Who

Threvobek, Veresch, Tija , A'lory, E'bert

What

In between repair work from the earthquake, Rev is beautifully accosted as a candidate.

When
Where

Pens, then LC

OOC Date

 

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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.


In the earthquake's advent clean up has been achieved in different stages. The stables suffered a few structural cracks, the worst of these visible stress lines glossed over with a little mortar and a whitewash. No animals suffered permanent damage though a good number are still on edge. Threvobek, swaddled in loose clothing, is reinforcing the outside fencing with recently gained mesquite branches and skeletons of thorny plants. A utility belt rings his waist where twine is quickly dispensed. The herds are confined to the shade, dozens of ears and legs flicking at rest.

It's been one hell of a day since everything went wrong at the clutching - Rhiscorath has some impeccable timing - and not much sleep has been gotten afterwards. Veresch looks as if someone's dragged her back-to-front through some of the same thorny bushes that he's now putting up into the gap. "Hey." That was soft and terrible. Let's try again. "HEY!" she yells over the small distance between them, and starts to tiredly shamble in his direction. Two steps, three, and she throws herself at him for a tight hug, arms wrapping almost chokingly tight around his neck. "I thought the stupid animals had trampled you, you've not been back to grab something to eat. Even my dad has!" Then again, her dad had to fight a series of not-quite-there-yet pregnancies, so had to wash up a little. SQUEEEEEZE.

Threvobek's face and head might be mummy wrapped in faded orange and his hands safeguarded in leather gloves. But his stance and habits aren't so nullified by the heat making distant ground shimmer like mercury. Lifting a limb over his head, the stablehand snaps off smaller branches with his hands or kicks of a heel. Looking up and around, there's… seems like Resh. "Afternoon," said with enough fervor to get past the mask. He threads a branch through a gap in effect before the quake, securing it with twine pulled from the waist pouch. But his arms don't quite get that far, what with the hug pinning them. "I— no, hey Resh." His breath comes out of the constriction nearly whole. Given enough space a hand pat pats the girl's back center. This must be Veresch's never before seen good twin? "I want to get this done with. How are you coping?"

This is Tired Veresch, when she can't keep up appearances. Right now it's also teary Veresch, who is totally sniffling into his neck. There's a mumble in the negative — she's not going to let go until she's good and ready. That comes about a minute later, when she's calmed herself enough to sniff and step back, right into a stray thorn. "Ow! What the hell?" Right, normal Veresch again. Mumbling dire imprecations, she steps out of range of the fence and stares at him as he fixes it, hands on her hips. "You should stop and eat something at least." Advice that can be applied to her too. "I heard from the messages this place more or less survived. Congratulations — the caverns are more or less standing too, but a lit of damage in the bazaar."

"Watch it," Threvobek guides more than admonishes, prying the fabric away from the defensive stockade with a stroke of a glove. "Don't worry, I'm staying hydrated, that's more important." Hand going to rest on the canteen underlapping the utility belt. "When was the last time you got some rest?" Two can play at this fastidious game, Rev pulling down the mask to reveal the slash marks of black grease under his eyes for further sun protection. It lightens his eyes considerably as temporary contrast while they stare at, and not down, the messenger/ninja/foil/actress. "I saw a good streak of people this morning surveying the damage and clearing the gutters." When they back up the whole Weyr suffers. "So those beasts Veschan was with are okay?" If safe in anyone's hands it would be the herder's.

Messenger/Ninja/other things grimaces. "He said that one didn't make it, too early," she says as she hunkers down, plucking down her veil as well. "The oldest two pulled through, and one's still a bit uncertain about whether she wants to live. My mom put her foot down and put my father into bed a bit ago." Her mouth curves with little humour. "Things are starting to get better, or at least cleaner, though something's up with the kitchen well. Smiths and Minecrafters are crawling all over the place." Staring up at him, she reaches into a side pocket, pulls out a dried fruit chew. "Here. Eat something."

Threvobek steels his jaw at the prospect of losing beasts in their prime and their young with them. "I'll have to talk with him or Ulmaren later and get the details— they shouldn't have aborted like that but then maybe the quake set them off." With infinitum factors at work it's hard to narrow them to a just few. "And she didn't put her foot down with you?" By accepting the dried fruit with stocky glove hands it helps dismantle a small grin. "The eggs and dragonets are okay though right?"

Eisheth walks in from the Lake Shore.

A'lory slides from Eisheth's neck and lands gently on the ground.

Veresch shrugs slowly, tiredly. "I don't know enough about beasts to help, sorry. Perhaps it was just the shock, like you said. I had to coax Smoke down out of the rafters, but she's sleeping with Onari now, so that's good at least." Taking a chew for herself, she tears off a strip, chewing thoughtfully. "Yes, they're still safe. There are dragons guarding them around the clock; we're hoping that it's not necessary to move them in any way. That's what I hear in any case." Straightening, she turns to observe the thorn barrier Rev is erecting in the fence gap, poking sideways at a thorn. "Sadie's sick. She threw up on me later on. Or pregnant. One of the two. Too busy to tell now, but the three are being worked off their feet." And so is the assistant.

"Girl always did have the worst timing." Says he of long familiarity with certain small Weyrwomen. That disembodied voice? Oh, it's just A'lory, up to his usual slouching about, Eisheth somewhere in tow, unseen and yet present. One long arm is draped — so casual — over the fence where it's stll intact, the leg of that same side stretched so that he might rest is heel upon the lowest railing. "So. How many casualties an the like? I was… away," HEAVY FROWN HERE. "When this little earth dance commenced."

Threvobek nods his head, a tucked tag of cloth active in a rush of breeze. He can't expect Veresch to know everything about everything and stable solutions too. "Thank you." Already bitten and swallowed, the bit of fruit was a kindly gesture. "Where could they even be moved to?" The thought intrigues him and he starts to ruminate like a bovine, in a different way than regurgitation. He's still on that crux when Eisheth and A'lory bear down, formally assigning the pair a gloved salute. Inside his hands swim in their own sweat. "A few animals sir, I didn't hear of any Weyrfolk…" looking quick to Veresch, she'd likely know.

"I have no idea," says Veresch quietly. "I don't think they want to move them, but if the roof of the Hatching Cavern is going to come down, they'd want the eggs out of there first. I can't imagine they anything but contingency plans at the moment." When that familiar voice comes she blinks, turns. "A'lory!" That's loud, and happy, and she swarms up the other side of the fence to hug the stuffing out of the rider. "There are a few," she mutters as she steps back. "The list is up on the bowl wall; most of them came from the Bazaar, but a rider or two. How are you? And Eisheth?"

Did a rib just crack? Maybe! Awkwardly, A'lory pats Veresch on the head rather like one would pat a very small and distressed child. There, there, muffin. It will all be okay. Finding sufficient space in his significantly squashed chest cavity for air, he offers, "Possibly out int the oasis." For the animals, yes. "Veresch, girl, I may die of asphyxiation if you don't let me go." And he smirks at her, his eyes twinkling with gentle amusement. "Why so enthusiastic a greeting, Eisheth wants to know. I think he's miffed."

Karkath walks in from the Lake Shore.

E'bert walks in from the Lake Shore.

Threvobek throws his wide when actual human casualties are announced though he hasn't been outside the stables and circulating with the populace since yesterday. Threvobek smiles at the affection Veresch oozes on A'lory, his own hug still memorized in his flesh. He works his way over the fence to gauge how it appears on the beast side, tugging a length of mesquite with him. "Some other Weyr?" Still speculating on where to put a clutch of eggs in an emergency, but it's dismissed for having too much red-tape. The beasts, still lounging in the shrinking puddle of shade, watch all the human movement.

"I thought you had gotten hurt," Veresch mutters. It's all she says too, when she steps away from the hug she turns to look out at Eisheth, gauging her luck to get a pat in there. Perhaps the bronze'll allow it this once? "I'm not sure, Rev. I'm really not sure. Other weyrs, and the desert, but it gets cold at night there, or… I honestly don't know." Scrubbing at her face, she takes another bite of the fruit chew, using the sugar rush to keep herself awake for a little while longer. "But you've got to stop working sometime, okay? You need to go sleep." There's a thoughtful pause, and a look at the weyr wall.

A'lory snorts derisively, waving away such silly concern — though there might be a suspicion of affection in the gentle shoulder nudge he gives Veresch. "Me? Never. C'mon, girl, what do you take me for?" Perhaps this once the bronze might allow it; his nose is certainly near enough to the group to allow a pat or two. Meanwhile, the ever-slouchy rider switches his gaze between the pair, raising one shaggy eyebrow. "What's good for the gander's good for the goose, you." And here, he points a finger at Veresch. "When's the last time the pair of you ate anything? Or had a proper rest?" He tilts his head Threvobek-ward. "Bet those beasts are too nervous to go far. Sure you could round up a couple watchers for a bit."

A'lory snorts derisively, waving away such silly concern — though there might be a suspicion of affection in the gentle shoulder nudge he gives Veresch. "Me? Never. C'mon, girl, what do you take me for?" Perhaps this once the bronze might allow it; his nose is certainly near enough to the group to allow a pat or two. Meanwhile, the ever-slouchy rider switches his gaze between the pair, raising one shaggy eyebrow. "What's good for the gander's good for the goose, you." And here, he points a finger at Veresch. "When's the last time the pair of you ate anything? Or had a proper rest?" He tilts his head Threvobek-ward. "Bet those beasts are too nervous to go far. Sure you could round up a couple watchers for a bit."

Lumbering in with his odd gate that's more gallop than walk is Karkath. Where the brown is, the rider is frequently not far behind, and sure enough if you listen you can hear said rider yelling at the brown, "Shard it all Kar! You can't hunt now! You know you can't see the food when it's this bright!" E'bert rounds the bend looking agitated, but perhaps it isn't because of the brown insisting he's going to eat now. Perhaps it's because of the recent events, and the fact he hasn't had time to go check on his sister?

The mask of dusky orange cloth put back in place over Threvobek's face means he's resolute in finishing this damn fence until the next cataclysm hits or a clumsy dragon dismantles it. One of them occurs far more often than the other. He stabs at a bare spot of space with the larger end of the branch, filling that gap with a bristle of dead wood. 'Ironwood' most of them call it, hard and resilient and wreathed in thorns. "I've been trying to tell her she needs sleep too," building on A'lory's concern. "I just ate something now, sir." A tuity fruity snack from Veresch and it was good. "All it takes is one dragon feeding to get them stirred up, sir," exhibit A: Karkath! The bovine mass start to twitch.

Veresch, on the verge of dealing out a well-deserved pat to Eisheth, hesitates. For a second nothing, but then she very carefully delivers a pat or two, precisely measured, and murmurs a greeting before turning back. "He's been up since yesterday," she snitches happily to A'lory. "I'm not going to go to sleep if he doesn't go." See stubborn girl; stubborn and worried as Karkath lumbers past. "Ah… hey E'bert? You ok?" He was in the Hatching Caverns as well, after all.

"Uh huh." A'lory simply eyes the pair of them with wry amusement. "That kind of negotiation stopped being effective when you were both five." Just cause. He turns his head, then, to watch Karkath's excited plunge for the Pens, raising his eyebrows again and doing his level best not to laugh. "Hmm. I do see what you mean." Eisheth, meanwhile, lowers one lid over his eyes, watching Veresch with slowly turning eyes. Until that bucking brown surges past — and up his head goes, eyes spinning faster.

E'bert gives an absent nod to Veresch's question as he puts all his will into halting that lumbering bulk of brown, "He can't see the damn things in the day light anyway," funny that really, because Karkath can see literally everything else perfectly fine. The brown beast blinks at Eisheth before stopping, but only after E'bert once more stares at him for a long moment. Silenceth would have been a better name for this brown who speaks very rarely, and has a curious lack of mind scape rather like being plunged into a total sensory deprivation tank or into the black of ::between:: minus the intense cold.

Fortunately the fence didn't suffer as much as other structures did during the quake, its piecemeal association of twine, boards, and scavenged deadwood more flexible than the stacked, hewn stone of the bazaar and inner Weyr. As half of the pens' animals have gotten on their feet, Threvobek judges the level of water from this distance, wondering if its supply will become effected like Veresch said of the wells. "I think they should hold if Karkath decides to hunt," answering the easier of two subjects. The other, he and Veresch's state of rest, he doesn't dare breach with two riders present. Extending the cloth to speak, "I'll take her to the caverns momentarily."
Veresch pages, "He'll take her to the caverns, eh? How manly and tough!"

Up goes one of Veresch's eyebrows. "It was worth a try," she defends to A'lory. "It's about where his mental level should be after being up for that long." She'll casually forget to include hers in there as well — one has to be kind to oneself. "Will he be okay then?" she continues on to E'bert. "I hear they're kind of ornery today, just like their wrangler here." One hand darts out to Threvobek's side, returns satisfied with the pinch she gave it. "Slow down there, manly man. We can see who drags whom there." Ahem. "Do we need to separate a few out?" That to E'bert as well.

E'bert gives a shake to his head, "Nah. He can wait. Greedy gut, always has been," there's a wry tone to E'bert's voice at that last. The memory of the brown scaling the pens' fence still fresh in his memory as though it had only just happened, "Let's just say, dealin' with a runner that's bound is much less smelly," because vegetarians. Karkath reluctantly lifts himself to an empty ledge to sulk, or to sun is hard to say. Probably a bit of both.

Threvobek's competitive glare to Veresch, underscored by the eye paint, is a long lasting reminder of said orneriness. "Well that settles that eh?" As Karkath sulks to a higher plane of airspace, Rev walks a small distance to a concealed gate among the tangle of building materials. One can almost feel the beasts' collective sigh of relief. "If you'd like to come with us, you're welcome to, sir," both to E'bert and A'lory. "Sirs." Plural.

A'lory lifts his gaze to follow E'bert and Karkath's path, head tilted to one side. "An odd pair." He seems to have forgotten his own oddities during weyrlinghood; all to the better, right? Right! To the matter at hand: getting this pair to move themselves to the Living Caverns."Perhaps I'd better join you two. Someone has to keep you two from coming to blows, or something. We'd never hear the end of it." And he makes shooing motions with his hands, all Grunkly good will. "Hurry along, children; moderating's hungry work." Sheer hubris! Even Eisheth eyes his rider askance before lifting himself off somewhere to find some sun to bask in.

The Grunkle Has Spoken, and if there's one thing Veresch fears more than her mother's discipline it's A'lory's ingenuity. So, with no further ado she shares a sly, sideways smile with Threvobek and makes for the other side of the fence as well. Once there, she dusts her hands off, slips an arm around one of Rev's, and then looks questioningly at E'bert. "See you there?" she hazards before attempting to do the same with A'lory. There's still enough energy in her to make the walk to their stride length, not hers, as they head for the living cavern.

Anywhere Tija is at is a show, and that flamboyancy isn't at all on check for the morning hour. Her table of riders has their eyes fixed right upon her as she regales them with a tale, her hands moving in complicated patterns as she speaks. "…of course, then Izahyth said she was a bit fat, which really, she was, and things simply devolved from there. Greens are so touchy."

There's really a lot of scurrying both in and out of the caverns, rightly so, so the incoming party of riders and nonriders, though together, seems somehow suited. Threvobek holds back a span of canvas for Veresch-at-his-arm, attentive to proper rites of women, just not always rights of them. Then he's reclaiming his arm and hand to unwind the band of cloth around his face and widest part of his head. Please laugh freely at his array of hair. "They look fun, let's sit there." Hello Tija's table, but not before the stablehand's cleaning his hands at a wash basin.

This courtesy thing is nice, which is making Veresch feel all the more heebie-jeebie about it. "Thanks," she mutters, attentive enough to know that gratitude is required, but checks to make sure A'lory came with as well. She's second in line to the wash basin, and quick to a seat near Tija, smiling uncertainly. "Ah… hey, may we have a seat here?" One thumb jerks over her shoulder to her companions. "Three seats? The dusty one's not slept since yesterday, helping out."

Suspicious Grunkle is suspicious. And also washing his hands like a good grunkle should. Afterwards, he's strolling towards the food and drink, in need of one of those hearty sandwiches so temptingly displayed. Meal secured, he's equally quick to join Tija's group — after all, there's something funny going on, and he'd like to share the joke.

"A nip here, a bit of a bite there." Tija waves her hand vaguely in the air as her attention abruptly shifts to those new people who have joined their table. "Let's see, I know you Veresch," she points to the Weyr messenger with large smile, "and of course, suspicious A'lory over there," a bit of a flirty smile for the cute bronzerider (she can't help it), but then her finger moves to the last person and she steps aside to drift behind Threvobek and gently puts her arms around him, raven black hair cascading over a shoulder to surround him. "Veresch, who is this lovely young man?"

No Weyr is it kosher to appropriate an entire display of meatrolls. This platter, however, is half gone and its contents are sorely needed. Threvobek carries the platter to where Tija and the others are staked out and shares the bounty after stacking three rolls into his hand. "Whatever she told you when I wasn't here isn't true," comes the fine print with Veresch. He sits, desert linens limp with sweat and excess fabric, and then… Tija. "Threvobek, of the stables," preparing a bite, "ma'am." The utility belt and canteen are rearranged more comfortably at his waist.

Perhaps more of a greeting than Rev was hoping for, but Veresch throws him cheerfully to the wolves (read: Tija's sense of humour), slipping away to the stew kettle to dish up three helpings. "That's Threvobek," she says over her shoulder, returning to serve A'lory first. Stew as well as sandwiches, A'lo. Can't remain a skinny grunkle forever. "He's single. I think. And a hard worker. Strong." Another bowl before Rev's chair, just in case. One for her. See? She can be a friend.

"So that part about you being handsome isn't true?" A'lory helpfully asks, grinning at Veresch (isn't he such a helpful grunkle) as she plunks stew before him. Oh hay. He'll eat the food — not that it will net him another ounce in weight, but he'll still eat it.

Sweat? Apparently that just doesn't gross Tija out, as she remains sprawled all over Threvobek's neck. "Lies are they! Tell me some more lies about this young man. Does he laugh, does he joke? If Izahyth was to toss him into the ocean would he rise above the injustice or would he be a stick in the mud," no, she totally didn't just cast a hint of a sly look at A'lory. Nope, not a hidden jab at ALL, "Tell me Veresch. Should I give him a little white knot?"

A'lory will see Tija's jab, and raise her an Ignoring It; instead, he's all too happy to dig into some food, intent on smothering the beast growling in his belly. Incidentally, he'll lean in close to Veresch and encourage her in his own sneaky way, to enact revenge: "Best way to get him where he can be watched is to say yes, you know." Grunkle advice is good advice!

Threvobek really tries not to stare at the personable female brownrider draped on his shoulder. This could be habit forming. The first meatroll is devoured with a canine's custom of bite 'n swallow, chewing entirely optional. Choking's free though, as he all but laughs at A'lory, "She didn't call me handsome," he knows Veresch too well for that. The remaining adjectives, well, nothing important enough to argue over and above eating and filling a hollow stomach. "Ma'am?" Presenting a meatroll to Tija. Maybe she's affectionate until fed like some of the stable animals. As Tija's still speaking with Veresch, the latter question stills his jaw long enough to freeze before the guillotine of a reply.

Veresch's nose crinkles at the taste of the stew; her manners desert her somewhat, since she flies into it with all the gusto of the starving. Fine. /Fine/. The guys can feel superior later on. "He's only handsome when he's not being a git," she informs A'lory around a piece of bread. The chunk hides her smile at his advice as well - good one, grunkle! - and her gaze turns innocent as she looks at Tija. "Well. Izahyth's a better judge of course, but he'll float. He'll float." Another bite. "He's not a bad sort. Good hands. He'll treat Izahyth right." The grin spreads. "You have one handy, or should I run and go fetch one for you, Tija?"

"Well I think he's very handsome." Tija probably says that about all the boys as she plants a slight kiss upon his cheek before rising to straighen up. She takes that roll that Threvobek offers up but doesn't eat it, instead aiming it at the head of another of the riders. "Hey, lout. Toss Veresch one of those little white knots you have in your pocket. This Threvobek is going to be a candidate for Rhiscorath's clutch." Wait, isn't Threvobek going to get a chance to say no? Apparently knot (get it?). The rider in question snags that roll before it can hit him in the head and takes a bite as he fishes out a little white knot and tosses it to the weyr messenger. "Come now, we can get you introduced properly and then you can come back to your meal." A twitch of her fingers at Threvobek as Tija begins to saunter away. He's coming, right?

The girl turns her head, catches the knot out of the air as the rider tosses it to her, flashing him a quick smile. "Yes, ma'am," she agrees, getting in a last mouthful of stew before she stands as well. There's wickedness in her gaze now - perhaps a little fantasy about ordering the poor man around? Perhaps just enjoyment at a friend's good fortune. "Come now, you," she mutters to Rev, poking him on the shoulder. "Up, up. Time to meet your doom." …scrubbing duties, probably.

Most of the time when Threvobek stars in this much attention he's winning at dice or poker. At this instance, between these personalities, he isn't sure it's an innocent windfall. The kiss perpetuates first a vague blush and then him swallowing a vast amount of meatroll so he can keep up. "Thank you," sharpening his baritone by clearing his throat, "ma'am. Sir," nodding to A'lory. For Veresch he might have to plot something proper. "I'm ready." Willing, mostly!

Tija saunters into the barracks, her hips maybe swinging a LITTLE too much. "Your ranks is now nothing," sorry kiddo, "and there are a few ground rules. No sex, no drinking, be back at a decent hour, do anything that any rider tells you do, and don't piss off the Headwoman. I hear she likes to bite little candidates, aye?" And with that Tija is just going to ABANDON Threvobek here and dance her way back out. Hopefully Threvobek gets back to his meal at some point?

The sudden fall from the rank totem pole is inconsequential when you're already the base block. Threvobek comprehensively nods when Tija explains the rules, remembering candidate limits. When she leaves, and he knows because he's watching her sashay, he substitutes knots, soaks in the atmosphere, and hopes to god no one ate his stew.

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