Koreiraj, T'ral, Sabina


Various degrees and forms of mortification abound in the Archives as Sabina, T'ral and Koreiraj meet. Koreiraj leaves with a knot.


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


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.

It is the fifty-second day of Summer and 108 degrees. It is sunny and bright. White fluffy clouds drift lazily across the china blue sky.

It's the middle of summer, scorchingly hot outside, and thus, many people have gone deep inside to Weyr to escape the heat. Koreiraj is no different, having left the outer rooms of Southern to the inner sanctuary of the Archive Library. Cooler, dryer, and quiet. Basically the best place in all of Pern. The studious young man is settled in a corner, seated alone at a table with heaps of old and new hides around him. His eyes scan over the information on each page with ease, zipping through one and then another, sometimes jotting down notes with his free hand on a separate sheet. Only the shuffle of pages and his own light breathing emits from the older teenager, so engulfed in his self given work. Though a mutter or two may emit from his lips. "…cots… potatoes… fifty two…" Generally nonsense to any who may over hear them. A light bit of dust ruffles free from a page, making its way up and into Raj's nose. With a flurry of movement, the young man takes a square of cloth from his front package and gives a rather forceful sneeze, disturbing the blessed silence of the library, if only for a moment.

'Bless you?' Nope. 'Need a handkerchief?' Nuh-unh. A harsh and insistent, "SSHHHHHHH!!" sounds from a table not far from where Koreiraj is ensconced amongst his hides, old and new. A similar pile of hides, though these given over to things formation-related, tables, charts, lists of names, surrounds a bluerider who is hunkered down, looking up with scorn at the intrusion upon his studies. The look is right on the cusp of uncomfortable when the rider's face crumples. He can't keep a straight face. A sunny grin under merrily glinting dark eyes. "Occupational hazard?" T'ral's dark eyes drift inquiringly over Koreiraj's knot -uniformative- and his hides -too far away to read. Skipping over to a sandglass, those eyes widen with a flinch and he stands. Gathering his hides as he continues to look quizically at the well-turned out man.

A rather respectable 'HOOONK' is issued from Koreiraj as he expels the dust and grit that had settled within his sinuses. The man has the decency to look shamed as he replaced his handkerchief back into his front tunic pocket before turning just a bit towards the other library occupant. He's about to throw himself at the mercy for breaking a well known and well respected library rule, before T'ral's grin has him giving a small smile of his own. "I am terribly sorry about that. Usually I simply, uh, get a small sneeze out. Though was told recently that it is unmanly when one squeaks in his sneeze." No matter how quiet. "So I've attempted to adjust." And make a racket. Thus, become more manly. He's failing. Koreiraj clears his throat a moment, bows his head in respect to the other man. "Aye, absolutely. Much prefer musty hides to the weather outside, though." Another wry grin, before the younger man is giving a good look at T'ral's own amassed hides. "Seems you know well the pain for our passion." A kindred spirit in the love of hides, perhaps? "Oh! Oh! Uh. I'm Koreiraj, recently of Igen Weyr, before that Igen Hold. Now, of Southern." He stands as well, holding his hand waaaaay out to give a friendly shake. It's the polite thing to do.

Items that are on loan to the Hold are stacked atop two unoccupied tables. Unoccupied for a reason obviously! Who could sit there with stacks piled all over? It isn't often these days that Sabina is seen around the Weyr. But today she has been assigned to sort through the books and prepare them for transport. For far too long she has been swathed from head to toe in an effort not to freeze to death. The overwhelming heat is something of a respite as she meanders into the room with a mug of juice in one hand and a clipboard in the other.

That moment where embarrassment turns to amusement at the joke shared is priceless. T'ral's mischief eases into something companionable as Koreiraj makes his apologies. The bluerider waves away the necessity for apologies, "Not at all. Dusty in here." His nose tickles a bit. He scrubs at it, blinking. Eyes stinging. T'ral's a sympathetic sneezer. Hides gathered, tucked neatly into a portfolio, tucked securely under an arm, he meanders with aplomb to Koreiraj's table, head cocking as he attempts to discern what the man is poring over. He huffs a laugh, "And who told you that? Not that I'll disagree." Dark eyes flicker up to the sky lights, thrown open so that air can circulate. The cloying smell of Southern's jungle mingles with the dusty must of books and hides, klah and flowers. A perfume unique in all the world. T'ral taps the portfolio, hand spreading on the folder, "A passing acquaintance, yes." Koreiraj should SEE the papercuts he's got. He stretches out his free hand, gesturing to the Archives at large, grinning, "Welcome to Southern." His eyes drop to that outstretched hand, dubious. Had Koreiraj sneezed all over it? T'ral hadn't seen. Still, the man seems fastidious enough and it's not like he himself hadn't this very day been elbow deep in dragon du- what? Sick dragons can't ::between::. He washed. A lot. Redword STINGS in papercuts, let me tell YOU. He grins, taking the man's hand in his, a firm grasp, a single solid shake and… nose tickle. He blinks. The TICKLING. Eyes water. He turns loose abruptly of Koreiraj's hand, holding up a forestalling single digit… wait… blink blink… wait, "Haaaa-" tickle, tickle, "Aaahhh-" nose wriggling, eyes tearing, he scrunches his eyes closed, burying his face in his elbow, turning quickly (right into Sabina, HI SABINA!) as he does, "-CHOOOOOO!" Muffled. He gives a shudder, eyes cracking slowly open and widening abruptly. "Sabina, I'm so sorry!" Eyes red. Ears red.

"Still. It's always good to apologize. 'lest I make enemies in my first few sevendays here." Koreiraj gives a small grin, before his lips fall and a dubious look crosses his face. "Ah, well, as I said, I was at Igen Weyr prior to this. There are many, well… scary individuals there, if I may be so bold to say." Ahem. "The men did not quite mesh with my more," his lips purse a moment, before letting out a breath. "Less manly ways, I guess one would say. Since I am not quite the walking, talking giant as so many of them seem to be. Nor do I have an intimidating presence." There is no regret or unhappiness in his words. Just simple acceptance. "They said I sneeze like a girl." The words are spoken, almost hushed, but loud enough to be heard. "Thank you!" The handshake takes place, already a kinship begins. Yay friends! With mutual interests! Though quickly T'ral's predicament is witnessed as their meeting is cut short with a violent sneeze from the older man… right into a lady. Instantly the blood leaves Koreiraj's face, leaving a pasty, pale man in its wake. "Ah! Ah! Miss, ma'am, miss, ma'am? Ma'am? Miss?" He doesn't know which one to go with as Sabina is sneezed on, but he's quickly digging through his belongings and dragging out a (clean) extra hanky. It's his backup. Don't ask where his backup's backup is. "HERE YOU GO MA'AMMISSLADYMA'AM." It's held out as the volume of his voice raises uncomfortably high.

The day is going lovely. Sabina has her juice and a little time to enjoy the warmth of the Weyr before she must return home. Things are looking bright.. until T'ral sneezes on her! Well not entirely ON her but the bump into her is enough to slosh juice out of her mug and onto the floor. "Oh my!" She steps backward quickly and looks down at the mess she's made. "My apologies for being in the way Sir." Because of course it's HER fault that she's been sneezed on. Quickly she sets down the clipboard and checks the books. Nothing got on those and she is incredibly grateful for that. The mug is held away from both herself and the table to avoid any dripage. She smiles when Koreiraj offers her use of his hanky. "My thanks!" She accepts and at least dries the mug to prevent any further mishap before setting the juice down on the table. Using it to clean the floor doesn't seem polite so she offers the handkerchief back to the young man with a shy smile.

Sneezed AT. Definitely AT. Candlemark after candlemark after CANDLEMARK in the infirmary has taught T'ral how to keep his own bodily functions to himself, even has he's covered in those of others, or, more specifically, their dragons. But that doesn't mean, Sabina is spared the jack-knife jostling of T'ral's nasal paroxsyms. Unkinking himself, "Whew," another shudder. That was a good one. If Koreiraj wanted an example of a manly sneeze, he just got one. Apart from bowling over a poor woman. That… wasn't so manly. ManHANDly. He looks surprised at the apology, "My fault, Sabina. Are you okay?" He reaches out to grasp her elbow, but she's turned away to -right on- check the books to see if they're okay. Bibliophiles in the house. He sets aside his portfolio and stoops, the instinct to pick up after himself drilled into him from a decade of life under the stern tutelage of Southern's own Headman kicking in without thought. "Sabina, Koreiraj. Koreiraj, Sabina." It dawns on the bluerider that he hadn't introduced himself and, dabbing finished, he pops up, inclining his head at Koreiraj, "T'ral, blue Esanth's." His eyes drift over to Koreiraj's hides, "What is all that?" he sniffs, eyes shiny with sneeze-tears.

His face having gone from pale white to beet red, Koreiraj takes back his handkerchief while giving back and equally shy smile before just completely averting his eyes. A muttered and squeaky, "You're most welcome." emerges from his lips as manners demand to be obeyed. Upon the introductions given by T'ral, Koreiraj stands tall, placing his right fist over his heart and giving a bow of the head. "Well met, Sabina." He gets the words out without even a squeak in the voice to portray his terror of the female gender. This moment goes down in his journal later under 'Accomplishments'. "It's a pleasure, miss." Sticking with miss from here on out. Raj straightens his back, before blinking with some surprise. "T'ral? Esanth? Ah!" Realization hits. "I apologize, sir, I did not realize you were a dragonrider." Cue a few more bows, a salute or two, all for good measure. "I guess I should have assumed, as this is a Weyr, I simply never expect to see one in such a place and well, so very obviously educated and…" Taking his foot out of his mouth now. Yep. That's what is happening. "I'm reading up on the past inventories, tithes, anything I can to help further my knowledge of the inner workings of Southern Weyr. I've a hope to work my way to being an Assistant Headman, except the current Headman, I believe, is away. And the robust lady in his stead… quite… frightens me."

The small mess on the floor serves to tweak Sabina's need for cleanliness and order. Her fingers itch to clean it up. But she hesitates to run off and find a rag lest she be considered rude somehow. So the mess just rests there on the stone floor mocking her. What shocks and seems to appall her from the look on her face is T'ral cleaning up the juice. "Oh you really should have let me get that!" That IS what she does after all. At least the mess is gone and no longer a source of mental anguish though. "Thank you Sir for your assistance," she says and manages to make it sound like an apology. How does she do that? It's a Bina mystery. Introductions draw her mind from being sneezed at and the resulting upset. But Koreiraj serves to throw her off even farther by his show of kind greeting. Who head bows a drudge?! This place never stops amazing her."It's a pleasure, Sir.." she hesitates before managing, "Koreiraj." The urge to call everyone Sir or Ma'am still is a hard habit to break. She glances from Raj to T'ral and back again before stepping around the 'rider and engrossing herself in the list on her clipboard. Best to work and stay busy!

Koreiraj's formality is … refreshing. And a good bit out of place. Or at least, likely to die a lonely death here in the wild South. He smiles at the tumble of courtesies, salutes and bows, eyes darting with mild bemused alarm to Sabina and back, before he holds out a forestalling hand, "A bow is enough, Koreiraj. You're not in the fighting wings." The smile deepens to a grin as Koreiraj swallows his foot, boots and all. That same mischievous glint enters his eyes, "Sabina, I think he just said I don't look like a dragonrider." Dark blue eyes cut to the demure woman, inviting her to comment. His brows tick up in interest, looking again at the spread of hides and Koreiraj's neat tallies. "My father'll return soon to help coordinate the Hatching, I'll be sure to introduce the two of you." At the mention of Ardstelle his face goes carefully neutral, so, so carefully, and still the glint of humor deep, "I think that, Koreiraj, is not an uncommon sentiment." Sabina's discomfort is noted, though T'ral's chalking it up to him having nearly knocked her over, there a flash of abashment before that careful Ardstelle-summoned neutrality returns.

Old habits die hard, and respect for his superiors will always reign supreme in this Holder-born's world. Koreiraj turns decidedly pink in the cheeks at T'ral's words, hands going up instantly, his eyes going from Sabina to T'ral and back again with much panic. "Oh no, no, T'ral-sir! I didn't mean, well I guess I did, but I did not intend. That is to say-" There might be a bit of hyperventilating going on now, as the new Southern residents attempts to save some face. "My parents would be mortified to know I just gave insult to a dragonrider!" His hands clap onto his own cheeks a moment, before he gives a deep breath and attempts to recover. "I only meant, it is refreshing from the few types I met around Igen Weyr. I knew, quite quickly, that simply was not the place for me. You, sir, are a breath of fresh air, if I may say. To know there are many different types of riders, is all." Reassessing his words, Koreiraj nods his head. Didn't seem to be anything rude in that… right?

Looking up from her clipboard at the sound of her name, Sabina looks somewhat shocked. She glances at up T'ral and then at Koreiraj. "Dragonriders all come from varied backgrounds, sir. And most are highly intelligent and well-read individuals." Not mindless fighting machines! But she'd never dare breathe that last aloud. Still her quiet opinion of riders in general is quite clear. "T'ral himself was a Harper once. He's very helpful on a number of subjects." Such as survival manuals. Which she dutifully returned before her assignment to the Hold. Mention of T'ral's father draws a hint of a blush to her cheeks. She'll talk of anyone else with T'ral please and thanks. Poor Koreiraj's obvious discomfiture draws a look of sweet understanding. She finds herself feeling that same way often.

It probably wouldn't help at this point for T'ral to note that he's not simply a rider, but an Assistant Weyrlingmaster. In rank, just under the Weyrsecond, on par with Wingleaders, OUTRANKING in absolute terms, Southern's Headman, Koreiraj's would-be boss. T'ral reaches out a hand to rest it on Koreiraj's shoulder, "Breathe, man." A broad grin, sympathetic, "I was havin' a go at you. Which I should really stop doing." His ears color a bit. Rank has stolen a significant portion of the fun away from ribbing people when they can't rib back. Dammit, K'ane. "Refreshing. I hadn't considered that. Likewise, Koreiraj." On Igen, on manners and refinement and, last, the refreshing-ness of diversity in the rider population, "Likewise. I assure you, such riders exist at Igen." At least one or two. He chuckles, warm, giving the weyrman's shoulder a squeeze before droppig his hand. He draws up at Sabina's businesslike reply, blinking at her, "And Sabina, apart from her conscientious and adept care for our Archives," his smile slips lopsided, "is rather adept at animal mimicry." Sincere, the words. There's still a bit of mischief. What? He can't help it.

"Of course, of course," Koreiraj is nodding along as Sabina speaks, the young man engrossed in her words. "I should know better than to assume, truly. I meant to ill offense, miss, sir. I find I have a tendency to fall into old sterotyped beliefs at times. It's a flaw I'm all too aware of." And trying to fix, to no such avail. That small grin finally resurfaces once reassurances are given. "Ah, yes, well, my parents were strict on manners, you see. And respect. All of that. It's quite ingrained into my very being." And proud of it he is! Sabina gets a quick glance, as he's looking between the two. "Animal mimicry, you say? Any animal in particular you excel at? I'd love to hear!" Genuine Koreiraj is, all his attention now fixed on the poor female.

Sabina assumes herself dismissed after her monolog on the backgrounds of Dragonriders. And so she scoots her clipboard toward her and eyes the books in the stack closest to her. Checking them against the long list of requests from the Hold. Any found not to be on the list are set aside in another pile. Book title, list, small check on list.. so on and so forth. She works with brisk efficiency. Only looking up when she over hears T'ral. AMIMAL MIMICRY?! Aww man!! Did he have to bring that up?! Her eyes are huge and sparkling in her face as she stares at him and feels her face turn bright red. "I.. um.." She casts a glance at Koreiraj before looking back at T'ral. "Thank you sir," she finally manages to mutter. Though she sounds less thankful and more like she'd prefer to whap him with her clipboard. Not that she ever would. Because that just isn't in her nature. "Stereotypes are often very misleading," she addresses Raj despite her blush. "I was raised on them as well in Bitra. And they've done me little good here." She shoots T'ral an accusing look before it is masked by a wall of dutiful politeness. "I really only entertained small children once…"

Relenting, there's only so much apoplexy the bluerider can bear to engender on a given day and he's reached his limit. Though Koreiraj seems to be settling out at Sabina's calm and un-teasing replies. Dark eyes consider the woman and the toughtful care she lends to her tasks. Hmm. What? Parents. Strict manners. "Yes, I rather know a good bit about that myself. Though, ah," he scratches at his jaw, fingers whickering in the short crop of neatly groomed beard, "This place will wring it out of you if you're not careful." T'ral's eyes unfocus briefly, brow flickering with uncertainty. He looks from Sabina to Koreiraj. Koreiraj to Sabina. And makes a little, 'huh' sound. He looks around, casting about for something, patting his pockets absently, "Bitra, you say…" pat pat pat, "What about you, Koreiraj?" More patting, more craning, "Benden here. Weyr." Ah. He pulls a number of items from his pocket, handing one to Koreiraj, a length of white braid. "Hold this a moment." Marks in his hand are pondered, then tucked back into his pouch, patting continues and the distracted commentary, "It was a sing-a-long," T'ral provides, "'Holder Connal.'" Pern's version of Old MacDonald. E-I-E-I-O. "Sabina voiced a fine wher for us."

"I bet they were thoroughly entertained!" Koreiraj states with much enthusiasm. "I once met a man in this small cothold, friend of the family, who could mimic a dragon's sounds perfectly. Even was able to hit some high pitched sounds fire lizards make. I was quite impressed. To get some of the range, though, the man had to grab at his, err," A look to Sabina once more, cheeks pinken. "Nevermind! Nevermind. He was good." Ahem. "Have no fear, T'ral, I'll be sure to stick to my roots, best as I can. I can assure you, my family has no issues dragging me home to reteach them is needed." That threat alone has a gulp forming in Koreiraj's throat. He blinks a moment, before standing straight. "Igen Hold. My father was an assistant Steward, so we lived in the Hold proper." He watches with extreme interest as the dragonrider seems to search around for something, the younger man even casting a quick look towards Sabina with an arched eyebrow. He's handed something white, in which he simply stares at it, then back at T'ral. "Alright." His other hand joins the first one, making a makeshift table should the rider need more space to put things.

Sabina would much rather that her ability to imitate animals not have been brought up. But as she has no real say in the matter she simply smiles. What else is there to do? "I'm sure your family friend was most adept," she says off handedly. Her lips twist a bit at T'ral's continued barbs. But at least they are made in good fun. His fun most notably. "Do attempt to remember what you've been taught growing up," she tells Raj with a heartfelt smile. "It's not often I run across someone else of Hold upbringing." She finds it refreshing. As T'ral seems to have lost something she sits attentively in case she is to be sent to fetch something. Though the appearance of a familiar white knot has her brows raising. She says not a word but wonders if yet another young man will be going with her back to the Hold this day.

"They were," he smiles softly, recalling belatedly the woman's mortification at having been spotlit unawares. Rather, like he'd done. Again. She's really very sweet. Fond, the look he gives her before turning bemusement on Koreiraj, "He…" The bluerider blinks, lips forming the first word of a question, never voiced. Who would DO such a thing? D'tri. D'tri would. All comedians suffer. He gives himself a little shake, eyes dropping to the makeshift table. He looks back at Sabina, giving her a bit of a wink, before turning back to Koreiraj, "So. That's not typically the way you wear these." He takes the cord and, with some futzing, affixes it to Koreiraj's shoulder. He puts one hand on each of the holder's shoulders, bracing him out to get a good look. He looks back over his shoulder at Sabina, "Think there's an egg on the Sands for him, Sabina?" He squeezes the younger man's shoulder's, "Interested? Let me know," he gathers up his folio and bows in turn to Koreiraj and Sabina pausing a moment to regard them both.

And… it's a GIFT. A gift. And she should be PROUD of it. Buuuu-ugle, Sabina! BUU-GLE. Mic drop.

Blank is the look on Koreiraj's face. Blank from pure confusion. There seems to be some pieces missing to this puzzle, though bright as the Holder-boy is, it doesn't take too long for the picture to be complete. More so as he's given a few extra minutes as T'ral's affixing a new knot onto his shoulder. Words from hides read long ago, songs from harpers now echoing in his ears, as he looks to the white knot to the dragonrider who placed it on his person. "Wait… me?" The word 'me' coming out in far too high-pitched of a tone that it causes Koreiraj to wince. "I… I… are you sure? Is he sure?" He asks, looking over at Sabina. Surely she'll have the answer. "I'm, that is to say, this is an honor, sir. Truly!" The young man would straight up fan himself if he didn't think he'd be mocked for such an action. Getting the vapors, he is! "O-o-o-of course!" Ignore the stutter. Koreiraj is! "I'm none too sure there will be an egg on the sands, but I'm willing to, that is, I'll try, um…" His voice is cleared, shoulders straightened, back stiff. "SIR." The word echos a tad too loudly. His hands snap into a salute. "I'll do you proud, sir!"

Yet another person to clean up after. How many eggs are ON the sands?! Sabina has no clue as she's never ventured to look herself. Weyr business is not her business after all. Merely the cleaning of it once. And even that no longer. Having been assigned to the Hold. Despite having another person whose britches she will no doubt wash, Bina looks genuinely pleased for Koreiraj. "Congratulations." It's a simple word that holds a wealth of meaning. "I suppose I will see you around the Hold, Candidate." Her ire at T'ral fades entirely as he bestows the knot upon the Hold-bred gentleman. At least this one MIGHT have a clue how to make his own bed. "I have faith that there is a good chance an egg will hatch for him," she agrees with T'ral. Her smile is so sweet it's bound to cause sugar shock. She goes back to checking her list and checking off items. She is meticulous. Determined to get this chore finished so that she herself can return home soon.

"I rather think you will," T'ral smiles, a tight thing, mostly for himself. If he's surprised at Koreiraj's enthusiasm, the weyrlingmaster masks it well. He'd rather expect more stammering, actually. He returns the smart salute, with a lopsided grin. "Well, then, Candidate Koreiraj, follow me." T'ral would put Sabina on the Sands if it meant no dragon went without a mate. He'd been rather squared away on THAT point of his duties. He rubs his jaw thoughtfully. He indicates a path ahead of him for Koreiraj to tread. "After you." He bows again to Sabina, "Good afternoon, Sabina, my apologies again," for barreling her over. And bringing up the whole wher-imitation thing. Not really that last. But. Sorta. And then he's headed out to install the newest Candidate in the barracks!

Words seem to leave Koreiraj at the moment, as he's now just nodding over and over with everything Sabina and T'ral says. A determined, yet perhaps a tad silly, smile placed on his lips. More nodding, a bow at Sabina, even a salute thrown in for the lady, before he's moving in the direction that T'ral indicates. All the while trying to mime 'thank you' with his hands as the words are caught in his throat. Surely he'll get them out though, before all is through.

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