate self. T'ral manages to stay out of it. Thierry has a very scary appointment soon.

When

It is afternoon of the seventh day of the third month of the first turn of the 12th pass.

Where

Igen Weyr

OOC Date

 

thierry%2018.jpg t-ral_giveMeStrength.jpg tuli_default.jpg

igenpens.jpg

Pens

Here thar be pens, in a variety of shapes and sizes fit for all manner of beastie. The largest pens are those housing plump herdbeast for human or draconic consumption. A few of the smaller pens are unoccupied, though there are remnants of their former occupants still evident on ground and fence. The actual pens themselves are made of wood, stick, nail and twine. It's a slap-shod sort of place, kept together by dreams and good luck to hold fast against the winds. In each pen there are troughs for feed and water, and they appear again by the stableside.

It is the seventh day of Spring and 58 degrees. It is bright and sunny. The only evidence of the overnight storm is in the lingering mud puddles.


It's a stinky sort of path to take from the bazaar side of things to the Weyr's lake on a sunny spring afternoon, but there's Thierry, walking it anyway. Maybe he's impervious to the smells, sights and sounds, given his upbringing. The guard recruit clips along at a smart march, a towel and little bag of what could be bathing supplies hanging off his arm. The sight of the bluerider getting ready to mount up makes him pause; there's something unfamiliar about his knot… and then it clicks, as he recognises where it's from. "Oi! You! Southern!"

T'ral pauses in mounting, mid-hitch, to look over his shoulder. A man in uniform is bearing down on him. Alarms shrill over the man barking at him. He lowers his foot and turns, squaring up. A few steps forward to meet the man's trajectory. Up close, the rider, neat as a pin with a sort of pent-up intensity, gives the guard a once-over. "Can I help you. Igen," delivered quietly.

Don't mind Tuli: she's by the pens, sitting on the fence, easy to miss. The woman is idly scratching a herdbeast's nose, letting it nuzzle her, permitting a few laps at her with its big pink tongue. Such a friendly herdbeast: obviously it doesn't realize her dragon will someday eat it, with Tuli's full awareness and consent. She's been aware of T'ral (and Esanth's) presence, but doing little to draw attention to herself. But Thierry's voice - his familiar voice - has the goldrider come slowly out of her zenlike state. HM.

"Dunno, maybe?" Thierry saunters over to the foreigner, meeting his intense look with one that's far more at ease. He even gives the man a crooked sort of smile, too, as he stands before him, hands dug into his pockets once he's slung his towel around his neck. "Gotta question for you, Southern-riderman. D'you know that bronzerider who's stuck here on the sands?" He turns his head to cough; a leftover from a recent cold, that leads him to spit up something yucky. It's all part of the ground now though, and Thierry scrubs the back of his hand over his mouth to wipe it off, then scrubs the back of his hand clean on his tunic. That's what clothes are for, right? It's in raising his eyes from hocking up gunk onto the ground that he notices the so-familiar face that is Tuli, and he freezes. Snotbunny in headlights. With his eyes still fixed warily on the goldrider, he says to T'ral, "Yeah… y'know what? Don't matter, man. You go on with whatcha were doing, yeah?" Because he's turning to march right on outta there, towards the lake.

T'ral relaxes noticeably. Freaking Igen. He couldn't wait to get back to torrential rain and foot fungus. Temperature was nice though. Brisk. E'lai. "Yes, I know him, wh-" Thierry hawks a big nasty loogie, T'ral's eyes tracking its shivering gelatinous arc, "-hy." FREAKING IGEN. The man stiffens, looking off at the pens and T'ral tracks along his gaze. He straightens, but it's much less wary than Thierry's. He looks from Tuli to Thierry to Tuli. Oh boy.

TOO LATE. Thierry speaking of a 'bronzerider who's stuck here on the sands' is all the excuse Tuli needs to leave off with her herdbeast buddy, clambering leggily off the fence. She strolls all too casually closer. There's a smile on her face, at least technically: though there's a lot of TEETH to that one. "I couldn't help but overhear." For a second it looks like she might be about to put a cherry on top of the Awkward Sundae by getting into Thierry's personal space… and then she sees just how totally revolting he is, and it throws her for a LOOP. She must settle for remaining a healthy few paces away; she looks vaguely sulky about it. "Good afternoon, bluerider." T'ral is dealt with first, as protocol demands: Tuli gives him a regal nod, a light salute. "My regards to Southern. Why are you here?" And then her gaze shifts to Thierry - though she's still speaking to T'ral. Technically. "And why is the Guard Recruit asking you about Bronzerider El'ai?"

Also too late for Thierry, who knows that he's only going to dig himself into the shit if he trots off like he intended to. So he stays rooted, legs slightly apart in an at-ease sort of stance, hands clasped behind his back, even. And chin held high, because damn Tuli if she's going to pull those extra inches she has over on him. When the goldrider asks T'ral her questions, he watches with narrowed eyes, meeting her gaze when it comes around to him. A slight pull on the corner of his lips is a hint of a smile; a little flash of confidence that he may or may not be feeling. "Bumped into El'ai," he doesn't sound like he knew the name before, with the way he repeats it, "looking lost in the bazaar, was all. Couple days ago." Or a few more than that, really. "Wanted to know, weyrwoman, if he was prone to that sorta thing - 's'not a good place to not know your way around, y'know? Not without someone looking out for you."

As she comes within three paces and makes eye contact, T'ral snaps to attention, "Afternoon, Ma'am." He drops the salute sharply, inclining his head in return, a strange dance of military precision and courtliness. He drops into a comfortable at ease stance, like Thierry's, but more at ease, potentially. "Dragonhealer training, Ma'am." I'm totally not stalking my girlfriend, the Candidate, Ma'am. That was just a bonus. An uncomfortable, shocking bonus. He's rather certain she didn't recall him from when the harpsichord had been delivered to Southern. At the time an anonymous and doofus-y weyrling. He's WAY cooler now. WAY more memorable. Unfortuneately. "Ah, I'm not sure, he hadn't quite gotten to that." Eyes look back towards Thierry. Ah, well, that was it then. Just asking after his health because FREAKING IGEN. Why hadn't the bronzerider been assigned a detail? His brows furrow at Thierry and the bluerider bows up a bit in concern for his fellow Southerner. He remains silent though. Tuli had the floor.

This revelation throws Tuli off her groove: out with the predator-face, in with the annoyed-face. But it's not at THIERRY, there's a first. "BAH." She slams her fist into her open palm. "Of all the Southern bronzes, why did Eli have to pick one with a rider who's… who's… simple?" Possibly it isn't diplomatic to say so in front of a fellow Southerner; it's not like she really cares, though. SOUTHERN KNOWS WHAT THEY DID. Tuli's mouth compresses to a thin line, the gears all but visibly turning in her head. "YOU." Thierry. She points at him. "I need to speak with you." A pause. She glances at the herdbeasts; she glances at T'ral. Her finger wavers. "Possibly not right here." The goldrider resumes pointing - but in the direction of the Inner Caverns, not at Thierry. "My office. At our earliest mutual convenience." And then Tuli gives the pair of them a imperious little flick of the hand. "Carry on, then."

Thierry watches T'ral from the corner of his eye as he speaks to Tuli, turning his full attention back to the goldrider when she goes on about El'ai. "Didn't seem that bad, weyrwoman," he ventures cautiously. "Just lost. I got him set straight, though. No tricks." He's very careful to include that last bit, because surely she'll understand what he means. And yet he's being summonsed? That sounds ominous. He looks to T'ral, perhaps seeking help; then back at Tuli. "Ma'am." Sulky, yes. But he's learnt his lesson and the delivery of that 'ma'am' is a far cry from anything Tuli might've got from him on their previous run-in. "I'll send Rat to confirm a time. Would the Sands be your office now, or…?"

T'ral draws up, straight, blinking. It's not that he really disagreed and he certainly appreciated it when people were frank, but, um… seriously. Dimplomacy? Right. OH, SOUTHERN KNOWS. SOUTHERN CAME IN AND ROCKED IGEN'S SHIT, YO. THRICE. Ahem, and T'ral's one of them. COLLAR POP. Thierry gets a sympathetic look. But T'ral is none help at all. Be-tempered goldriders were best avoided. T'ral does his greeting to Tuli in reverse for the farewell, a slight bow over a hand tucked at his abdomen, then straightening to a sharp salute as she moves away, cloaked in goldrider imperiosity. When Thierry and Tuli have finished coordinating he gives Thierry a what-did-you-DO look and a sympathetic shake of his head.

"Well, no, my office is my… office." Obviously. But Tuli considers this point further, and concedes it: "But the Sands would be more convenient. Very well. Come and find me on the Sands, and we'll talk." At least that prrrrrrobably means she isn't going to flay him and use his skin for a hat? Public location and all. (Could mean she's going to feed him to her dragon?) She starts to move away, returning T'ral's salute with an absentminded flick of her fingers - but pauses a few steps away to add an addendum. "And BRING ENTERTAINMENT. The Sands are fucking boring." And NOW she's going, striding purposefully towards the North Bowl. So. That happened?

What did he do indeed, T'ral - because Thierry's looking at the retreating bluerider like he's losing a lifeline. The teen frowns when he's invited onto the Sands, but, there is a point there; it's public. There's going to be that big-ass dragon there that once tried to eat him. Conclusion? Public execution. He looks suitably nervous as he nods, sharply. "Yes, ma'am." To all of it. What's a guy to do other than say yes to a woman like Tuli? He steps aside when she passes, echoing T'ral by giving his own smart salute. And once she's gone? Thierry flumps. "Faranth's fucking shit," he breathes, looking thankfully at the Southern bluerider. Thankful to still be here. "Clear skies, man. Lucky fucking bastard, gettin' to go to Southern." And far away from freaky goldriders. He gives T'ral a smile, fires off a salute his way, and trots on towards the lake, dragging his towel off from around his neck as he goes. He needs a bath more than ever now, to wash away the fear.

Add a New Comment