Rushing Dark Wings

Log: Maybe Three

2009-12-09T05:33:52Z

Who: C'sel, Ebeny, Corvinth, Laurienth
When: Afternoon, day 6, month 6, turn 21 of the 10th interval
Where: Diving Cliff, High Reaches Weyr
What: Ebeny and C'sel make some plans atop the diving cliff.

Diving Cliff, High Reaches Weyr
Thrusting out from the shadow of the mountain, this long and narrow clifftop might once have been a ledge, but a pile of bramble-strewn, graffiti-chiseled boulders where a weyr's mouth would have been suggests a reason for its abandonment long ago. Though its views of the eastern bowl are grand, particularly the lake itself and the yawning air entrance to the hatching sands, its location makes the diving cliff unique: jutting some ten or twelve feet above the deepest part of the cool, clear lake.
Especially in summertime, many climb up the narrow stairs to seek the thrill of a swift fall into the water, but those who just want to enjoy the view can take those same stairs back down: carved directly into the bowl wall, worn and crumbling and slick from use, but enough for the careful to get the job done.
The sun is high in the sky and there is not a cloud in sight. There's a breeze that tempers the heat with no humidity lingering in the air.

Upon first glance, it's not all that easy to tell that the ledge doesn't have only itself for company, for there's no visible movement and not an obvious shape blocking the view. The less obvious shape is pressed flat to the ground, Ebeny lying on her back with her legs over the edge of the ledge and arms propped behind her head. She can't even pretend to be being productive; has no books or hides or anything of the sort with her, just lies there staring up at the blue sky, thoughtful.

Quiet feet carry C'sel up the steps and nearly to the edge of the cliff before he realizes his weyrmate is lying there staring up at the sky. Without speaking, he comes to a halt just shy of her head and looks down, blue eyes seeking out green, though upside down. "How are the clouds today?" the brownrider inquires deadpan.

Ebeny's focus blinks from sky to C'sel and she smiles before saying, "Not all that chatty. Or maybe they're just not being very forthcoming. They might be stubborn like that." Her left arm untangles itself and she pats at the space beside her. "How's your day been?" the greenrider asks, still peering up and apparently not in any hurry to move.

"Mm. At least they are able to make many interesting shapes," C'sel continues in the seemingly humorless vein though there's signs from the look in his eyes that he is in fact, joking. That patted invitation is considered for a moment, then C'sel takes a half step back, bends to unlace his boots. With each lined up neatly next to the other, he removes his jacket and folds it up beside her for a headrest then solemnly lies down beside her and folds his hands atop his chest. "Drills this morning, sweeps this afternoon and now I am at liberty."

"I can live with them being artists and not talkers," Ebeny decides, quiet laughter following her reply. She waits until he's settled before speaking again, one hand gesturing absently to indicate somewhere beyond the Weyr. "I feel I should warn you that today Laurienth discovered a very steep valley and has been pondering how far and how fast she could make it down one mountainside without going," one hand meets the other - splat, "in-case she tries to see if Corvinth will ponder the same."

"Probably for the best," C'sel notes and reaches for that gesturing hand, to slide his palm along hers, seeks to thread fingers in between fingers. "Ahh, no wonder he's going on and on about being allowed to just /go/ already," the brownrider says with humor. "Shall we let them try it out?"

"She works fast," is muttered dryly, lacking in any irritation, though Ebeny might seem a bit concerned at the idea and the lack of real thought that may be involved on the part of her green. Her fingers tighten against his for a moment, and though it takes a second or two for her to calm, she does, agrees even. "I think I like the idea of there being some kind of sense between them, rather than her just throwing herself, and I don't think we'll hear the end of it until we do, so... Yes, we should."

"She does," C'sel agrees, hand tightening in turn around hers. His head turns, blue eyes seeking out Ebeny's profile. "They can burn off the urge to be reckless together. Though yes, he won't push it so hard that they get into real trouble. He will curtail her if need be," the brownrider assures, then closes his eyes for a moment. "He goes ..."

Expression caught between apologetic and obviously appreciative of understanding, Ebeny nods, head tipped to the side to let her gaze find his. A quiet hum of a noise confirms Laurienth's departure in place of any proper words, and even with green and brown off to be reckless, she relaxes a little more. "I suppose enquiring after whether you wanted to go anywhere or go home any time soon would have been more sensible /before/ we let them go," she jokes quietly.

"Perhaps, but I find that I am quite content right here," C'sel answers and looks back up towards the sky as the shadow of dragons passes by overhead. "I have been thinking though," he continues after a long moment of silence, "that perhaps it might be time for us to -- choose one weyr or the other." He says this like he's talking about how nice the weather is.

Another noise, agreement this time, with the first of his words, and though she might have been about to look back up at the sky, Ebeny doesn't and instead makes a quiet study of the brownrider, which likely isn't all that foreign of an occurrence. "It would certainly make things easier," she murmurs, trying to mimic his tone and just not quite getting there.

There's little enough to gauge in C'sel's expression, his focus remains turned upward, the clouds apparently of great interest. "more convenient, certainly," he agrees, thumb brushing lightly along hers. "Do you -- have a preference?" the brownrider asks next. Out over the mountains, Corvinth is see-sawing through the air, to and fro, teasing Laurienth to do the same before they go mountain-diving.

"Not particularly," Ebeny says quietly, clouds still abandoned and no longer prodded for conversation of some variety. "I suppose there's also whether there might be... more than the two of us living there someday to consider." Now she suddenly understands the interest in the clouds and returns her gaze to them. "Aside from Laurienth and Corvinth, of course." Laurienth must be having a good day today, since she's game enough, though at one point she deviates from the path and burns off some energy through a loop that's more of an oval and has her pitching sharply down at its highest point, past Corvinth with a high, gleeful shriek.

C'sel clears his throat a few times, nods very slightly. "I -- hope there will be more than the four of us living someday," the brownrider answers softly. Pauses. "Do -- do you hope the same?" Corvinth turns and twists along with her, using agility to make up for the size difference and then lets himself drop in a tight dive, seemingly reckless, but carefully calculated.

A long silence from Ebeny follows and she doesn't even blink as she looks the sky over. She says nothing for long enough for perhaps one answer to be assumed over another, but when she finally speaks, it's in a stronger voice and with enough underlying emotion for her hesitation to be nothing at all. "Yes. I'd like children." And again she pauses, voice dipping lower. "But I don't want to be a bad mother. As ridiculous as that sounds." Blinking now, her focus goes from one cloud to another, and another, unable to linger long anywhere.

Now C'sel turns his head and looks at Ebeny closely, with all the typical intensity of his scrutiny. There's another long silence as he considers her and finally the question makes its way out. "Why -- would you be a bad mother?" he inquires softly, a small wrinkle forming between his brows.

"Because I'm the kind of woman who'd forget to pick the baby up from the nursery at the end of the day," Ebeny murmurs, nearly out of clouds in the vicinity to concentrate on. "Because I look at my mother and my sister and I think /they're/ bad mothers, so what kind of hope is there for me?" She gives up on cloud study and looks back across at her weyrmate. "...I want a family. I don't want to be just that woman who herds her children about. But I don't know any other way."

That wrinkle between C'sel's brows deepens and he is silent for another long while. "I cannot imagine you -- herding," the brownrider's pause there puts emphasis on that word, "our children about." Then he tries to draw her hand up to his lips to press a kiss there. "You are good with your nephew." More emphasis. On /good/.

Ebeny's eyes close at that kiss and she smiles very faintly. "You can imagine the chaos though, can't you?" she teases softly. "I love him. And I love you and I want children, but /you/ are going to have to remember to pick them up when they spend time in the nursery, alright? Or remember to remind me." Green eyes open and despite her voice being bright enough to joke, there's something in her eyes that lets on that there's some seriousness to that too.

Confusion mars C'sel's brow and he shakes his head slowly. "Chaos ... no," he's very honest about that at least. However: "I will be sure to -- do the reminding and the picking up if necessary," the brownrider promises and considers for a moment. "My weyr has a door," he says after a moment. "That may prove useful with small children. Though perhaps we need not either of us -- give up a weyr, strictly speaking. We could ... live in one most of the time and use the other for -- work and quiet time."

"That would be one less worry. There being a door," Ebeny replies, very serious now, considering what heights, children and lack of doors could mean. She's quiet, considering, and eventually asks, "Are we allowed to do that? I mean, I know we're not /not/ allowed, strictly speaking, but people wouldn't say we were taking up space that someone else might need?"

"Quite so, a door it seems, would be prudent for small children," C'sel replies very seriously and leans forward to kiss Ebeney's forehead gently. "It's interval Ebeny. The population of the Weyr is dropping slowly but surely. I do no think that we really ... lack for space."

"I know. It's a good idea, I just don't want it to seem like we're doing something we shouldn't," the greenrider explains. "Not that we would be, it's just, you know... thoughts. I think it'd work." Ebeny inches a little bit closer, meaning to keep shoulders touching. "Do you think they'll," she gestures in the direction dragons left the Weyr in, "be alright with it all? Being one day possibly harassed by children, too?"

"I know of other riders with similar arrangements," is C'sel's practical answer and his eyes slide sideways, taking in that inching. "Lift up your head?" he suggests mildly and moves his arm, intending to make a pillow of it for her. "Corvinth will simply go if he feels ... crowded. He spends most of his time either sitting on a spire, cuddling with a green or chasing in flights when he's not on duty anyway," the brownrider notes with dry fondness in his tone.

Ebeny does as suggested, a moment of content murmurings and a smile to serve as thanks. She closes her eyes again, happy to be silent a while before continuing to speak. "And Laurie's off trying to taunt people into doing something stupid half the time. Though little ones are some of the few things that make her more personable. She likes them. So. I guess that's some things... decided."

"They are both very able to -- keep themselves occupied," C'sel states agreeably. "We have independent dragons," he continues thoughtfully then slowly smiles. "Yes. Some. I suppose that when they have tired of their game, we might persuade them to help us move most of your things over." The words come out measured, slow, as he's wont to speak. There's a slight lilt of surprise though at the end of the sentence, like he's just realized that this is really, for real.

"We might. I apologize in advance for any complaining on her part," Ebeny utters dryly. Looking up a fraction, she tips a little onto her side to let her try and seek out his gaze without seeming awkward. It might not be a surprise to hear her ask, "Are you okay with... everything?" quietly, yet there's no tension running through her and no weight or desperate need for an immediate answer behind her words.

Ebeny's re-arrangement draws C'sel's attention, looking down for a moment, then his gaze meets hers and his brows lift slightly. "I am very happy," the brownrider answers with a little tilt of his head to the side, like he's surprised she's asking this question. "I only hope that you will be as well. And that my weyr is comfortable enough."

Leaning a little, Ebeny touches her lips to his cheek and settles back down again, her smile simply tiny curves to the corners of her mouth that won't be banished. "I am. And it is comfortable. In the end, I really don't mind where we are as long as we're..." She nudges her head gently against his shoulder to finish that sentence. "And I hope you can handle my lack of organizational skill."

"Together," C'sel says the word outright and curves his arm up around her all the more. "So long as we are not picking up socks off the floor all of the time," (note the 'we' there, not 'I'), "I believe that we will do well," is the brownrider's reply, then he lets his head drop back down to his jacket-pillow, eyes on the sky once more. "We may need a larger bed," he murmurs after a moment, quite serious.

"Oh no," Ebeny replies, light and innocent, "not socks. Scarves. Boots. Jackets. Shirts." That's a very wicked smile from her there and she nods very quickly just to assure that she really is joking. She struggles for serious concerning the bed, eventually gets herself under control and says only, "I can go make enquiries about that sometime, unless you'd rather?"
C'sel colors faintly as she lists out all of these clothing items. "There may be ... exceptions to that," he concedes and the corners of his mouth tug a little. "Please do, if you are able." He falls silent again though, lying quite still and seemingly content with silence and companionship for some time.

From how she smiles, Ebeny seems ridiculously pleased with herself, yet makes no further remark and lies still with her head against his shoulder, though one foot continues to gently keep time as if to a melody only she can hear. Her eyes close, but she doesn't sleep and it's a good long while before she murmurs, "How many children do you see us not-herding?" with idle curiosity, voice nearly not there.

Peace and contentment reign until that question arises and C'sel considers it for a while without saying anything, though his hand does gently stroke at the greenrider's shoulder. "Three, perhaps," he answers after a little while.

Quiet in her initial response, Ebeny nods, only a tiny dip of her head. "Three is a good number," she says softly after further pause. Quiet laughter follows, with, "Means there can't be a tie in a vote." Her eyes blink open though and there's a sudden tension in her shoulders. "Laurienth cut that a bit too close for my liking," she explains, faraway green having almost clipped an outcropping of the mountain. "I think I should call her back."

"Yes. Not so many that we are overwhelmed and not so few that they are ... lonely amongst themselves," C'sel philosophizes then turns as she tenses, gaze roaming her features. "Very well, I will have Corvinth help." And indeed, Corvinth attempts to wheedle Laurienth away with the promise of a game of tag around the spires after they've brought their riders home.

Laurienth argues and then some against both her rider and Corvinth, only content to leave once she has that promise and after she's shot away in the direction of the Weyr, taunts called back to the brown to catch up, it's quite the winding route she decides to take even then. Ebeny exhales slowly once that little battle is over and props herself up on one elbow, turns to say, "They won't be lonely, I promise," with an intensity unusual for her. Apparently that's important. She dips her head down again then, meaning to kiss her weyrmate with some of that intensity still lingering.

Corvinth can indulge Laurienth in that and gives as good as he gets in the winding department. It's all about maybe getting her to chase him back after all. C'sel meanwhile only folds both of his arms around the greenrider and kisses her back. Soufully. Eyes closed and out of breath after that one, he notes almost as if he's still talking about the weather: "I think perhaps we should make sure that they come to bring us home." Beat. "Right now."

With all the adrenaline that must be coursing through Laurienth after that chase, it's probably just as well that she doesn't try and aim for the ledge itself, choosing to land close to the steps and pad about in winding circles even then, peering between the cliff, Corvinth and back again half a dozen times. Waiting, yes. Patiently, no. It might be that Ebeny forgets where she is for a moment, one hand drifting as though to start on the buttons of C'sel's shirt. All she does is nod, however, eyes closed. "Yes," she agrees, nothing more, then makes to get to her feet, bring him with her and find the steps, find Laurienth and get home.

There's a staying hand from C'sel, reaching for Ebeny's to keep her from his buttons. For now. "Home," he murmurs softly and gets to his feet, follows along with her to get home. Once there, she can do whatever she likes with his buttons. And him.

Vignette: Three Lives Never Lived

2009-12-08T00:26:07Z

Continuing on with the what-if vigs ... three possibilities for Cas.

Herder

The air within the stall steamed a little with the heat of the foal's birth. It had all gone smoothly, the mare experienced and Cassel had had little enough to do, but stand around and wait. He'd soothed her though, hand moving gently along her nose down her neck through the contractions. She nosed at his hand now, tired, but attentive as she turned away to nudge the leggy foal up to its feet.

With a practiced eye, the Journeyman Herder watched, took in the lines of the young creature. Yes. This time he thought the cross was good. He wouldn't know for sure until the foal started to put on real growth, but the lines he'd been bred for stood out so obviously to Cassel's eyes.

Pleased he gave the mare a little nibble of sweetening from his pocket, made sure there was fresh water in the trough and grain in the bucket if she got hungry later. He left instructions with the stable master to give her a warm mash if she was still awake in a little while, then he left mother and newborn to bond and clean up.

He left the familiar stable behind, a middling-sized runnerhold tucked against a rocky formation on Keroon's plains. The holders here wanted a prize-winning breed and Cassel had been working steadily for two turns to cross bloodlines that had already been in progress, picking up the project from the journeyman who'd passed away before seeing the results of a lifetime of work. He hoped he'd have much better luck at getting there sooner rather than later.

For now though, fatigue lay heavily on his shoulders and he knew he should bathe and change. Preoccupied, he walked into the wing of the hold where his room stood, a more luxurious suite than any he'd had before, right on the ground level for easy access to the beasthold. For all the rooms were good-sized and well-furnished, Cassel had never put much of a personal stamp on them and his belongings barely took up any space. His clothing was all cut from the same cloth: sturdy trousers suitable for working in the stables, linen and woollen shirts for the different seasons in muted shades of off-white and brown. Though he was always neat and tidy in his appearance, straw would cling and his knees were often muddied, especially in the spring. Right now he smelled faintly of afterbirth and strongly of horse and though that particular aroma clung to him always, Cassel knew he should bathe now before getting some sleep.

He didn't bother to peel out of his dirty things, just took his towel and basket of toiletries from the hook by the door and walked over to the communal bathing pool. It wasn't far, just down the corridor and through the door into the steamy confines of the room. He paused just inside to take off his dirty things, put them in the laundry basket that was kept there for the very purpose of collecting everyone's dirties. Cassel didn't notice at first that the pool was already occupied, that the holder's middle daughter was watching him disrobe with an amused little grin on her face and rather open appreciation for his physique. When he did notice, he merely looked her right in the eye with that steady gaze of his, then slipped into the water, first to soak, briefly, then to set to scrubbing with brisk efficiency.

"They said it went well," Liana said conversationally and stretched her arms out to either side of herself, let her body float upwards a little bit. "Yes," he answered simply, making no break in his ablutions. "We should celebrate," she said next and pushed away from the side of the pool. Headed his way. He looked up at her, ignoring the fact that the water now only came up to her middle as she waded across the short distance. "I do not think that would be wise," he answered simply and she stopped right in the middle of the pool, exasperation creeping across her face. "Why don't you ever accept?" she asked him bluntly, arms folding across her chest.

Cassel finished digging some dirt out from beneath his nails, gave his arms a last swipe with the foaming suds and met her gaze steadily once more. "I don't love you," was his equally blunt answer. Her brows arched faintly. "What does that have to do with anything?" she challenged him. Cassel continued to meet her gaze while his hands rinsed the suds off with streams of hot water from his palms. "Everything," he answered in a low, semi-rasp, then turned around to walk back out of the pool, wrapped his towel around his waist, took his basket with him and left. Behind him, Liana's palms smacked the water in frustration. He didn't wait to see or hear what she did next.

In the morning, the holder was thrilled to meet the foal, nodded happily to see what Cassel pointed out: strength and grace or the possibility of both, legs meant for speed but with a sturdy body. Now it was just a question of making sure those traits continued to breed true. The journeyman tucked himself away in his office with his charts and bloodlines and planned out the next series of crosses with patience and care. There would be the gather to go to and perhaps some new breeding stock to purchase, add to the line. He knew exactly what he needed to look for.

Liana didn't try to convince him to bed her again.

In just a few turns, that line of runners started winning races across Pern. Cassel's reputation as a successful breeder grew and he became a master eventually on the strength of his crosses and his dry, but very insightful treatises on runner breeding.

He never regretted turning down the rider who'd come to search at the Beastcraft just a few months short of those journeyman's exams, though sometimes he wondered what the shape of his life might have been in a Weyr.

He never married either, all of his passion was directed toward his work and he never really missed those more human connections. He'd never felt comfortable being sociable anyway.

His legacy was more than one line of strong runners and many starry-eyed apprentices turned into solid journeymen over the turns.

Stablemaster

Cassel's father had put his foot down. No, the runner-mad boy could not leave Nabol, could not go to the craft that he so longed to pursue. There just wasn't any money for the journey and without a sponsoring journeyman, how could he possibly go? It wasn't that Hebron didn't want to let his son go, didn't want Cassel to succeed, but he just had too many mouths to feed. It wasn't practical.

Bitter disappointment rose up in the boy's throat and he ran away from the words he didn't want to hear. From the noise in the cothold from his rambunctious siblings. He hid in the quiet back corner of the stables and lost himself in currying one of the older, rattier runners until the gelding's dun-hued coat shone.

"They said no?" Cassel looked up into the seamed face of Nabol's stable master and nodded without saying a word. "Well laddie, you can always work for me," the older man said kindly and nodded towards the gelding. "Good job with his coat. Want to do the roan in the fourth stall?" Again Cassel nodded and without comment, moved along to take care of the roan. It was good work and soothing. It made him feel like everything was right in the world again and it was easy to lose himself to it.

In the end, his father was grateful to the stablemaster for taking him on and for Cassel's wages from the stables. Cassel still had to do chores in the orchard with the rest of his family, but as time went on, those were mostly set aside in favor of his shifts in the stables. For many turns he was 'just' the stable boy. He took care of tack, polished saddles, mucked out stalls, exercised and curried the runners as needed. As Cassel grew up, the stablemaster gave him more and more responsibility for overseeing the stables. The young man was quiet, responsible and got his chores done. He also had a deft hand with the runners and this eventually came to the notice of the Hold's Steward.

When his mentor, the old stablemaster died, it only made sense for Cassel to take the reins. He managed the stables at Nabol for the rest of his life with no greater ambition than to care for the runners who lived there. Though he hadn't sought it, his mother arranged a marriage for him when he was in his early thirties to a local girl. In time a passing fondness at least, grew between the pair and Elvia bore Cassel a good-sized family of his own, two strong sons, three daughters.

One of his boys had a knack for farming though and when the lad begged his father to go to the Farmcraft at Nerat, Cassel's own answer was very different from his father's. He dug into the careful savings of many turns and handed the purse over to his son.

"Go and learn. With my blessing."

What wound up surprising Cassel more was when his middle daughter insisted on starting to work with him in the stables. She was a spitfire all right. And he found himself training the girl to take his place. A girl stablemaster.

Fancy that.

Igenite

He knew that Corvinth was restless, but C'sel was at a loss over how to resolve the issue. There was little enough he could do, but head out of the Weyr as often as possible. Corvinth just wasn't meant for a life outside of a Pass it seemed. There were the flights that the brown kept winning up at the Reaches of course, but C'sel's loyalty to Igen ran deep. The overnights beside Fridonith's T'bral were inconvenient and he didn't particularly care for the way the greenrider looked at him sometimes, expectant, but he'd been surviving flights for a very long time.

He ignored the looks from the greenrider and shut out Corvinth's pleas to be nearer to the green who so captivated his fancy. Maybe what they really needed was some added discipline. C'sel asked for more shifts. Sweeps. Transports. Messages. Errands. Whatever it took to keep Corvinth remotely under control between stints training weyrlings. It was always better when there were weyrlings and young dragon minds to capture his brown's interest.

One seven, three of his wingmates were down with a seasonal illness. C'sel felt fit and fine and Corvinth was chomping at the bit for some action. They covered all three shifts. C'sel had been up for 48 hours straight by the time they finished up that last lap along the spine of Igen's mountain chain. He thought of Nabol briefly, of the orchards in bloom in spring and the contrast between the stark rock and sand of the desert. His thoughts drifted to J'ler, lost these past few turns and how much he missed his friend. The brownrider leaned forward and rested his cheek against Corvinth's neck and hazily issued the command to go home.

They never made it back out of Between and the dragons at Igen keened for a little while, then forgot as if they had never been.

Log: Comfort Zones

2009-11-29T03:03:08Z

Who: B'kaiv, C'sel, Chielyth, Corvinth
When: It is a spring morning of day 23, month 4, turn 21 of Interval 10.
Where: Lake Shore, Fort Weyr/Sky, Fort Area
What: Chielyth wants to fly with Corvinth. C'sel obliges. B'kaiv has a request and thinks C'sel is arguing with him. Which he is not. Devil's advocate is an uneasy position when one is trying to push outside of one's comfort zone.

Dragon> To Corvinth, Chielyth projects, << Hi Corvinth! >>

Dragon> To Chielyth, Corvinth is floods of fog over dark shadowed hills today. << Chi/el/yth. >> That's drawled out almost teasingly and with pleasure evident in the dark-minded brown's sending.

Dragon> To Corvinth, Chielyth wriggles ecstatically, her sunlight highlighting and gilding the gloom. << Hi! Want to go flying again? I've been flying with Elaruth that was lots of fun! >>

Dragon> To Chielyth, Corvinth draws some of those shadows closer against the revelation of secrets, but allows those sunny beams to penetrate here and there where he's willing to share. << After our sweep is finished, babe. Do you want to come this way, or do you have a place in mind? >>

Dragon> To Corvinth, Chielyth's not interested in finding out what lays beneath the surface - though unexpected discoveries are always great! - so much as she is making things turn pretty colors, yay! <>

Dragon> To Chielyth, Corvinth curls a tendril of fog warmly around a bit of sunny color, not darkening it, but winding with it and letting it shimmer through. << All right then, sweetheart, we've got another half hour to go C'sel says, but then we could come to Fort. I'll meet you up on that craggy thing? And we can go from there? >>

Dragon> To Corvinth, Chielyth projects, << OK! >> She's momentarily distracted by what the fog does to the sun - or the sun to the fog - before she's off again, hunting for a glimmer of silver she found earlier. << We'll see you then and Kai says we can go flying! >>

Dragon> To Chielyth, Corvinth slides that tendril of fog a little higher through colored beams, then eases it away, like a hand trailing along a strand of hair. << Great. Won't be much longer! >> And given up to her exploration, is a curled coil of silver chain.

Lakeshore, Fort Weyr
The lake's shore is a broad crescent of golden-hued sand, stretching from the southwest wall near the feeding grounds and arcing toward the southeast and overlooking the blue waters of the lake. Where the lake deepens, that water turns a murkier blue-green, hiding an untold number of perils in its depths. It is an oft-used location for dragons seeking a place to sun or for residents and riders who feel a need to take a stroll; the sand is generally kept pretty clean and while there are no shells, there are periodic bits of obsidian and other volcanic stones to be found if one feels like picking around.

Very precisely thirty-five minutes after Corvinth last spoke to Chielyth, the brown is up on the Tooth Crag, waiting, having already deposited C'sel in the bowl near to the shore of the lake. The brownrider walks the rest of the way, hands clasped behind back, expression neutral as always, bright blue eyes fixed on the surface of the water as his feet crunch over the sandy ground. Corvinth's eyes gleam from beneath his deep brow-ridges, gaze keen to find Chielyth as he tastes the wind from atop the Weyr.

Chielyth's up early - it's not even noon and she's not only bright-eyed but bushy-tailed, and zooms up from the bowl to spiral around the waiting brown. << Hi! >> is all she says before she's off like a rocket, heading deeper into the mountains and trusting that Corvinth will follow. It's perhaps five minutes later before Kai jogs across the bowl to the lake and its visitor, slowing to offer a quick, one-sided smile. "Hey. Thought you was... mean, she only said you was out here a bit ago."

Standing in the relative shade of a boulder by the time B'kaiv arrives, C'sel turns slightly at the sound of the greenrider's arrival and gives a simple nod accompanied by a quiet: "Good day, B'kaiv. It is good to see you again. We have not been here long." Eyes back to the lake, expression still mostly neutral though it takes on a hint of thoughtfulness. Up above, Corvinth pushes off smoothly at Chielyth's arrival, broad wings cupping the air then tucking back as he dives after. Spreading again, those dark sails beat strongly to bring him up to her level. << Hey there, babe. Show me what you've got! >>

Of middling height and build, C'sel conveys a sense of calm serenity and reserve in the way that he holds himself. Dark brown hair cut regulation short tends to spike and fade out to a paler hue in the sun, above a face composed of engaging features. Bright blue eyes slant slightly downward at the corners, deep-set under the sparse wings of lightly arched brows. Down-tilted, his nose has a distinct flair through the nostrils, the tip's shape a near match to the definite divide in his upper lip. A full mouth is balanced by a strong jaw, neatly squared with a small cleft in the chin.

Favoring more conservative colors and cuts of clothing, C'sel tends towards the practical in his dress, suiting his choices to the activities and occasions of the day. Always impeccable in appearance, in terms of neatness, his wardrobe tends towards the drab except for a few items that are more colorful, blues and grays with dark orange accents. Otherwise white linen shirts, neatly tailored, sturdy canvas or wherhide pants and streamlined jackets make up his day-to-day wear. The knot of an assistant weyrlingmaster at High Reaches Weyr loops his shoulder.

The wind coaxes ripples out of the lake's surface as Kai says, "Yeah," and glances up after the disappeared dragons. "I thought you was gonna come inside or something. Or maybe we was gonna go... shells." Apparently Chielyth didn't pass along all of the plans for the day, leaving Kai, wrong-footed, to fumble with a host's duties. "You, uh. Want t'... um. --It this nice up t' th' Reaches too?"

Briefly, C'sel looks up as well, marking the vanishing likely, of Corvinth's tail, then returns his gaze to B'kaiv's face, his scrutiny as steady as ever. "Corvinth did not mention such," the brownrider offers by way of neutral apology with a slight lift of his shoulders. "It is a pleasant day." He takes a breath and looks up at the sky again. "It rains around the Reaches today."

Chielyth races at first, egged on by the sunshine on her wings as well as Corvinth's encouragement, bypassing intriguing ravines and beckoning ridges in favor of more and more speed. << I'm faster! >> For now, at least, before she tires and while he lets her. "All she said is something about flying," Kai admits, likewise apologetic. "An' yeah, s'real nice. Wonder if that's how come she's up early - she usually sleeps all morning. You wanna. Maybe go inside?" With a gesture for the other side of the bowl, and the openings there.

Racing! Good stuff. Corvinth does indeed let Chielyth lead for a bit, she /is/ faster, though he of course, has ways to use the air to his advantage if he chooses to use them. He picks a current after a little while and goes shooting past the little green, lifts up and then tucks wings, diving down, down along steep walls into one of those ravines. << Can you catch me? >> is the wheedling tease sent back her way. By the lake, C'sel only nods once, acknowledging Kai's apologetic tone, considers the lake for a moment or two more. "Corvinth says she seems very awake for one who usually sleeps so late," he offers over, focusing back on the greenrider again. His gaze slips past Kai to those openings and he hesitates for a moment, then shakes his head. "If you do not mind, I prefer to remain out of doors."

Her, << Hey! >> when he goes zooming past is startled and gleeful - that's not fair! - but she digs in to chase after, jinking over to grab his current and dart ahead. Not expecting his sudden dive she overshoots and has to wingover to get the right angle for her own dive, distance lost in the game's change. << I'm going to get you! >> she claims as they chase the shadows. Kai starts, "Nah, it's," and gestures again, at the lake this time before shoving his hands into pockets. "Guess if it's been raining, s'nice t' be outside a bit." He turns his attention to the lake, though it slips to the other man, Kai -almost- saying something before it's back to the water.

<< Oh /are/ you now? >> Corvinth challenges and slipsides further along into darkness, practically vanishing but for the gleam of his eyes. C'sel nods again, just the once. "Yes. Our sweep was quite -- damp." And indeed there's traces of dampness around the edges of his jacket, though his hair seems to be dry. The brownrider's hands clasp behind his back and the breeze ruffles his hair, silence falling, though C'sel doesn't seem uncomfortable with it. Some long moments might thus pass in quiet before he speaks again. "I am -- sorry for Fort's recent losses." Tactful, but softly-spoken.

<< Nuh-huh! >> Or so she claims, wings spread barely far enough for flight as the chasm's walls close in. Another, << Whee! >> when she zips past him, climbing up up up back into the sun, herringbone sails snapping out to catch the air and hold her immobile. When gravity beckons she falls, drawing wings closed and twisting to plummet into the depths, excited bugle ringing from the rocks as she zooms after him. Kai /almost/ says something twice more as the silence stretches on, and has just taken a breath to try again when C'sel offers his sympathy; he blows out his breath and clears his throat, scrubs at his mouth and tries again. "Th' boat? Ships, I mean? Yeah, it's. Uh. Somethin'. An' th' raiders is back, I guess."

Corvinth keeps diving further and further down those long stone walls, not in any danger of hitting the bottom yet. Chielyth's drop and lift in turn earn a caress of mental shadows and another treasure shared, gleaming silver within tendrils of darkness. << You sure can turn on a mark, >> he compliments her congenially. C'sel's shoulders move fractionally, a shrug about the boats. "Ah, yes. I meant Bennath and Phara and some of the others I have heard passed this winter. It was uncommonly cold here, was it not? The elderly have such trouble with the coloder weather." There's a moment of brow-creased compassion then he's quiet again. Still not an uncomfortable silence on his side. "She flies well ..." is murmured in an undertone after a moment and should Kai look up, the brownrider's eyes are closed, a faint smile on his face as he lets his mind drift along wit Corvinth's diving progress.

Chielyth zips after him and through the echoes of her own cry, outracing both sound and sun into shadow. << Thanks! It's lots of fun! You're lots of fun to fly with! >> Is that a tail there, beckoning? Or just a wisp of cloud to tear through? "Oh. Yeah, um." Awkward again, it takes Kai a moment before he can nod, eyes back on the safer lake. "Were a real sharding rotten winter. An' then it didn't do nothing but rain. But it's um." Glance to the sky: still sunny? Still sunny. "Real nice now." The compliment has him glancing over once more. "She's not. She ain't proddy, is she?"

Finally breaking free of shadows, Corvinth can't resist the lure of that possible tail and darts after Chielyth, seeking to wind around her - showing off how tight of a spiral he can make. << Think we can break off in time before we get to the bottom? >> is the brown's next hypothetical. "Corvinth liked flying with Bennath," the brownrider says quietly, musingly, gaze lost off somewhere in the middle distance. Beat. "Her rider seemed ... troubled." But then he gives a little shake of his head and looks over at Kai. "Corvinth does not think so. She is merely playful as usual."

The wind coaxes ripples out of the lake's surface and tickles the hide of the dragon pair as well, so high in the mountains and deep in a canyon. << Hi! >> she greets the brown with an audible bugle as well, pulls in her wings but cranes her neck to watch his path. << You're really good too. And we'd better! >> Flirting with the ground isn't nearly as fun as flirting with the clouds. B'kaiv glances over, glances away, finding interest in the little wavelets. "Yeah. Her too," is all he says of the blue and his rider. "That's... good. Hate having t' ask. S'just - she's two, an' she ain't. You know."

Another half-turn and Corvinth's wings stretch to slow his descent, convert to a hover before eeling about mid-air to reverse direction. << It's nice and cool and interesting in the shade. But the sky's wide open for /racing/. >> And up he goes, aiming for those heights again and the flirtation of the underbellies of clouds. C'sel still hasn't moved much, hands clasped behind back though perhaps he's detected B'kaiv's discomfort. "Some rise later than others," he says philosophically. "It is not, in my experience, a matter of great concern until she passes two and a half to three turns." He looks over at Kai then though, expression inscrutable, eyes intent as always. "Are you nervous?" is a little blunt.

Chielyth's going down and Corvinth's going up. Not for long, though: she half-lands on a jutting rock, pausing only long enough to redirect her energy before springing after the brown. << We should see if Wyaeth wants to race! I bet I'm faster than him, too! >> Smack talk that'd be more impressive if she weren't far behind Corvinth and having to work to catch up. "Yeah, th' - th' healers say as there ain't. I mean. S'normal. 'Cause it's average for greens t' go up before two, only they ain't all average." Whatever else Chielyth is, she certainly isn't average. When C'sel looks he'll see Kai's profile and a stubborn headshake. "Nah. Mean yeah, I am a little, only... shells. It ain't th'. --Just want it t' be /over/. All this waiting's... shells."

Beating strongly upward, Corvinth cranes his neck to see Chielyth and actually slows a little to let her catch up. Apparently he'd really rather fly /with/ her around those clouds. "Yes. It is," C'sel agrees with the healerly assessment and he hesitates for a moment, one hand freeing itself from the clasp behind his back. After a moment, the gesture aims to complete, target: B'kaiv's shoulder for a light, but firm squeeze. "Waiting is -- always difficult," he agrees. "Though some might see her delay as an advantage." There's another pause before he goes on. "Perhaps ... try to enjoy this time while she is still unconcerned with such things? Put it from your mind until it seems to be a surer thing."

It's lots more fun to fly -with- somebody than with boring old clouds (sorry, clouds)! The little green promises, << I'm going to get you! >> but when she finally does catch up it's with only a whap of tail to brown hide, affectionate and companionable, before she falls into a spot beside him. Her rider startles at the unexpected touch but manages to stop before reflex can knock C'sel's hand away. "Sorry," he says, looking for a few seconds straight into the other man's eyes before hastily looking back at the lake. Faint joke: "Ain't like she's gonna get no bigger. An' yeah - I ain't trying t' be no wherry about it. I just - shells. Can't go around asking people all th' time."

That hand is removed promptly, though without haste and C'sel returns it to the clasp behind his back. That look of the younger man's is met steadily and then a slight nod. "No, she is full-grown," the brownrider agrees. "Why would you ask all the time?" he does query curiously, however. "For most riders, it may surprise a little the first time, but it is not usually difficult to feel it coming on as I understand it." A pause. "Of course, Corvinth has at times surprised me by chasing when he said he would not, but I -- usually get several hours' warning of his ..." breath in, breath out, "desire."

B'kaiv says, "'Cause I," before trailing off; after a second he shakes his head and shrugs. "Dunno. 'Cause I don't wanna be one of them as don't know it's coming. So I know t' keep her t' home." So he knows it's coming? Maybe, but he doesn't say that. "Yeah, Hattie said as she knew, when it were Elaruth. Only... shells, I dunno. Elaruth's gold." The faint sound of breathing yanks Kai's attention over, sidelong. After a few seconds and a shift of his jaw he mutters, "He wants t'... t' come try for her, I don't mind."

"I hope that that will not be the case. Certainly it happens from time to time that a rider is truly surprised, but --" C'sel stops, lifts his shoulders again. "Gold or green seems to signify little in these matters. It's more the personality of the dragon and of the rider," he notes. That last lifts C'sel's brows a little and then it's his turn to look away. "Unless she reaches out to him, I -- do not think it likely that he will know to come," the brownrider offers over by way of -- consolation?

"Mnh," Kai grunts, which could mean nearly anything, though the brownrider's last words draw a snort. "Th' way she talks t' him now? Shells, yeah. Ain't a day goes by she ain't talking t' /somebody/. An' she likes him. S'just - you don't got t' come neither. There's some as... well, there's some as I wouldn't want there." C'sel - or Corvinth - just isn't in that category.

"She may not -- invite him," C'sel says delicately and looks over at Kai steadily. "He enjoys flying with her very much, though," the brownrider states needlessly, but it's polite. That final statement draws out a few slight twitches on C'sel's face, nothing obvious, but that might be something that the brownrider understands. "There are some that I -- would prefer he not chase." But perhaps Chielyth does not fall into that category either. He's very non-commital on the entire matter.

At least the dragons aren't as tongue-tied as their riders, especially Chielyth who can barely stand to not call out her excitement every few hundred yards. << Race you there! >> she cries with a flash of the Ice Lake's shore, the lake itself not too far away. Corvinth's likely to beat her there, for as much as they've been doing has tired her. She's still game, just flagging. "If you want," Kai says again, steadfastly not looking over. "So, uh. What wing you in, up there?"

And they're off! Corvinth's wings stretch wide for /speed/ now and it's back and forth between them: << I'm going to get there fiiiirst. >> And so on, with the cold promise of the Ice Lake tinging his thoughts. C'sel is stoic and makes no answer to 'if you want'. The last is easier to answer without giving any offense. "Snowdrift. We focus on Search and Rescue at this time as well as ... unorthodox maneuvers. I am sure you can understand how that might please a dragon like Corvinth."

<< Nuh-unh! >> Chielyth denies and scrabbles after. She tries a few beats of her own before folding her wings tight to plummet, arrowing for the lake rather than the shore. Corvinth'll reach it first unless he throws the game. "That's - that sounds interesting," Kai says, sounding faintly surprised that it's so. "Bet Chielyth'd have fun doing something like that. Always different. There's some in this newest clutch as sounds kinda like him."

He holds back enough to let it be a tie. There is a chivalrous bone in Corvinth's body after all. Down on the ground, he streeeetches out, then lifts a wing. << Would you like to sit with me? >> he invites with a touch of warmth flickering on the underside of his mental fog bank. "Yes, it changes up often. Mielline is a good wingleader and many of the dragons in Snowdrift are of the flexible sort and a good number also the restless type that this kind of approach suits well."

Tie or win, Chielyth drops into the water with a splash they can probably hear at Ruatha and lets buoyancy bring her bobbing to the surface. << Okay, >> she agrees, happily tired, and paddles to the shore only to flop heavily against the brown. << That was fun, huh. >> "Huh," Kai says in nearly the same breath, unknowingly echoing. "Wonder if - well, wonder if they ever thought of doing transfers for just a little bit? T' learn stuff, an' all. You know, bring some Reaches down here, an' send some Fort up t' Reaches."

Corvinth's wing drops promptly over the little green and his head turns, tongue flicking off the odd water droplet, muzzle nosing lightly, affectionately along her neck after. << That was /great/, >> he agrees. << You caught me several times and I caught you too. We'll have to push ourselves again sometime. >> Beat. << Together. >> He snuggles a little closer, sun-warmed. << This is nice too. Getting warm together after. >> Corvinth's a bad, bad boy. C'sel is not. His eyes close and he takes a deep breath. "That -- could prove interesting," he agrees. "Perhaps the Weyrleaders would consider it. An exchange program. I have heard of such things done before."

Chielyth's eyes close under the onslaught of tongue; she nuzzles into Corvinth's shoulder and deeper against his side. << Yeah. And after we rest we can go flying again. Oh! Or swimming! >> since there's this handy lake so close. << Maybe later we can go flying with them? >> C'sel and Kai - yay Kai! Yay-Kai squints over at the older man, uncertain, but after a moment nods. "If that's what you call it, yeah. Don't gotta be just Fort an' th' Reaches, neither. Wouldn't mind seeing some of th' other Weyrs, an' Chielyth'd love flying with 'em for more'n just a few hours."

That dark brown wing settles all the more comfortably and cozily around the little green and being a good 12 feet longer than Chielyth, Corvinth practically curls himself about her too. << Swimming would be a lot of fun, but /better/ over in the sea than here. >> His thoughts form the shapes of waves, curling through shadows. <> regretfully, << to all fly together. C'sel would like to be home for lunch with his weyrmate. >> A shadowy portrait of Ebeny is drawn to share with Chielyth, though any echoes of Laurienth's discordant notes is held carefully apart. C'sel's posture finally shifts, hands dropping into pockets, his shoulders adopting a slightly more relaxed line. "Certainly, learning the winds over Ista is good practice," the brownrider agrees. "We flew there often when we were at Igen, the two Weyrs being close together."

Chielyth tucks into a cozy package, the better to be surrounded with, and drapes her tail over one of Corvinth's legs. << Why better there? Here there's >> diving and flying and falling - SPLASH! offered as a series of emotions and urges rather than words or pictures. << She's nice, >> she offers after careful study of the woman. << Kai doesn't have one. >> Woman, or weyrmate? She doesn't say. "Dunno as I could go t' Ista in th' summer," Kai offers after some thought. "Too sharding hot. Same for Igen. Dunno as how they can stand it. 'Specially in leathers. Ain't you all falling off your dragons from th' heat?"

Oh he likes that, he does and Corvinth rewards Chielyth with another fond nuzzle of muzzle to neck. << Because there are waves and things to chase under the water, >> the dark brown explains and shapes up his shadows and fog all the more to portray the life in the ocean deeps the better. << Ahh. Well if he wants one, I hope he finds one. C'sel is much happier getting laid than not. >> Which is possibly a gross overstatement of the situation, but it's certainly Corvinth's perspective. "The heat at Ista is humid," C'sel agrees with a slight nod, "very heavy. However at Igen, it is only hot during the day and it is a dry heat. In the desert it grows cool rapidly as the sun goes down."

The little green's breathing slows as they rest, her blood no longer rushing desperately through veins and arteries. <> she agrees politely of sea-vs-lake, continues with, << Kai likes to get laid too. I think he thinks I should get laid but I don't want to yet. >> She wants to stretch around to touch noses with Corvinth, which is loads more fun. "Well, yeah," Kai likewise agrees, though he sounds unconvinced. "They all say that - it's worse t' Ista 'cause of all th' water. Still wouldn't mind going there, trying it. You think you'll go back someday?"

Corvinth is a very warm dragon which might help to soothe some of that rushing further, for all that he's also usually the type to join her in that rushing. He's old enough to be able to calm down better. Usually. <> is the confession about the sea and there's a silver fish-shaped trinket offered up for her. << Well, you know, getting laid is fun too. Feels ... really, really good. No hurry though, >> the brown says all casual-like. But. << Do you ... want to know what it feels like? >> Beat. <> Honest offer. And yet. And yet. But his nose is bumping lightly against hers, still with simple enough affection. "It depends I think, what a person is used to," is C'sel's conclusion. "Some find the relief of the desert night refreshing. I -- grew to prefer it to the humidity even at the Reaches." Silence for a while, then a shake of his head. "Likely not. I have -- commitments at the Reaches now." Pause. "A weyrmate. Perhaps someday ... children." And for the first time in a while there's some inflection in what the brownrider says, the hopeful uplift of that last word patently obvious.

Chielyth blows out a happy breath, rubs her jaw along Corvinth's and curls back into her ball. << No, thank you, >> she answers politely, of I-could-share. <> What a great plan, yay! "Oh," says her rider at the end of that, frowns at the lake. "Well. Hope you're - you know. Happy. An' you get them kids, if you want 'em. S'just me an' Chielyth, so there ain't nothing really keeping us here."

<< When the time comes, >> is Corvinth's relatively placid reply, though the fog thickens to block out the curl of banked fires, embers threatening to spring into at least a flame or two to share that particular sensation. << We'd have to leave now to go get them and go there, >> the brown does some quick mental math based on C'sel's mental warning about when he wants to head back to the Reaches. << Would you rather do that, or stay and rest a little longer? >> And there goes his muzzle sliding along whatever hide he can reach with another warm caress. C'sel inclines his head slightly. "We are, yes. Very happy," the brownrider replies, voice mild. "And I would like a family very much. When the time is right." There's a little hesitant pause before C'sel continues. "Do you not feel any attachment to Fort on your own account then?"

She stretches, pushing her back into his side, and thinks about it. << If we rest then we can fly REALLY HARD back there and that's fun! Or, or, um. Or we could fly boring and get them and -then- fly really hard and swim! >> Each leg in turn is stretched out while she considers, talons flexing. << Um... let's rest 'cause Kai says later I can go flying with Khameth and it's really cozy here with you. >> Poor Chielyth, having to juggle multiple boyfriends. B'kaiv glances over at C'sel, down at the lake, back at the other man. "Shells, I dunno. Sorta, maybe. It's always been th' Weyr, ain't it. Only I ain't never lived nowhere but Othana an' here, an' maybe..." I dunno, says the shrug of his shoulders. "Ain't never really thought about it."

Pushing back just a little to help enable all that stretching, Corvinth's nose goes ... nosing along more exposed hide. It's all about making her feel good, after all. Even if it's just the 'friendly' kind of good. << Good. I like being here with you, >> is the sincere remark. And he does, oh he does like it. But of course he's really not the 'steady' boyfriend type. His tail seeks out a curved path to lie alongside hers and he curls again, head dropping to turn his neck into a pillow for her chin. C'sel lifts a hand to run at the middle of his forehead for a moment. "Ah of course. It is good to take the measure of other places. For my part -- if things should align, a return to Igen would not be something I would turn away from."

<> the little green answers, and if he's going to provide a pillow, why then she'll wriggle around until she can use it. It's only polite, after all. Her tail twitches when his comes beside and though the tip drapes over his length, after a moment she returns it politely to beside. C'sel's fidgeting has Kai narrowing his eyes at him. "Headache? Could go over there, if it's too bright, an' all." A nod to the lake, where the sun sparks little flares off the water, and then the herb garden. "Wouldn't mind it neither. Telgar, th' Reaches, Igen maybe. Dunno about th' others." As an afterthought, "Benden."

Thusly arranged, Corvinth lets out a quiet sigh of contentment. Pretty green all wrapped up with him. He's got nothing to complain of. At all. Over by the lake, C'sel is shaking his head, fingers dropping from the bridge of his nose. "No," he says simply. "Telgar is very, very cold," he notes with warning. "Much colder than here. It barely really gets warm in the summer." In his point of view. "The Reaches are much more temperate, being nearer the sea." He turns, looks towards the caverns and it might sound a little abrupt: "May I buy you a drink?"

And Chielyth's cuddling with a friend, yay! "Dunno as I mind cold," Kai says after a second or two. "But that's good t' know." Abrupt offer catches him off-guard, and he looks squarely at the other man for really only the second time today. "Uh... you want, sure. Could just go in, too - they probably got klah or juice or something in th' caverns." Head jerks before he turns to head that way, hesitating long enough to let C'sel join him.

Corvinth dozes lightly after a bit. Even so high up the sun bakes hide warm and he's got very good company. C'sel only inclines his head, falls into step with Kai, hands clasped behind his back again. "There's a difference between the cold here and the cold up there. It's much much colder and the wind on the open plains cuts like a knife," the brownrider notes.

B'kaiv doesn't dawdle across the bowl, but neither does he run - it's a brisk walk, not fast enough that they can't speak. "You got friends up there? Chielyth's got couple browns an' some blues she likes t' fly with at Telgar. We went a couple times this winter, when we weren't snowed in. It were cold, yeah, but it's th' wind as makes it bad."

Matching Kai's pace comfortably, in spite of being several inches shorter, C'sel shakes his head in answer. "No. Some passing acquaintances only," the brownrider relates. "I -- do not have many friends," he continues after a moment.

"Yeah?" Kai gives the other a curious look as they walk, nods as if to himself. "Think I remember you saying that. Ain't like we need a crowd, any road, with them." Neither Chielyth nor Corvinth is near, but he drops a nod toward a half-grown blue flying overhead. As they near the eastern wall and its tunnels he adds warningly, "This place is real fancy."

"Perhaps not," C'sel says simply. "However, this is something that I am -- changing," the brownrider says and smiles over at the greenrider just a little. "Decor matters little if the drinks are good." He waits just a little to see which way Kai goes before following.

The Glass Fountain, Fort Weyr
Despite its subterranean locale, the creamy wall paint, pale woods, and frosted glass give the cavern a light, airy feel. Oil lamps reflect softly in the polished wood of high-backed booths, glimmering through the opaque glass dividers that help lend intimacy to the seating arrangements; round-backed seats with deep, terra-cotta colored padding and the addition of strategic, lyric shapes painted in a subtle red shade at regular intervals around the walls add a little depth to the color palette. The sweeping, half-circle shaped bar with its top of smooth stone, backed by cut-glass-fronted cabinetry flows gracefully into the soft lines and mellow colors that dominate the Glass Fountain.

All the atmosphere aside, the main attractions of the room are clearly the massive, multi-pronged chandelier that hangs from multiple chains from the ceiling and the re-worked leak - which no longer resembles a leak at all, having been channeled through glass to become a beautiful piece of art. A curving wave and a series of glass bubbles guide the water past a bank of glows, allowing the light to shine through the water and turn it into a sparkling fountain. From its dark, dim, shabby history, the Glass Fountain has become - frankly - a swanky place with lattice-stands to hold the menus with their selection ranging from typical 'bar food' to high-end dishes and fancy desserts.

Obvious exits:
Inner Caverns

Kai answers, "Oh," followed swiftly by, "A'right," as though C'sel either wanted or needed his approval. "Beer's all right, but it's... well shells, you'll see." Long familiarity takes Kai easily through the tunnels until the Weyr's watering hole is reached. "You'll see," he warns again before heading inside, scowl firmly in place.

The perhaps unclear implication being that Kai is on C'sel's short list of people to get to know a little better, C'sel tries another smile, slight. Entering the bar, the brownrider's expression shifts not a jot. "It's very well put together," is his comment, apparently unfazed.

If Kai caught either implication or smile he lets them both pass without comment, only giving the man behind the counter a grudging nod. "Hey Harry." Harry looks mildly surprised to see the greenrider here but pulls a couple of mugs from beneath the bar, looking expectantly from one man to the other as Kai claims a stool. "Couple beers," Kai agrees, waves a hand at C'sel. "He's buying."

C'sel clears his throat. "Whiskey," he corrects the bartender mildly, "if you please." And holds up his hand to show how much. Then he settles down on a stool, removes his jacket and folds it carefully and neatly onto the bar's surface just to one side of his hands. Turning he regards B'kaiv closely for a moment. Stating the obvious: "You do not enjoy coming here."

"Beer and a whiskey, coming right up," Harry agrees, and starts taking care of the order. "Shells, no," is the greenrider's answer, and doesn't bother to lower his voice - presumably Harry's heard it all before already. "Used t' be good, but then someone got a bug up their butt about it an'..." And thus we have today's Glass Fountain, indicated by an irritated flick of one hand. "Place is all prissy now."

Looking around C'sel considers the decor for a moment and shrugs. "It is all but icing upon the cake. The true measure of an establishment is always the quality of its drinks and its food." Which could be something of an answer to the 'what was C'sel doing in a dive bar on the Igen coast' question from a while back. The drinks were good.

B'kaiv snorts richly for /that/ idea. "Food ain't no good neither. S'all... fancy an' crap. Thanks," he adds to Harry, who delivers the drink, quirks an amused eye at the greenrider and takes himself discreetly down the bar. "Don't see how nobody could like it here, 'less they was a bronzerider or something."

"Does fancy mean that something doesn't taste good?" C'sel queries as his whiskey is delivered and his hand closes around the glass, lifts it, briefly 'toasts' the greenrider silently and sips singly, looks around the room which is not completely empty at this time of the day. He considers Kai's words for a moment looking down at the amber surface of the liquid. "Many people ... appreciate artistry and fineness, without having a bronze dragon to their name." The comment is offered softly, blue eyes lifting back up and over to Kai.

"Means they spent more time making it /look/ good than -tasting- good," Kai replies firmly. "Just dish up th' sharding soup an' don't put no... frou-frou green crap on it. Or draw pretty pictures." He demonstrates with thumb and forefinger pinched close together, the rest of his fingers splayed. "If it's something as is /worth/ something, then yeah, sure. Straps. Or beer." Speaking of which, he'll have some, thank you. "But sharding /food/? Or," eyes dart around to hunt out another example, "-clothes-?"

"How much of the menu have you tried?" is C'sel's mild question as he takes another slow, thougtful sip from his glass of whiskey. "As for clothing, personally, I believe in a neat and tidy appearance, well kept up. It usually conveys a sense of discipline and self-control," the brownrider continues. Again, this might say a lot about his own choices: the military hair cut, the plain, but well-tailored and scrupulously upkept clothing. His things aren't what one would call fancy, but it's likely that in the few times they've met, Kai will probably have noticed that C'sel never wears anything with loose threads or worn areas.

"Ate th' ones as ain't gonna turn me int' no prissy pants bronzerider just t' look at 'em," Kai declares, and toasts his success for it. "Now, see, there's being /clean/, an' then there's... well, shells. A shirt shouldn't cost more marks'n what I seen in a month before I come here. Unless you're a sharding Lord Holder or something. Otherwise you're just showing off."

"Do you honestly believe that what you choose to eat, will change the core of who you are?" C'sel queries after a moment, not having taken another sip yet and the question is very straightforward, the brownrider's head cocked to the side, his words slow and measured as always. "Others may not share that view," he notes further, "though I -- am not much inclined towards spending much on wardrobe either. I prefer my things to be sturdily made and I am willing to pay a little more for things that last."

"Making things fancy when they ain't got no call t' be is just showing off," the younger man repeats stubbornly. "Like this place." He waves around at the room - the chandelier, the gently burbling fountain, the oil lamps, the stone bar top. "This place were good before they put all this crap in here. They didn't got to: showing off. I wanna open my own place so them as don't like it here got some place t' drink."

"Some might have felt that it was dirty and grimy before and not fit for eating in," C'sel offers up another point of view. "It is -- simply a matter of different taste. It does not necessarily indicate 'showing off'." He nods to the barkeep. "He does not particularly seem to be the show-off type." Now he takes another sip of his whiskey. "And the 'house' whiskey is smooth, not unduly harsh. The quality of the drinks at least, speaks for itself."

Would they really? "Then they'd be wrong," says Kai firmly. "It weren't neither. Look," he adds, sitting firmly back onto his stool, "I don't wanna fight over it. Sharding stupid. An' it ain't I ain't grateful for th' beer. The drinks is all right; I just don't like it here. It's fancy an' stuck up." With likewise a nod for Harry, who only looks patient in return. "You like it, you can come here all you want."

"Fight?" C'sel's brows lift and he looks mildly surprised by the use of the term. "I am simply pointing out alternate views of which there are very many in the world," the brownrider explains. "It isn't a question of who is right and who is wrong most of the time, just what we each believe." He takes a deep breath, looks back down at his glass. That might just be the longest set of two sentences he's ever spoken in Kai's presence. "I used to debate rights and wrongs ... with a friend. At Igen." His voice goes quiet then, thoughtful. Maybe even sad.

Possibly the best word to describe Kai would be 'flabbergasted', though 'confused' runs a close second. "--Oh," he finally allows after long seconds tick past, and has some beer to wash the word down. "Well, I, uh. I'm sorry I thought you was telling me I was wrong. Get that a lot." Which might explain his knee-jerk defensiveness. "There's this guy you might like - G'dri. Khameth's. He kinda does that too."

"No," C'sel says with a little shake of his head. "I may not agree, personally, as I do find things positive about this place and I would not try to judge the food without trying all of it," the brownrider says slowly. "But your view is yours and is not an absolute in either direction." And this time, Cas takes a deeper swallow from his glass. "Perhaps," he allows, about the bluerider, expression back to neutral. "It's -- it's been a while." Pause. "A while since my friend died."

B'kaiv says, "He's helps th' weyrlings. Like you. 'Bout your height too, now I think on it." Whatever else attributes and qualities the men share will have to remain unexplored; a young boy sticks his head in the door and calls for the greenrider. Kai turns around to see him, scowls and swears, tossing back half of what's left of his drink. "Gotta run - thanks again for th' drink." A quick nod for C'sel, another for Harry and the big greenrider's gone, leaving C'sel to navigate Fort's tunnels on his own.

[TBC] Log: Of This And That At Nabol

2009-11-29T02:57:42Z

Who: C'sel, K'ndro
When: It is a spring afternoon, 13:00 of day 1, month 5, turn 21 of Interval 10.
Where: Orchards, Nabol Hold
What: Cas and Mik meet up by chance at Nabol and talk about a little bit of this and that. To Be Continued.

Orchards, Nabol Hold(#1216RJ)
Situated near the main Hold, down a gentle slope in an insulated valley lies Nabol's vast fruit orchards. Apple trees dominate the landscape, though sections, delineated by sturdy wooden fences, are portioned out for plums, peaches, cherries, and pears. Dark, fertilized earth is well tended and cared for beneath the trees, while the free space of grassy knolls roll downward into the orchards. In the distance is an apple refinery, where overripe fruits are sent to be pressed into ciders, both hard and not.
Blossom buds and the slow growth of leaves are intermittent across the landscape of trees as the arrival of spring rains coax them into existence. The white petals of the cherry trees blanket the ground, obscuring sign of the burgeoning growth of grass and the dark, spring-soaked soil.
A lovely spring day starts with a soft breeze that persists from morning through till evening, chasing occasional clouds across a prettily blue sky.

>---< Local Weather >--------------------------------------------------------<
Current Temp: 43 F Today's Lo/Hi: 52 F / 27 F
Belior: new Timor: waxing gibbous
Weather: breezy
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
A lovely spring day starts with a soft breeze that persists from morning
through till evening, chasing occasional clouds across a prettily blue
sky.
>------------------------------------< 13:00 D1 M5 T21, spring afternoon >---<

It's lovely out, just a little cool, but quite bearable really, sunny clear skies above, a sweetly scented breeze. C'sel walks under the trees, hands clasped behind back, moving away from a cluster of workers tending to what some might recognize as apple trees. There's a subtle line of tension to the brownrider's shoulders as he walks, gaze aiming straight ahead as his feet follow a path further into the orchard along neat lines of tree trunks all leafing out and starting to blossom.

On a lovely day like today, seeing a few people who aren't workers scattered here and there beneath the trees probably isn't unusual. That one of those people is K'ndro, however, would be considered unusual. The young man is sat on his folded jacket, leaning up against the trunk of one of those trees, one leg stretched out to the front and the other drawn up, knee providing a convenient rest for one elbow. As is habitual whenever he's got downtime, his hands are occupied with a carving, small whittling knife scraping little curling strips away from the pale wood. Not so absorbed as to be unaware of his surroundings, dark brown eyes flickering upwards when movement is noticed at the edge of his vision. "C'sel? Heya."

HAving been rather on the absorbed side himself, C'sel actually startles faintly at being addressed. A quick look is shot over his shoulder, but then he slows to a stop and inclines his head politely to the bronzerider under the tree. "K'ndro, good day. I hope the carving goes well," are neutral, polite words.

"Sorry," is offered in the wake of that start, K'ndro's brows quirking faintly as he continues to watch the older man for a moment more. "Ain't nothing to have gone wrong yet," he notes next, a touch of amusement in his voice as he gives the chunk of wood a small waggle. At the moment, it resembles nothing much, just a thick blob with two knobs at either end. "How've you an' Corvinth been lately?" Followed by, "But don't let me keep you, you got somewhere to be."

"Ah yes, I see," C'sel replies, face mostly impassive, though there's a slight wrinkling of his brow, a pull to the corner of his mouth that might indicate sheepishness for not having noticed the state of the block of wood. "We are well, thank you. He has -- had some success with the green of late which pleases him greatly," the brownrider answers, pauses, takes a breath and shakes his head. "No, I am not going anywhere in particular." Another look is tendered over his shoulder. "That is my father there, along with my two brothers and their sons," he indicates one of the clusters of workers. "I am come from there." Which doesn't necessarily reveal much but there's something perhaps in the quality of his voice that betrays the fact that he doesn't have much of a desire to go back in that direction just now.

Another slender spiral falls to the ground after a deliberate and steady cut, K'ndro's head cocked to one side as he listens. "Heh," is not quite a snort for Corvinth's luck with the ladies. "Good for him." Tucking his knife in against his palm, he looks up and then over in the direction indicated. "Didn't know you had family here. Visiting then, eh?" With his gaze returning to the brownrider, his own expression as open as it most always is, a wrinkle of puzzlement across his brow marring his otherwise usual pleasant cheer. Sociable as ever and glad for familiar if taciturn company, "Could stand to stretch my legs a bit if you wanna carry on walkin' and don't mind th'company. Or, pull up a tree root?"

"Yes," C'sel agrees simply. For Corvinth. No comment on his own feelings about that success. "I am originally, from Nabol," the brownrider explains. "My family lives about a half mile that way," he gestures one-armed, "in a small cothold on the edge of the orchards." Beat. "For the most part, they tend to the trees." C'sel's hand returns to the small of his back, wrapping around the other and he looks ahead towards the far end of the orchard for a moment, then nods. "Company would be pleasant." Next he frees a hand again to offer down to K'ndro to help him rise.

K'ndro sheathes his whittling knife in the small leather case at his belt. "Huh. Interesting." Coming from him, it's actually genuine, not simply a throw-away comment for the sake of politeness. "Thanks," comes for the hand up after he's gathered his legs beneath himself, though not that necessary what with the tree trunk to steady himself against as he rises. Stooping again to catch up his jacket, the carving-in-progress gets tucked into an inner pocket. "Nice out here this time of the turn," he notes absently, after inclining his head in an 'after you' type gesture. "It's a good wood, this. Nice colouring, carves well. Though it's always nicer to see living than as a dead hunk."

There's little in the way of reaction to K'ndro's remark beyond the slight dipping of C'sel's head. Once the bronzerider has risen, the brownrider looks upward, where blue skies peek between blossoming branches. "Yes. Some say the loveliest to visit Nabol. When all the trees are in bloom." Blue eyes slant sidelong towards the younger man at that last remark. "Easier to carve when it does not run with sap, however?" The query probably isn't strictly necessary but hey, it's making conversation as C'sel moves off down the line of trees. "I used to play here as a child." Play. Can anyone imagine C'sel-the-boy playing even?

"Autumn," K'ndro volunteers simply, lifting a hand to allow his fingers to catch briefly on a thin outer branch and set the budding thing to swaying once his fingers have slipped free. His laughter rumbles out then, an easy grin turned on the brownrider for a couple moments. "Aye. Fresh wood's far too soft and likely to split along the grain." Shortening his stride with the ease of long habit to match that of the shorter man, he seems atypically content to just walk without nattering away like he's wont to do. It might be a stretch to imagine C'sel-the-boy at all, but games at least are easily thought of. "Tended like it is, plenty of room to really have fun. Open enough to run, closed enough provide cover, on th'ground or in th'branches."

"You prefer it?" Autumn to spring. C'sel continues to amble along, not particularly fazed by the difference in height and he's not really the type to insist on conversation if it's not wanted. He does however add on: "Yes. Ideal for making long runs and then darting behind a trunk to change direction and throw off a pursuer," the brownrider describes.

TBC

Log: Shame

2009-11-23T02:03:00Z

Who: Ebeny, C'sel, Laurienth, Corvinth
When: It is a spring afternoon, 16:48 of day 14, month 4, turn 21 of Interval 10.
Where: Guest Weyr, High Reaches Weyr
What: Corvinth catches Laurienth. It's intense. Ebeny and C'sel are both ashamed and feel guilty for harm done to each other, but manage to get over it.

Guest Weyr, High Reaches Weyr
This broad ledge is dappled with bright light in the morning and commands a lovely view of the eastern end of the bowl, including the lake and the trees that dot the shoreline. Reached by a flight of stone steps that climb up from the bowl floor, the ledge is relatively low, an easy jump down to the ground; possibly its selection was a safety precaution, so anyone stumbling out the wrong way after a flight would be unlikely to break his or her neck. Within the weyr itself is a comfortably-sized dragon wallow, rarely used but swept clean nonetheless.
The cavern broadens as it stretches back away from the entrance to reveal a neatly made double-sized bed pushed up against the back wall, a press at its foot with an extra blanket folded on top of it and two chairs standing guard to either side of the hearth. A rectangular table lurks against the side wall, kept stocked with a pitcher of water and a basket of seasonal fruits. The weyr is well-lit and kept immaculately clean, the refreshing scents of citron-infused sweetsand mingling with the tang of herbs.

The past couple of days cannot have been pleasant. Between Ebeny discovering an entirely new vocabulary and then making every effort to lock all those (probably not so) new words away with sullen, grey cloud covered silences, she's not made for good company at all. Laurienth, on the other hand, has managed to be almost sweet in her interactions, lacking her usual sharpness and paying more attention to others than she usually does. That is, until she made a sudden break for the skies, dark hide glowing as much as one of such a shade can, when it's been back to tricks and taunting, high twists and turns that cannot make for an easy pursuit. If her rider has let on any clues as to her fears, they've been quickly smothered by just what prompted them in the first place - Laurienth's mannerisms and temper overruling her own. And when the green is finally caught, that line only blurs all the more and has left little trace of Ebeny's temperament to be seen since. Eventually, though, there's some sense back in green eyes and nothing but silence from Ebeny.

All day, Corvinth's kept a careful eye on Laurienth, stayed in contact and relished that sweetness of hers, even while out on an early morning sweep and then drills with Snowdrift. As C'sel went to lunch, the brown settled in place in his usual spot on the spires and without seeming to, continued to watch and wait. When the time came, he was right there, leaping into the fray with relish and barely contained excitement, desire burning forth clearly as things went on and using every trick, shouldering aside those who would get between him and his goal, pulling out all the stops, including the mental ones. Corvinth's never been one not to take advantage of a previously made connection. Moreso than usual, even moreso than when Corvinth chased Yyth, C'sel lost all semblance of restraint rapidly. When a younger rider tried to grab Ebeny, lost in his own blue, the brownrider shoved him aside almost violently, eyes blazing with a low-voiced growl and an intense: "Do. Not. Touch. Her." All around, it could be said perhaps, that all four have chosen each other and when Laurienth was at last, truly his, Corvinth wound her close, great wings beating the air to break their fall though the fire blazes hot in his mind, burning away shadows and fog, laying every treasure bare. His own possessive: << /Mine/, >> is echoed below in the weyr by his rider as C'sel seizes his weyrmate by the shoulders and pulls her roughly to him. Eventually, the fire burns out and as the fog creeps back into Corvinth's mind, shadowing secrets once more, the return of sense is mirrored in C'sel's expression. Though he seeks out Ebeny's gaze for a moment, his is rapidly hidden from view as guilt sneaks across his face. His forehead dips to her shoulder, lips pressing against a bruise there likewise silent and seeks to disengage, treating Ebeny like she's made of so much finely painted porcelain.

Since settling, Laurienth has wound herself as much around Corvinth as she possibly can, possessively close and electric blue sparks drifting through her mental touch, more pretty than dangerous, though every now and then there's one that's just a bit too charged. Sharpness gone again for the time being, the green is quite happy to mentally drift a little, paths of her dark maze rearranging and making for quite a trippy feel to her mind. A faint noise that could be pain or pleasure spills from Ebeny and her fingers gently lift away one by one from her weyrmate's skin, but once her arms have slipped from around C'sel, she doesn't appear to know quite where to settle them. In the end, her palms sit flat against the sheets and she stares upwards for a little while, all without her eyes making any kind of contact with him. Silence, still, and it takes more than a couple of attempts for her to eventually speak, uneven breaths indicating attempts made and failed. "I..." she begins hoarsely, "I'm sorry... I've been... awful..." She very determinedly finds somewhere else for her gaze to focus as she continues on, still unable to look at the brownrider. "I'm sorry if I... hurt you," is murmured in a voice filled with remorse and she just /won't look/ to see if her apology is really needed or otherwise.

Punchdrunk on that closeness, enjoying even the slightly overcharged nature of some of those sparks, Corvinth is beyond pleased and shows no desire or intent to move apart from Laurienth. His shadows slip along those rearranged pathways with typically keen curiosity tempered by the continued warmth of his pleasure, head tucked beneath her chin as a pillow. Ebeny's retreat only spurs C'sel to further withdraw, pushing up and away from her, face briefly visible as he gives her back her personal space though unlike the usual, he doesn't go far. His own gaze is fixed studiously to a wrinkle in the pillowcase where her dark hair fans against pale fabric. The first apology only makes a slight dent between his brows, the second deepens it and snaps his eyes up to her face. "I -- " he starts, stops and swallows hard, one finger tracing quite the set of marks along her skin. "I as well," he finally concludes, very quietly and continues to study just how much damage he's done then looks away hastily a slight tremble in his hand as it settles down along her forearm, his arm crossing her body. It's an odd juxtaposition, perhaps, not wanting to part from her completely, but utterly unsure if any comfort he might have to offer would be welcome.

Ebeny shivers when his finger goes tracing over her skin, eyes closed, only for them to open again when his hand settles and she can feel that trembling. Another few breaths and she finally steals a look to see what she's inflicted; has to look sharply away again when she finds marks that go beyond little bruises and bites, breathing quickening in the manner of one shocked or trying to suppress panic. The greenrider gazes everywhere but at C'sel for a few long moments, then moves suddenly with a quiet, unintelligible exclamation to tuck herself right against him, arms seeking to wrap back around him tightly, further apologies whispered against skin.

Uncertainty continues to dog C'sel as long as she's looking away from him and he swallows down a lump in his throat, looking stricken until she turns towards him so. When she does, his arms close around her tightly and his face turns into her neck pressing kisses there in hectic progression towards her ear. Shaken, he resorts to soft shushing noises and smooths her hair back. His mouth finds her ear finally and his murmur is low, hoarse. "I am all right. I love you." He can't come up with better for now, each of the proclamations edged with his own apologies. Outside, Corvinth experiences no such remorse and his mind continues to not so much tangle as meld into Laurienth's maze, shadows re-learning her and staying with her.

Slowly, Ebeny calms and tension begins to fade from her, her arms ceasing to grip quite so desperately and her breathing slows to something similar to a regular pace. The fingers of one hand ghost along his spine, up past the nape of his neck and settle to playing gently with the ends of his hair. Apologies fade out too, replaced by, "I don't know why I'm sorry. Because it's not all my fault and it's not all your fault either, it's... they... I..." She shakes her head just a little, expression giving her struggle away. "There's not even any fault, and still, I just..." Can't explain and so stops attempting to. Laurienth too doesn't share her rider's apparent distress and remains quiet, pleasantly hazy and welcoming of shadow, tail tightening around Corvinth's. There's going to be trouble getting her to move any time soon.

Silence on C'sel's part for much of that, his expressions shifting minutely, though more openly than they usually do in public. There's still guilt caught there, but compassion and caring, deep tenderness have their place too and ultimately his l ips tilt upward to find her forehead. "No. There is no fault," he says softly, steadily. "We -- we knew it might be this way," he adds on after a moment, voice still low, raspy in quality. C'sel's head tips back just a little so that blue eyes can seek out green. "And it is not just them," he continues, still steady though those words come out slowly, heavily weighted as if it's a somewhat difficult admission to make. As Laurienth's tail tightens around Corvinth's his answers and the brownrider breathes out long, eyes closing, arms suddenly pulling Ebeny that much closer against him. "I do not imagine that he will not catch her again. They are -- close." His fingers trace up her spine slowly and C'sel's mouth goes in quest of hers, a final murmur offered up prior to that kiss. "I would rather be here with you, like this, than out there alone. Would rather he did catch her than that he did not." Corvinth? Not in any hurry to move along either. Could be a long afternoon and evening.

Green eyes close tightly and Ebeny sets her jaw as though ready to argue that it /is/ their dragons and not the two of them, however all she murmurs is, "No. I know. It's not just them," in a voice that cracks. "I know," she echoes needlessly, mouth aiming to cover a mark that she's left behind in the crook of his neck even as she trembles. "And I... It... It was..." Well, she certainly wasn't complaining earlier, though can't make it past single syllables to say anything of the sort and tries to convey as such with a gaze only faintly edged with shame instead. She tips her head back a fraction to meet that kiss; lets it thoroughly distract her from her concern before she draws away to say, "I would rather this too. Even if it makes it clear... that there are things we don't like to acknowledge that we should... accept," softly.

Breath grows short during that kiss and when C'sel draws back briefly, he only nods once for those last words and his answer is simple: "Yes." His fingers shift to brush back hair from her temple, ineffable tenderness in his gaze now along with renewed heat, though he is very much himself, if still affected by the keen affection and raw sensuality that Corvinth and Laurienth are sharing. This time, C'sel presses his finger lightly to Ebeny's lips before he kisses her, smiles just a little and then does his level best to drive shame out of the room for both of them.

Ebeny. Quiet. Some of the time. By the time they're wound warmly together again, she doesn't appear to be any more inclined towards moving than Laurienth, lips and hands lazily seeking out skin to which she's already paid attention and received a favourable reaction. Eventually, however, she whispers a reluctant, "Do you think we need to venture outside? Laurie... is a lost cause." Those last words could be spoken in anger another day, but today she just smiles.

"No," C'sel answers just as softly, comfortable with lounging all tangled up in the sheets with his weyrmate. "We don't have to go anywhere, unless you would care to. They -- often bring in a tray. Discreetly." The brownrider's throat clears a little and he looks up, seeks to meet Ebeny's gaze then slowly, smiles too, no hesitation this time, just a clear expression of happiness.

Ebeny. Quiet. Some of the time. By the time they're wound warmly together again, she doesn't appear to be any more inclined towards moving than Laurienth, lips and hands lazily seeking out skin to which she's already paid attention and received a favourable reaction. Eventually, however, she whispers a reluctant, "Do you think we need to venture outside? Laurie... is a lost cause." Those last words could be spoken in anger another day, but today she just smiles.

"No," C'sel answers just as softly, comfortable with lounging all tangled up in the sheets with his weyrmate. "We don't have to go anywhere, unless you would care to. They -- often bring in a tray. Discreetly." The brownrider's throat clears a little and he looks up, seeks to meet Ebeny's gaze then slowly, smiles too, no hesitation this time, just a clear expression of happiness.

"I don't think I would care to go anywhere," Ebeny decides through a quiet ripple of almost giddy laughter. "Not for a good while, at least." Happy to just blink back at C'sel for a little while, she then leans to press her lips to one corner of that smile. "Just where are we going to sleep tonight if they won't move?" she teases quietly, laughter in her eyes.

C'sel actually laughs outright himself and winds his arms around her again, noses at her hair no matter how messed up it is by all that activity. "Right here," he answers sofly and trails one hand down her back to linger in the small of her back. "Not that you -- need an excuse to wake me in the middle of the night, but ... why not ah ... take advantage." Beat. "While we can." And he's quite serious about that, though there is just the faintest hint of sly humor to him.

"Take advantage..." Ebeny murmurs with her eyes closed and a blissful smile on her face. She laughs again and curls close, close enough that when she opens her eyes, the wicked tint to them might not be seen at first. "Staying here all day and all night, people might talk," she says with feigned, dramatic concern, the way and where she slowly moves one hand perhaps letting on that she's not really all that worried. "What if they won't move for days?" Definitely joking, though maybe she tries for serious.

"It's not so many hours as that," C'sel says evenly, given the later hour of the afternoon by now. "And I do not think that anyone will really notice," he continues, head tilting to the side a little, though his eyes close as her hand goes wandering where it does. "Days ... hm. Might have some trouble with days. But I think Corvinth could at least be persuaded to shift home," the brownrider continues deadpan.

"Home is at least somewhat more... out of the way..." Ebeny replies, only a faint trace of teasing to her voice as she sets about concentrating on teasing in more physical ways. "I'll have to broach the subject with Laurienth... Sometime..." Sometime being not in the next few minutes at least, for her focus really does wander off at that moment and there aren't that many words to be heard from her at all.

There's a tell-tale flush in C'sel's cheeks in response to all that teasing and it's with a rough voice that he notes: "No one will really ... get in the way." Word choice gets a little sketchy there, even if what he really means is that most weyrfolk won't intrude in an occuped post-flight guest weyr. But then he's far too distracted to comment further. As the sun sets, C'sel falls asleep for a little while, still tangled up with his weyrmate. It's somewhere in there that a discreet clink of cutlery does in fact announce a tray left by some of the caverns-staff. Later still, or even in the morning, dragons might finally be persuaded to untwine long enough to carry both home.

Vignette: It Is You

2009-11-08T09:03:13Z

What: Post-post-Jeibeth-flight musings.

Ebeny was asleep.
C'sel rolled over to ... respond to the call of nature.

When he was done, he padded through the quiet weyr back towards the bed and his gaze caught on the trail of discarded clothing from the wallow to the wall. He diverted to go collect everything, saw his jacket on the floor out in the wallow and made a little face. It had probably gotten /gritty/. He hated that.

Still he folded up his shirt, pants, underwear patiently, smoothed them out and left them on the table in preparation for the morning. Ebeny's trousers and underthings followed, but her shirt ... oh dear. He looked at the wreck of her shirt with some consternation and cleared his throat several times before just ... folding it up anyway.

He walked out to the wallow, shivered a little in the drafts that washed in from outside and was surprised to find dragons curled up there. C'sel bent to pick up his jacket, line up both his and Ebeny's boots neatly against the wall. While he was shaking out his jacket, Corvinth's head turned, dark eyes opening and fixing on him intently.

<< It isn't just me, you know. >>

C'sel kept on brushing out the fleece lining of his jacket.

What do you mean?

The brown's head snaked forward a little, though careful not to disturb Laurienth and his muzzle bumped against C'sel's chest lightly, tipped upward to lift the brownrider's chin, so their eyes met again.

C'sel had a brief flashback to Impression. The sands. The heat. The feeling of Corvinth's shadows blanketing his mind, the pulse of fire in his veins and Corvinth's. The pulse that matched. He drew breath sharply and reached out to rest his hand along one of the brown's eyeridges.

<>

Corvinth flashed an image of a box, locked, double-locked, stuck in a closet in a deep dark, shadowy corner.

<< Everyone /wants/ sometime, Cas. Everyone. Including you. Stop blaming it on me. It's not /not/ you. I'm not saying it's /all/ you. Because it's not. I know that. I'm not afraid to admit that. I like what I like. I get thrills easily. I like getting an easy thrill. I like /feeling/. But some of it ... it /is/ you. >>

"NO." C'sel actually said the word aloud, angrily even and his hand tightened along that hide-clad ridge of bone beneath his palm.

<< Cas. >>

"No ..." C'sel whispered and inside he felt his heart fluttering away like a bird's wings, too fast, unsteady and he leaned against Corvinth, closed his eyes. Oh ... he'd said in response to Ebeny's show-don't-tell. Oh. He could deny it all he wanted, but Corvinth was right. It was hard to face this. Hard to bring it out into the open. But he was no innocent, in the end. No innocent at all.

<< It'll be okay, Cas. I love you. And she loves you too. All of you. She said so. I heard. Even this. >>

C'sel stayed leaning against his brown, breathed in and breathed out some more. Finally:

I know. I just -- I don't want it to be me. I don't want to be ... like that.

<< Why not, Cas? It's not /wrong/. >>

Hadn't they had this conversation before?

It still ... still feels wrong. Even after all this time.

He lifted his head and moved his hand back along towards the edge of Corvinth's headknob. The brown sighed softly, contentedly and leaned into the touch happily, enjoying the simple sensation of it.

<< Just let go a little, Cas. Trust me. Trust her. Trust yourself. You'll never really let yourself go too far. You're a good man. Even with this desire inside. Desire doesn't make you bad. >>

C'sel couldn't promise in full. But he could give Corvinth this much:

I'll try.

They stood together for a while longer, until C'sel started to shiver from the cold.

Not having pyjamas at Ebeny's was turning out to be a serious flaw in this weyrmates-without-one-weyr plan.

After he'd hung his jacket back up, he fled back to bed, where it was properly warm next to the greenrider.

He didn't think about anything else as he curled up against her back.

Just that warmth, and let it lull him back to sleep.

Log: After Jeibeth

2009-11-08T08:01:17Z

Who: C'sel, Ebeny, Corvinth, Laurienth
When: Afternoon/Night, day 25, month 2, turn 21 of the 10th interval.
Where: Bowl/Ebeny's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr
What: After Corvinth fails to catch Jeibeth, he reaches out to Laurienth for himself and for his rider. Ebeny gets a first-hand demonstration of just how strong C'sel's self-control has usually been as well as what he's /really/ like just after a flight.

Adult themes. Not graphic.

Dragon> To Laurienth, Corvinth is a thing of fire and fog when his mind touches hers: << Race with me? >> is the offer made, a vision of the open sky beyond the Weyr offered and the sense of ... Jeibeth's sandalwood, receding already, but for a moment within his grasp and lost. << C'sel will need yours. >>

Dragon> To Corvinth, Laurienth is blank, blank, blank until a crackle sounds and bright, electric blue washes through her mind. << Yes, >> she returns simply. Consideration of muddy paws seeps through her touch, there and gone, dismissed. << She is here. >> Her weyr. << Where is he? >>

Dragon> To Laurienth, Corvinth is trailing vapor mentally at least, sliding along one of the howling winds' long currents, drifting like a leaf on it for now, not fighting it. His mind flares with fire again, silver reflections gleaming from his treasure trove. << He's in the bowl just outside the place where they go when we chase, walking towards the lake. Go to him with her? I will wait for you right here. >> Again that flash of sky just beyond spires and the thrilling touch of cold wind buffeting him to and fro almost like a chilly sea.

Dragon> To Corvinth, Laurienth echoes, << Lake, >>, tints her image of it with that same blue and is abruptly gone, not even blankness and darkness left in her wake. A half minute or so later, she filters back with a high note that struggles away from screeching. Impatient for the sky, wanting to be away already. << We go, >> she says, voice a low murmur through thick smoke.

Dragon> To Laurienth, Corvinth curls the wind around Laurienth, lets it bolster her through that departure. << He is not there yet. But that is the direction he goes. >> Beat. << Thank you, Laurienth. >> And once the pair arrive on the bowl floor it's a highly disoriented C'sel that they'll find.

The bowl is full of wind and more than one rider walking away from the guest weyr, though many are being met by either folk from the lower caverns or other riders to take them off elsewhere and at least three are heading for the Snowasis. C'sel's path is perhaps automatic: set for the lake. Hatless, his short hair is ruffled by the high winds, jacket flapping open and he's got rather a wild-eyed look to him barely held back and his steps are none too even.

Laurienth, jumpy, agitated takes slinking steps back and forth in what shadow she can find, whilst her rider's steps don't slink, aren't slow and don't show any sign of stopping until she reaches what she's here for. That being C'sel, the greenrider's arms reaching to stop uneven steps by whatever means she can, possibly unwisely before she says a single word. Ebeny plants herself right in front of him, meaning to cut off the rest of his path, and insists, "Stop. It's alright."

Immediately, C'sel's gaze fastens on Ebeny and something of the lingering fever shows clearly in his eyes as he ... doesn't stop but steps right up to her, seizes her in fact and pulls her to him to plant ... well it's beyond the passionate kisses he's favored her with before and it's more amped up than when he kissed her after Vrianth since there's been no time to even cool off by the lakeshore. This is C'sel fresh off a flight, still half tangled up in Corvinth. And yes, those are his hands sneaking beneath her jacket already pulling fabric loose, seeking skin, his palms hot as if he actually does have a fever.

Ebeny is not a saint and therefore doesn't do the right thing right at the moment she should, doesn't think before she leans into him and makes sure there's no distance between them whatsoever and doesn't hesitate to drown in that kiss for a good while. However, sense /does/ return to her as his hands go sneaking, even if she arches into the touch. "No," she says firmly, fingers aiming to catch at and close around his wrists. She's not little and the girl's got some power behind her grip, contrary to how she usually behaves. "Stop. You'll regret it later if I let you go on here. Home. Now." And there's Laurienth, shifting from paw to paw.

There's a moment of insistence, of hands pulling against that hold and his mouth dropping to the side of her neck with a low, hoarse chuckle. "What's to regret about you?" he murmurs in a voice that sounds a lot more like the way Corvinth suggests and wheedles, seductive even. C'sel draws back after a moment though, eyes alight in a way that's oddly ... dark for all the gleam in them. "But closed doors would be better ... for everything I've in mind for you," is practically growled. She may have some power in her grip, but he's still stronger and ultimately breaks free, but only to take her by the waist and walk with impatience to Laurienth's side, hauls aboard by straps and reaches to help her up after. That his hands then go wandering in ways they never would otherwise might be an added surprise and lead to quite the disheveled state by the time they get up to Ebeny and Laurienth's weyr.

There are so many ways that Ebeny might respond to that first not-really question at any other time, but she doesn't speak, doesn't answer anything in fact, the only sound to be heard from her until they reach her weyr a gasp when hands go wandering. Hesitation, just a moment, just a flicker of yellow in Laurienth's gaze, but then she's scrambling from her ledge and gone, leaving her rider to know her own mind. Who must either not be all that fazed by her weyrmate's behaviour or making a damn good show of not being. Barely into her living space, Ebeny turns; stands there in her dishevelled state, kicks her boots off and stares, waits. And where did that faint smirk arrive from?

Out there in the wind, Corvinth is still waiting and when Laurienth arrives his wings beat down, push him towards her to spiral around her and then head out into the golden afternoon light that's slanting towards long shadows. Flying still in spite of all the energy he put into that flight, flying and flying until wings ache, teasing the wind, teasing Laurienth until he has to land, somewhere out there and he's still asking the smoky-minded, twang-stringed green to join him. C'sel doesn't give Ebeny much space for much of anything, tracking close to her as they leave Laurienth behind and his jacket hits the floor out in the /wallow/ no mind paid to hanging it up. Completely uncharacteristic. His shirt follows, hands already busy at his belt, boots kicked off in rapid succession and then with his pants falling off his hips he's reaching for her again to practically tear clothes off of her and it's not the bed he aims for but whatever bit of wall is closest. His usual care and patience are nowhere to be found. This is hungry, demanding, a little rough and his skin when she touches him is as hot as the palms she already felt outside.

Her energy might still be mostly there, yet Laurienth makes no protest at the need to land and manages to keep her sharp taunts mostly to herself, though one or two might slip out and be heard. She sits quite properly to begin with, all tension and looking up at Corvinth; maybe tries to take her taunting back with how she reaches out to nudge gently against his shoulder, touch her muzzle to his neck. Ebeny tries to help as far as her clothes are concerned; ends up causing tangles and in the end just lets C'sel get rid of them any way he wants despite it meaning that her shirt probably won't be wearable again. That it's the wall she winds up against prompts the barest flicker of surprise in green eyes, though then she's responding not quite in kind, but with a possessive edge she's never shown before, teeth meaning to mark him as hers and cold hands gliding over as much hot skin as she can possibly reach.

Taunts only make Corvinth snort or tease back. When she nudges against him, Corvinth's wing lifts, invitation to come curl up alongside him and there's return touches of muzzle and neck and even his tail sliding along hers. Unlike the usual, those teeth draw low, harsh, needy noises from C'sel and at some point, one of his hands slams hard against the wall just to the side of her head. That this first time is swift and unrelenting is probably unsurprising. That he carries her to the bed after without ever leaving her, might bring back that flicker of surprise to Ebeny's eyes. What follows is far more energetic than anything he's ever done with her on the intimate side of things. Kinky even at one point. And when it's all over and he's spent, he passes out, effectively, right where he is, falling into a heavy slumber with an arm and leg still cast possessively across the greenrider's body. It's not until some time later after the sun's gone down and the moons are up and the sky is speckled with stars, that he wakes and pulls away, rolls over to the other side of the bed, silent.

Laurienth curls up beneath that wing rather promptly and rather closely for someone who pretends not to be the affectionate sort. Curling her tail back around Corvinth's, she leans and almost absently smoothes her muzzle along brown hide in the minutes before her eyes fall closed and she settles. It's difficult to tell whether Ebeny actually reaches any kind of peak whilst she's pinned against the wall, though from the sounds that escape her, she certainly doesn't object to what's happening. She might mean to say something between wall and bed, but the words just don't happen and she's soon too distracted to for anything sensible to be put together. It's more moan than cry when her back arches and she tries to just breathe a moment or two until she starts exploring again, teasing even, to see how far he'll go. That sleep doesn't claim her can't be all that surprising, eyes closed only for little while when she tries to look down at him through a troubled gaze. Later, when he wakes, she remains still for a few moments and then moves after him, lips meaning to close gently against his neck. "I love you," is all she says, murmured low.

A quiet dragon sigh from Corvinth follows and he rests his head against her neck, green and brown laced together comfortably and his eyes close too, letting it all go while the wind continues to scour the land and it gets colder and colder out. C'sel's response to that moan of Ebeny's is a fierce, wicked look in his eyes and that teasing ... well ... far. Pretty far. After he's slept, after he's rolled away, he flinches when she touches him and there's a rapidly indrawn breath then a very long silence. Down low, deep, raspy: "Forgive me. Please." is spoken with keen regret and an audible edge of self-recrimination. There's a thickness to his voice too that might betray the fact that he is in fact, crying.

Ebeny freezes when he flinches and then she's trying to wrap herself around him all at once, nuzzling at his neck whilst she speaks in soft, gentle tones. "There's nothing to forgive. I can't forgive you when you've done nothing wrong. I won't say that I do and have you thinking I believe there's something you should regret and be sorry for." She rests her forehead against his shoulder and closes her eyes. "Hush. Everything's alright," she whispers. "I promise it'll be alright."

Another long silence stretches out where C'sel doesn't move except for staggered breathing that hitches now and then, though he doesn't pull away from her. Neither does he try to turn over or get nearer. Finally though, some tension eases out of his shoulders and he tries, awkwardly to turn around, one arm aiming to slide around her. It's dark now and she might not see the redness that rims his eyes, the intensity of them. "I /used/ you," he says in a tone to match that look. "I promised myself, I would never do that to you." There's another hitch in his voice. "And that -- that wasn't -- it isn't ... that isn't /me/. That's not what I'm -- it's not /me/." He struggles with words, stutters over them, a touch of desperation in his tone. More quietly, with a trace of defeat he echoes himself. "That's not who I am. It can't be." One hand lifts towards her cheek, aims to tuck back dark strands of her hair.

"You used me," Ebeny repeats, weight behind the words, not uttered as some careless echo. "And I let you. And I wanted you to. Because it's better than keeping it all inside and pretending it doesn't exist." She edges a little closer, light kisses aimed for his jaw, his temple next. "And next time he loses, you find me and you do it again," she tells him quietly. She closes her eyes again and dips her head down beneath his; settles there for a short while. "If it's you, then it's... you. I love /you/. That means all of you. Even that."

Both of his arms seek to close around her and C'sel's head tilts to rest lightly atop hers after she's tucked herself beneath his chin. He doesn't say anything again for a long time, just holds her tight, one hand tracing along her spine lightly. "You can't /let/ me do that again," he finally says with quiet determination in his voice. "Leave ... a little time," C'sel continues on the heels of that. "Just a little time. To let me ... let him ... let us slip apart a little more first. Please? Ebeny?" His head turns, lips seeking out her forehead, her temple, whatever he can reach. "Please don't let me do wrong by you."

Ebeny seems to go very still, save for the fingers playing gently against his ribs, movement she watches idly as if her hand isn't her own. "...And if I wanted you to do that again?" she questions, words barely audible. "I wasn't feigning... anything," follows soon after. "You weren't doing wrong," the greenrider insists in a stronger voice. "You can't expect me to leave you in such a state for... But alright. If it gives you peace of mind. I'll leave some time."

Deep breath and C'sel's head lifts, draws back a little, confusion marring his brow. His hand lifts to her hair again, smoothing it back repeatedly. "I am not myself right away. It's why I have -- only twice, sought this sort of comfort," he admits slowly. "And then only after ... a little time. A little time. When he lost Yyth the first time ..." a shudder goes through him actually and the brownrider's eyes close. "They go to such dark places together ..." he whispers and his fingers flex a little in her hair. "Such dark places." Blue eyes open again, seek to catch her gaze. "I love you, Ebeny. I can't subject you to -- to that. Them." His hand frees itself from her hair, both arms closing around her again to hold her close. "I will always come to you, just ... a little time. A little." Breath out. Another long time where he doesn't speak. Finally: "What ... would you want me to do." Clearing of throat. "Again."

When he shudders, Ebeny tilts her head to brush lips to the underside of his chin and curls fingers around his arm as if to ground him. "It's alright," she murmurs again, then lets blue eyes catch green. "A little time," she echoes, one hand reaching to settle gently against his cheek. "But, if it should happen again, ever, remember that there is nothing to be forgiven," is spoken earnestly, softly. And whilst she could answer that last question in hushed tones and possibly have him blushing quite a lot in the next few minutes, instead she means to begin a slow trail down his body with every intent of encouraging him to find out with fewer words and more touch.

When their eyes meet again, there's still that desperate edge to be found in C'sel's gaze, but it slowly fades and leaves nothing but affection and fatigue in its wake. His nod is only slight, accepting what she's saying and he turns his head a little to kiss her palm lightly. The lack of immediate answer in words starts to wrinkle the brownrider's brow up all over again, but let it not be said that distraction is not a very valuable technique for putting a stop to possibly awkward conversations. That trail in other words, works. And sometime later, a single word is breathed out into the darkness when limbs and lungs have started working again. Simply: "Oh ..." and nothing more until morning as C'sel curls Ebeny into his arms again, spooning up behind her as has become habit and hopefully this time, there is sleep and good dreams for both while Corvinth and Laurienth slumber away miles away in the lee of a rocky slope.

Log: Odd Conversations

2009-11-08T04:33:42Z

Who: B'tal, C'sel, P'ax, Shaduriess, Corvinth, Jeibeth
When: Afternoon around 13:00, day 25, month 2, turn 21 of Interval 10.
Where: Inner Caverns/Kitchen, High Reaches Weyr
What: C'sel meets smith apprentice Shad, spots a proddy B'tal and ultimately walks the greenrider out for Jeibeth's maiden flight. Somewhere in there, there's talk about the farming venture.

Inner Caverns, High Reaches Weyr(#270RJs)
Within the labyrinth of interconnected chambers that make up the inner caverns, this large, long cavern serves both as a crossroads and a comfortable place for weyrfolk to sit, talk, and keep a nosy eye out for who's going where. Colorful, seasonal tapestries add warmth to the smooth walls and reduce echoes, while large niches house clusters of chairs, and a waist-high stone shelf along one wall provides a perch for drinks or work for residents on the go. Worn brass hooks often hold jackets or other outerwear with workboots stationed beneath, the transitory nature of the cavern lending itself to being treated as a sort of communal foyer where snowy or muddy gear can be kept outside of living quarters. Smaller, higher niches at regular intervals hold glowbaskets kept fresh during the daytime and allowed to dim somewhat at night.
The largest tunnels lead to the main living cavern, to the bowl and to the Weyr entrance, but it's still easy for the uninitiated to get lost within this maze.

Damp-haired, C'sel walks at a steady pace up the corridor towards the kitchen, all signs pointing to a recent bathing, perhaps in the wake of sweeps or drills that required a wash-up before lunch. The brownrider's jacket does look a little muddy, draped over his arm rather than worn as he heads onward, pausing now and then to nod politely to some he passes, though otherwise his demeanor is very nearly expressionless except for the rather intent focus of his eyes. The corridors are on the busy side, but not jam-packed: many are still eating though there's also a flow of traffic out of the living cavern towards other destinations in the caverns as those who ate earlier get back to work.

Shad is one of those on his way towards lunch. He veers to avoid getting knocked on his rear by a squad of weyrbrats, and ends up walking quite close to C'sel. "Afternoon, sir."

The focus of blue eyes switches from straight ahead and the crowd leaving the living cavern right to Shad almost instantly upon being hailed. C'sel's regard is very steady as he takes in the lad, his throat is cleared and a polite, very slightly raspy greeting is offered. "Good day, apprentice," as the brownrider notes the knot on Shad's shoulder. A pause follows as the rider continues onward, though his steps do slow marginally. "You are heading for a late lunch as well?" is queried after a moment, the brownrider seemingly having to push himself a little to make appropriate small talk.

Shad nods. "Yessir." He hadn't really meant to force C'sel to talk ... being polite had been knocked into him from a young age. "Just got done at the smithy a little bit ago."

There's a little nod and a pause as C'sel digests that reply. "You've just arrived recently, have you not?" is the next question that makes it out and then the brownrider carefully shifts his jacket from one arm to the other and extends his hand to the young man. "C'sel, brown Corvinth's," is offered in perhaps unduly solemn tones.

Shad grins. "Yessir. Haven't even been here a full sevenday yet." He accepted the handshake. "Shaduriess. Mostly people call me Shad, though." Because his full name tended to be a mouthful.

Mouthful or not, C'sel uses the lad's full name rather than the short hand: "Well met, Shaduriess." There's a little pause during the handshake then the brownrider is looking forward again, steps to the side a little to permit a cluster of chattering girls to pass by unhindered. "Do you come to us straight from the Smith Hall?" the brownrider inquires with very little signs of actual curiosity, but not necessarily a lack of interest. Overall, it's difficult to get a read on C'sel's emotions.

Shad grimaces slightly, but answers anyway as he too sidesteps to avoid the girls. "No sir. From Crom. Born and raised there."

"Ah, from Crom," C'sel says with another look over at the lad. "Apprenticed -- locally then," he continues and his brows knit for a moment before he offers over: "I am from Nabol originally. But I apprenticed with the beastcraft prior to impression." The pair are walking along, close to the wall in the passageway heading mostly towards the kitchen and living caverns.

The way that B'tal is moving would most accurately be described as wandering. At least it would be if he were still moving. But he stops and leans against the wall further up the passageway along the same path C'sel and Shad are taking. His arms are crossed over his chest but one hand is lifted to rub at his eyes with his palm. He's wearing his jacket and a red scarf is hanging loose over his shoulders.

Shad nods. "Yessir." He grins. "Beastcraft, huh? Dunno that I'd ever be able to do that Craft." He admits. Wrestling with stubborn, opinionated animals was not his idea of fun. Then he spotted B'tal, and, after a moment's hesitation, waves.

"I have always enjoyed working with runners," C'sel explains briefly and notes the direction of Shad's wave, the bright color of B'tal's scarf. Slowing his steps, the brownrider clears his throat to convey a greeting to the greenrider. "B'tal, good day," is the simple content of his words, followed by a pause and a lift of brows. "Are you well?"

B'tal turns his head and lowers his hand at the sound of his name. His eyes are a little puffy but whatever caused that must have happened long enough ago for him to have calmed down and recovered somewhat. "Sir," he murmurs. Old habits. He looks at C'sel first, then Shad, then away. "I don't know."

Oh dear. B'tal is not a happy camper. Given what little Shad knows, he's already got at least two suspects, possibly three. "Which one was it this time?" He wants to know.

B'tal's reaction only lifts C'sel's brows and there's a sense of ... retreat in the brownrider's manner, especially in light of Shad's query to the greenrider, expression shuttering all the more. Still, his response is even-voiced. "If you are feeling unwell -- perhaps some quiet time in your weyr? Or the infirmary," is C'sel's rather prosaic suggestion.

Where B'tal might usually take some sort of offense to Shad's question, it's C'sel's comment that draws his attention. He looks at the brownrider, then away when his eyes start going a little bright again. He blinks a few times too many and says in a quiet voice. "Right." It's a little shaky. "I'm sorry. I'll just, uh... I'll go." He pushes himself carefully away from the wall, hesitates for a moment, then starts walking back down the passageway.

B'tal pages: Okay, so I'm not trying to be a drama queen and just wanted to say that Bety is proddy and he doesn't know it. xD I wasn't sure if Corvinth might notice Jeibeth being a little more glowy, though I've been trying for subtle, so thought I'd say something.

Shad sighs. Wrong thing to say, evidently. "B'tal ... " He stops, then sighs again before giving C'sel an apologetic look.

A little dent appears between C'sel's brows as he catches that brightness in B'tal's eyes and his focus on the greenrider narrows for a moment or two. "There is -- no need to apologize," he says evenly. "However if you are not well," he starts again then stops, head tilting to the side as perhaps Corvinth puts his oar in and the brownrider gets a distinctly distracted air, like many riders do when in contact with their dragons. "Ah," is uttered after a moment and for a few seconds, C'sel looks vaguely troubled. But then he straightens his shoulders and clears his throat. "I was -- heading for a little quiet lunch in the kitchen and believe that our new Smith apprentice was doing the same. If you would care for -- calm company, B'tal." Which is perhaps assuming a lot about the smith apprentice, but C'sel certainly, qualifies for 'calm'.

B'tal pauses before he gets more than a few steps but it takes him a moment to turn back toward the pair. Even when he does, he keeps his gaze downcast. There have been a lot of tears over the past few days and it's embarrassing. "I'm hungry," he says as though that's some agreement on joining them. "I tried to eat earlier but..." His voice trails off and his gaze lifts briefly toward Shad as he waits for them to continue so he can follow.

Whatever's wrong, Shad can't fix it, but he can at least not make matters worse ... or try not to. "Food it is, then." He says with a nod. And C'sel is mostly right about Shad being 'calming'.

"Then let's see if we can all get a bite to eat," C'sel says gamely enough and he even tries to give B'tal a reassuring smile, though as usual, his smiles remain small things, if more frequent than they once were. He sets off once more, but adopts a pace that will let the other two fall into step. "It's very windy today," he remarks. When in doubt, talk about the weather? It doesn't take long to reach the kitchen now either with that spurt of traffic from the caverns having slowed.

The greenrider follows wordlessly, gaze lowered again. Apparently B'tal doesn't seem to think commenting about the weather needs any sort of response. When they reach the kitchen, he pauses at the entrance uncertainly before continuing. He heads for a bowl of stew and gets himself a cup of water, too, but waits for someone else to settle somewhere before he joins them.

"Winter's definitely arrived. Just hope it's not too nasty this turn." Shad agrees, going with C'sel's conversational gambit as the headed for the tables full of food.

"Nearly over, thankfully," is C'sel's brief answer to Shad and waits his turn to collect a bowl and mug from one of the cooks. "Thank you," he offers politely to the woman who's busy packing up leftovers and tidying up after the lunch rush otherwise. The brownrider doesn't hesitate to move towards one of the quieter nooks tucked well away from the busy movement in the kitchen.

Kitchen, High Reaches Weyr(#267RJs)
Polished marble and granite surfaces, gleaming metalwork and pale woods characterize the vaulted fastness of the kitchen. Several large hearths gape red-mouthed against the outer wall of the cavern, their fires almost always stoked for the constant cooking the Weyr requires to feed its denizens. Sinks line the wall to one side of the hearths, providing ample space to wash large quantities of dishes, while to the other, cabinetry and a deep pantry provide storage space for items commonly needed on a day-to-day basis.
The remaining wall space is taken up by passageways and extra seating: swinging doors that lead variously to the main living cavern, the inner caverns and the storage rooms, a counter-height pass-through for food service to the Snowasis, and a series of nooks equipped with tables and benches for quick, out-of-the-way meals any time of day.

B'tal goes to where C'sel goes and settles himself down. He's careful about how he puts down his bowl and his cup on the table but once he's as comfortable as the environment allows, all he does is push his stew around in the bowl with his spoon.

Shad follows suit, though the way he immediately tucks into his food, his appetite's certainly not suffering. "Things are going to get busy fast when the weather warms." He says. "I may have never done any farming, but I know enough to know the farmers work their butts off in early spring."

Neither is C'sel's appetite suffering though he eats slowly and carefully so as not to drop anything on his shirt. His jacket has been carefully set aside along the bench in that nook. "Yes, it would seem that we will all have interesting things to do this spring," the brownrider says mildly. "I need to ask the Weyrleader if there is any intent to -- grow an orchard," the brownrider says thoughtfully then looks across at B'tal. "Try one bite," he suggests mildly. "Just one."

"I don't know anything about farming," B'tal finally adds to the conversation. "Can't be too hard, though, right? For the people that help." The greenrider glances up at C'sel at the last comment, then looks back down at his stew. "I don't really feel like eating." He does try a small bit of the sauce, at least, tentatively.

"I only know the farmers get majorly busy." Shad says. "Beyond that, you got me as to what they do and how. I mean, aside from digging holes to put seeds in."

"The -- general work is not hard, no, it only requires strength and stamina and the ability to pay attention. However, there is more to just, turning the earth and planting," C'sel weighs in. "Planning what to put where and when is important," the brownrider continues and clears his throat, looks down at his stew. "One also needs to know how to trim a tree. If growing fruit." He pauses there, takes a bite or two from his bowl and looks across the way at B'tal. There's perhaps an edge of sympathy in his eyes, but he doesn't push the greenrider to eat more.

"But we have people that know how to do that stuff, right? Can teach others or... something."
B'tal is trying to focus here, really. "Maybe we can get a bit of land by Southern. I'd go help there." Finally a small smile even if it's offered to his bowl more than either C'sel or Shad.

"I'm sure they've got some people who know what they're doing." Shad says, looking fascinated by C'sel's explanation. "Thought you said beastcraft." He pointed out. "Not farmcraft."

"I am uncertain -- as to how the experiment will be managed," C'sel says honestly, voice nearly absent of expression again. "Southern?" Brows tilt upwards and he gives a little shake of his head, like he doesn't quite understand that connection. "Prior to apprenticing, I lived at Nabol, where my father is an orchard-keeper," the brownrider explains. "I -- grew up hearing a lot about ... trees." The measured way he speaks might almost give away his opinion of ... tree-keeping.

"Warm," B'tal murmurs. "Like a constant vacation." Which might really sound better in his head because he shakes it after he's spoken. He'll stop talking after that and continue pushing his stew around in his bowl. "Do you think the dragons could help? Jeibeth likes, well, flowers and stuff. We had a little garden on our ledge this summer. Guess she didn't really help, though, just made sure I didn't kill everything..."

Shad shrugs. "I don't really know." He says. "I mean, I suppose they could help pull up trees and stones that are in the way, if they're amenable, but beyond that ... " He just shrugs, then nods at C'sel with a faint grin for his apparent distaste for tree-keeping.

B'tal gives Shad a quick look, a little furrowed over his brows. Like he wouldn't have expected the smith to know anything about dragons anyway. The greenrider sets his spoon down and takes a drink instead. At least that doesn't seem as unappealing as his food.

Shad doesn't really know that much, but he knows they're strong. Stronger than any landbound beast, which meant they'd have an easier time doing the sort of stuff burdenbeasts would normally do ... If the dragon was willing. He eats a few more bites of food himself.

"Have you been to Igen, much yet, B'tal?" C'sel asks, speaking of warm and he considers for a moment or two on what SHad says. "With moving large items, perhaps, yes. But detail-work might not suit," the brownrider says thoughtfully and applies himself to finishing off his stew, though he still doesn't eat any /faster/.

Shad cant' quite help but snicker at the mental image of a dragon trying to plant flowers. Rather a comical vision. "Yeah, somehow, I don't think planting seeds would be something they could manage."

The three are sitting in a quiet nook with a late lunch. B'tal has food but he's still not really eating it. To C'sel, the greenrider gives a small shake of his head. "Not really. Should I? Used to go to Fort sometimes. And Ista. But haven't for awhile." He must be missing the heat thing now.

Activity in the kitchen consists largely of lunch cleanup at this point, though some dinner prep has begun and of course, the Snowasis doesn't have 'hours' per se for meals so there's always some busy-ness going on by the stoves that provision the bar. C'sel looks up from his bowl across at B'tal. "For the warmth, depending on if you prefer dry or humid heat," the brownrider points out. "Dragons might be able to plow or dig large holes and move the large rocks, uproot shrubs or trees if needed," he agrees with Shad.

It would be inevitable with the way his belly is growling that he'd be coming in to find a late lunch. P'ax's skulking entrance brings him weaving around one petite woman with an armload of dishes and ducking behind another with a sack of flour. The third woman in his path almost collides with him with a half-empty pot of mashed tubers and only by quick evasive action does she save both of their outfits from starchy disaster when the greenrider sees who's congregated here and moderates his pace to a much slower cadence. "Who's uprooting trees?" he asks nosily, rather than the usual hellos.

"Nobody yet." Shad says, waving to P'ax when he walks in, then going a bit red around the ears. "We just got to talking about spring, and the farming venture the Weyr's doing, and what, if anything, the dragons could do to help, if they wanted to."

"Oh. Right." B'tal says to C'sel and must be taking that under advisement because he doesn't say anything else on the subject. The sound of P'ax's voice turns the greenrider's head to look that way for just a moment, then it's back on his stew as he picks up his spoon with his jaw set.

Blue eyes flicker upwards, mark the set to B'tal's jaw then slide over to P'ax, but C'sel only nods once politely. "Good day, P'ax. As Shaduriess states, we were speaking of the farming venture," is the brownrider's very straightforward explanation. Back to B'tal: "There are beaches along the coast of Igen as well, facing Ista, where it is very warm but without the -- heaviness in the air that there is on the island."

P'ax deadpans as he looks at Shad and offers with absolute sincerity, "Yyth will bury the bodies." Without much more preamble than that he nods his head politely to C'sel and sort of jerks it at B'tal out of obligation to acknowledge. "Huh, well...have fun with that." He takes a wary step backwards and asks distractedly, not really hoping for or expecting an answer, "Suppose there's anything left to be eaten?"

Shad snorts. "What bodies?" Then. "There should be. I didn't scrape the pot out."
B'tal glances at C'sel again and offers a small nod for his words before his gaze is back to his stew. He's more or less ignoring P'ax and murmurs to no one in particular. "Maybe I ought to go to the infirmary." Since the brownrider already suggested that.

Dragon> To Jeibeth, Corvinth flickers a curl of fog and shadow outward, testing the mental airspace between dragons. And simply follows, her name, illuminated in silver: << Jeibeth. >>

C'sel shoots P'ax rather the inscrutable look for that remark then nods towards the kitchen workers. "At this stage, I believe you will have to ask about what is left out," he notes blandly. "There was still stew readily available when we sat down about a quarter of an hour ago." His spoon taps the side of his bowl lightly to indicate its contents with a little nod towards Shad. His gaze shifts back to B'tal, steady, gauging the greenrider's expression and body language. "If you would care for company if you need to walk over there," C'sel offers kindly.

Dragon> To Corvinth, Jeibeth responds to the experimental fog and shadows with a heated sort of heaviness. There's a restless quality to her usually composed voice when she returns his name. << Corvinth. >>

P'ax gives Shad a sort of wide, toothy grin that comes only at rare moments when he's in his best moods. "Don't know, ask her. I just repeat what she says." C'sel then gets a tiny nod, "Oh, right, I'll have to look. Stew's good." His attention wavers away from food momentarily at B'tal's announcement. Genuine concern colors his voice when he asks, "Are you not feeling well?"

Dragon> That restlessness kicks off a roiling current within those shadows, rearranges the fog so that here and there a flicker of fire reflects off of hidden silver treasure and then is banked once more. << There is heat in your thoughts. >> It's direct, but with a slight edge of testing, questioning, almost a challenge. Almost. (Corvinth to Jeibeth)

"Her?" Shad echoes, then, when he realizes what P'ax means. "Oh. Yyth." Then his brow wrinkles. "She tells you stuff like that?"

Rising slowly to his feet, B'tal picks up his untouched stew and his cup and starts moving carefully away from the table. He says to C'sel before he turns, "You don't have to. I don't want to--" a glance indicates the others. Impose, most likely. "I don't know," he adds to P'ax before contradicting himself, "I'm fine." He turns to put his things away and will likely just continue on from there back into the caverns.

Dragon> There's something like a laugh, low and humming. <> Jeibeth nearly purrs the words, though her next come out with some of her usual composure. <> (Jeibeth to Corvinth)

C'sel looks up as B'tal rises, takes a last bite from his bowl and sets the spoon down inside of it, largely empty now. His mug is reached for, a sip or two taken, then he pushes to his feet. "I do not mind," is the brownrider's inflectionless answer as he gathers his dishes up to clear them and makes to slide out of the nook. "Shaduriess, it was good to meet you. I hope that you will settle in well here at the Reaches. Best of luck with your apprenticeship," the brownrider says clearly and as he exits the nook, inclines his head towards P'ax again. "Enjoy your lunch."

Dragon> To Jeibeth, Corvinth slides another questing curl of fog towards that heat, his thoughts seeking out the purr in her mindvoice. << It feels good, doesn't it? >> That's more leading, definitely and another flicker of orange fire peeks out from beneath the dense shadows that cloak Corvinth's mind.

P'ax's eyebrows knit and he opens his mouth to further his questioning of Bety but it comes out in an incoherant jumble of stuttering that eventually resembles "But if you're fine, why are you going to the infirmary?" Chewing his lower lip fitfully he finally regains composure enough to answer Shad with a measure of nonchalance. "Sure, she tells me all sorts of things. -- Er...right, see you C'sel."

"See you, C'sel, B'tal." Shad says as the two move to leave. Then he glances at P'ax. "What happened, or would I be better off not knowing? Because the vibes between B'tal and P'ax are ... rather unhappy.

No answers for P'ax. Again. B'tal continues toward the inner caverns, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jacket. His step isn't hurried but it's not exactly casual either.

Dragon> To Corvinth, Jeibeth's heat slides through Corvinth's fog like silk against bare flesh. Sandalwood tickles more subtly like her gentle flicker of flame in the otherwise darkened shadows of her mind. << It does. Do you like it? >>

One more nod and C'sel without further comment falls into step with B'tal again, jacket held in one hand. The kitchen door swings open letting in a draft of cooler air from within the corridors then falls shut again trapping the warmth of the kitchen within.

Log: Jeibeth's Maiden Flight

2009-11-08T03:59:02Z

Who: B'tal, C'sel, W'chek, Z'yi, Jeibeth, Corvinth, Zhikath, Isforaith
When: Afternoon, day 25, month 2, turn 21 of Interval 10.
Where: Lower Caverns/Bowl/Guest Weyr/Feeding Pens/Sky, High Reaches Weyr
What: Jeibeth goes up. Corvinth and Isforaith collude.

Inner Caverns, High Reaches Weyr(#270RJs)
Within the labyrinth of interconnected chambers that make up the inner caverns, this large, long cavern serves both as a crossroads and a comfortable place for weyrfolk to sit, talk, and keep a nosy eye out for who's going where. Colorful, seasonal tapestries add warmth to the smooth walls and reduce echoes, while large niches house clusters of chairs, and a waist-high stone shelf along one wall provides a perch for drinks or work for residents on the go. Worn brass hooks often hold jackets or other outerwear with workboots stationed beneath, the transitory nature of the cavern lending itself to being treated as a sort of communal foyer where snowy or muddy gear can be kept outside of living quarters. Smaller, higher niches at regular intervals hold glowbaskets kept fresh during the daytime and allowed to dim somewhat at night.
The largest tunnels lead to the main living cavern, to the bowl and to the Weyr entrance, but it's still easy for the uninitiated to get lost within this maze.

Dragon> Flickers of flame climb higher, fanned by the touch of silk and sandalwood. Shadows reach for shadows, not insistent but subtle, seductive in their own way without any hint of uncertainty or hesitation. << Oh yes, I like it very much, >> Corvinth is honest. << And it only gets better ... >> Promises, promises. And there's a sense of dark wings snapping open, of claws raking stone lightly as he leaves behind the high spire where he's been clinging and dives into the winds above the bowl, shares their caress with the green and the possibilities of wild flight in these skies today. (Corvinth to Jeibeth)

The greenrider has slowed somewhat now that he's not in the kitchen and while his path is heading for the infirmary, it would be hard for anyone else to guess that's where he's going. B'tal has lost the purpose of his steps and now he's just walking, restless.

Just a step or two behind B'tal, C'sel exits the kitchen and nods down the hallway towards the infirmary, but his words are quiet, steady, countering that nod, perhaps. "B'tal. Is it really the infirmary that's needed?" he suggests in a quiet undertone, his free hand lifting to rub absently at the back of his neck.

Dragon> To Corvinth, Jeibeth stretches herself out with that rush of wind and it dulls that feeling heat before it surges back in the wake. << Better, >> she agrees. << It will get better. >> Definitely a promise. She's moving, too, dropping from her ledge toward the bowl. So much to feel.

B'tal glances over at the brownrider, looking a little confused by his question. "You're the one that suggested the infirmary," he points out uncertainly in case C'sel has forgotten. But a moment later, B'tal stumbles and a hand moves quickly for the support of the wall. "Jeibeth?" It probably wasn't meant to be said out loud.

Dragon> To Jeibeth, Corvinth slip-slides along that current of air and the warmth of his mind stays close, so close to hers. << Yes. So much better. >> Temptation. Heat on heat. Fire meeting fire. All for her. So. Much. To. Feel. Yes.

The brownrider's fingers shift to pinch at the bridge of his nose for a moment then he tilts his head outside. "This way, B'tal," he says simply, voice still even but it's getting rough and there's color rising in his cheeks where he's usually so unflappable. "She rises. Or Corvinth is very mistaken."

Dragon> To Corvinth, Jeibeth has no more words for the brown, only the hot rush of lust and less important sensations as she angles her way toward the feeding pens.
Dragon> Lust like this, Corvinth definitely understands and absolutely digs. His own dive downward bring him through the winds' currents to the pens to take out his first kill. Hot lust. Hot blood. Now is now, there's only the moment. (Corvinth to Jeibeth)

Blink. Then some expression that's almost panicked crosses B'tal's face. "What?" But he's not going to protest the change in plans now. It's just not really something he even wants to process. "Can I follow you?" Maybe a silly question.

"Jeibeth rises," C'sel repeats and his hand is running through his hair, hooking to the back of his neck again as he gets another wave of backwash from Corvinth. Still he only nods just once. "Of course," the brownrider murmurs, voice getting rougher by the moment, though he's studiously not quite looking right at B'tal at the moment. Instead he pulls on his jacket with deliberate motions, then starts walking towards the bowl and the necessary guest weyr out there, though he does drop a look back to make sure B'tal is staying with him.

Corvinth> There's a subtle glow to Jeibeth's hide that's only really brightened in the last hour or so while she's been tucked away in her weyr. Now, though. Now Jeibeth is circling the feeding pens, feeling the currents of air and watching the beasts below. There's a rumble probably lost on the wind before she drops cleanly toward her chosen one and carries it not far off. There's no wasting of time here, boys.

Corvinth> Corvinth drops down out of the sky on one of the crazy wind currents that's whipping around the Bowl today right in Jeibeth's wake, apparently having tracked her from above. His eyes have gone deep purple in hue already and the dark-winged brown drinks deep, tail flicking back and forth impatiently though otherwise his focus is on Jeibeth and her every sweet move.
B'tal hesitates for a moment, trying to steady his breath or legs or thoughts or something, then he moves, jogging a few paces to catch mostly back up with the brownrider. He doesn't seem to have much else to say, at least.

Gently, though there's a betraying tremble in C'sel's fingers, the brownrider reaches for B'tal's elbow when he catches up. It's not much in the way of touch, just intended to guide the greenrider along through the whipping winds in the bowl and across it.

Corvinth> Isforaith has left his rider stranded to follow the whim of his oh-so-beloved green. His eyes are full of alarm, at first-- then orange fades way to deep lavender, as his impact takes the life of an unfortunate herdbeast. He bloods swiftly, his focus pinned so tight on the glowing green. Tail lashes as an extension of his will, thrown here and there with careless abandon.

Guest Weyr, High Reaches Weyr
This broad ledge is dappled with bright light in the morning and commands a lovely view of the eastern end of the bowl, including the lake and the trees that dot the shoreline. Reached by a flight of stone steps that climb up from the bowl floor, the ledge is relatively low, an easy jump down to the ground; possibly its selection was a safety precaution, so anyone stumbling out the wrong way after a flight would be unlikely to break his or her neck. Within the weyr itself is a comfortably-sized dragon wallow, rarely used but swept clean nonetheless.
The cavern broadens as it stretches back away from the entrance to reveal a neatly made double-sized bed pushed up against the back wall, a press at its foot with an extra blanket folded on top of it and two chairs standing guard to either side of the hearth. A rectangular table lurks against the side wall, kept stocked with a pitcher of water and a basket of seasonal fruits. The weyr is well-lit and kept immaculately clean, the refreshing scents of citron-infused sweetsand mingling with the tang of herbs.

Corvinth> Late to this particular party, Zhikath. The bronze hasn't been around to notice these sorts of things. Busy, you know. Responsibilities. A trip earlier in the day for W'chek to go see his family. They're only just returning now, the bronze landing in the bowl, only a faint wisp of attention diverting in the direction of the activity in the feeding grounds.

Corvinth> A rumbling sort of croon greets the other dragons, delights in their presence and the excited pulse of her mind reaches out for all of them as she bloods her kill. Her wings flare out, stretching up and then sweeping down as she drinks in the heat that stokes her own even hotter. She's not hurrying and she has no attention for other beasts than the ones she expects to follow her.

Corvinth> Corvinth abandons his first kill to take down a second, though he's keeping Jeibeth well within his sights, wings mantling over the body of the beast he crouches over, drinking deep again. That pulse from her is returned in kind, shadows and fog winding forth to play along the edge of that heat, anticipation building, waiting, waiting for the moment that's inevitably coming.

Corvinth> Isforaith crouches, one beast in and apparently all he'll take-- the beast is dry beneath him, yet he makes no move to stalk another. His attentions, his focus, his well-- all are centered upon Jeibeth. He is a looming form of darkness and shadow, eyes brightly dark and whirling faster. Wings are slanted away, mantled in an odd fashion-- he's ready to aloft at any moment, waiting for that proverbial gunshot to start this horserace.

Corvinth> It's probably good that Jeibeth isn't in a hurry, because even once Zhikath has obviously noticed that something is going on, there are still straps to come off, all of that business. Aside from a twitch of the wing here and there, though, he's not displaying any particular irritation or urgency through that process. It's only once it's all done that he makes for the feeding grounds with all haste, takes down a herdbeast with not even a glance for which one he's taking. That never happens. Ever. And poor W'chek is left to stare in horror, and eventually get himself to the guest weyr.

Once they get there B'tal isn't in any hurry to break away from the brownrider. He stays there, close as C'sel will allow him, like he really needs something solid and warm to cling to even if the clinging might not actually happen.

Corvinth> It all builds up, a tension pulling her muscles taut. Jeibeth focuses first on Corvinth before more lingeringly so on Isforaith. If there was any doubt she had a favorite to win that race, there shouldn't be anymore. She hardly gives a glance to the bronze but that heat is there for him, too. It's just too bad that she's not going to wait for him to say when. Taut muscles quiver and she launches skywards with a bugle of delight, angling for height through the whipping winds.

Inside the weyr, once arrived, C'sel might seem for a moment to expect B'tal to peel away. That the greenrider stays close wrinkles up his brow for a moment, but then his features smooth out and he simply leans against the wall, hand dropping from B'tal's elbow. As Corvinth bloods outside though, slowly, the stoic mask he usually wears starts to melt and a keen glimmer starts to light in his eyes.

By the end of this, W'chek may well wish he were still in Nabol. But that might be setting in already, once he makes it there to see just who B'tal's clinging to. He puts his hands to his forehead, breathes deep breaths. Doesn't start shouting, so there's that. "Bet, are you--" Something. He can't seem to find a good adjective to finish the question with.

Corvinth> Corvinth watches and waits. Waits and watches. The tension builds and then ... releases. At least this much, enough to let him launch into the air after Jeibeth. A stray thought winds its way towards Isforaith: << Got your back, man. For now. >> But there's deep lust threading beneath those words and awareness of his own limitations: Corvinth is not built to resist Jeibeth's particular allure and the fire is already well-stoked beneath fog and shadow. In the meantime, there's the winds to battle, or subdue, to find a current to ride in Jeibeth's wake, thoughts now pinned to her own shadows just beyond the candlelight.

Corvinth> Isforaith gathers his concentration, and bursts from below as wrath incarnate, exploding upwards into the skies, up, up, up: his yearning powers wings to strokes strong and wide, angling him after Jeibeth with more coordination one would typically see from the clumsy blue. Rune-chased wings glint in the gloaming, as if lit by internal fires. Isforaith is silent-- this spell requires a certain amount of vicious intense concentration, which he is more than willing to pour his will into. His yearning, inflamed by the heat of the green of which he chases, spawns out towards Corvinth, and the rest-- gratitude for his brother-in-arms, and for the target, a great, silent ripple of mental force. He will. He must. There is no other option.

"Whit," B'tal seems more than a little relieved to see the bronzerider and otherwise he looks a little delightedly panicked about the rest of it, particularly when the green takes to the skies. He breaks away form C'sel without apology to collide with and wrap his arms around W'chek.

That'd be relief actually, on C'sel's face as B'tal steps away, more obvious for the control that's slipping away from him. Both of the brownrider's hands dive into pockets and he takes a deep breath, then goes suddenly cross-eyed, which prompts him to close his eyes rapidly. When they open again, they're fixed on B'tal's back. Hungry. It could be disconcerting, given past conversations with C'sel and his own very obvious inclinations away from B'tal or any other man, his devotion to his weyrmate.

Corvinth> If Jeibeth spares him no special attention, no lingering until he's ready, well, Zhikath is at least going to do her the honor of not dawdling. Not that he would dawdle for anybody else, either. While the others are heading airborne, he's finishing. That delay may cost him, later, but then he does have the wingspan to make up some of that distance. Still in the game, but having to work harder for it, expending quite a lot of energy for that upward acceleration, and without the reserves additional preparation time would have allowed.

It's a reassurance of a kind, but also unnerving--W'chek, usually one to lurk as close to the exit as possible, to try to be out and away as soon as possible if (when) the inevitable conclusion does not favor Zhikath. Not an option this time, evidently. He's never been the type for embraces among others, but this time his arms are quick to enfold the greenrider, fully proprietary. His. Like it'll do some good. "Had to... happen sometime."

Corvinth> There's a desperate rush left in the green's wake as sensation overwhelms her again, drives her into the seductive dance of flight. She can feel the wind, the sun, the chill against her heat and the heady mental touch of the males in pursuit. And for all that she's flying away from them, there's something in the way that she moves and the way that she feels that suggests she's not trying to get away from them. She /wants/ them. She /needs/ them.

Corvinth> Oh that dance. It lends lift to Corvinth's wings sends him cross-stepping through air currents until yes, this one is just right to provide speed, to propel him upward and after her, heart beating in time to the lift and drop of wings, reaching for /her/ rhythm to dance with, fly with. She wants. She needs. He wants and /needs/ too. But. But first he has a deal to make good on. For now Zhikath isn't on Corvinth's radar but that older blue there who could be in Isforaith's way? Oh he needs to go. The brown picks his angle carefully, gaining a little height to skim over a younger brown who is /surely/ not going to hack it in these winds, then sliiides down into a spot where the movement of his wings is sure to be very distracting for that older blue and disrupt a little bit of his air flow.

Corvinth> Isforaith isn't one for loops and rolls and gracious flight. It suits, however, his mood tonight: he flies straight, fast, and hard, straining every muscle he has in pursuit of the glorious Jeibeth. A desperate half-plea -- please, please, please -- echoes forth in tones of bitter ale and dusty ashes, a fire gone and cold. Desperation fuels his drive, propelling him forwards, past his typical boundaries, past his best efforts of the past. << Jeibeth. >> The word is a whisper, yet heard; desperation, indeed, is what drives him forwards, fleeing into the wake the sensuous goddess leaves behind her sinuous movements. He surges past the faltering, aging blue, a streak of sudden bloodlust driving his mindvoice out, snaking, << Yes. /Yes/! >> in exhultant rush to Corvinth.

It helps, that embrace. B'tal relaxes and closes his eyes, clings to the person that he really wants to be clinging to, the one who's dragon he'd really like to be catching the green out there, no doubt. The greenrider knows who she wants, though, and that just makes him cling to the bronzerider all the more. "Make him catch her," he says a little anxiously and completely unreasonably. "Where's Z'yi?" asked a few moments later when B'tal lifts his head to chance a glance around.

There's others in the weyr now, other riders of blues and browns mostly, a few bronzeriders. Most have adopted typical positions, waiting against the walls. C'sel's gaze has gone half-lidded, still fixed on B'tal's back even as he clings to W'chek, asks after Z'yi. It's unholy that level of focus, the ... glee that's not really repressed as the rider so fully channels his brown, mind locked in the chase.

Corvinth> Collusion does not seem like a possibility Zhikath has ever entertained. His attention is not on the others but only her. They're data points--here an alteration in airflow, there an obstacle to be avoided. She's something else entirely, the thing to drive him upward, the source of longing. As he does manage to catch up with the group, the older blue in the way is an unexpected development, forcing him to work harder to get around, with a fuzzy emotional surge outwards. Full of frustration, wanting.

Two firm words, single syllables: "Not. Here." This is the amount of answer W'chek can muster, eyes flickering around only long enough to register that this is in fact the case, hints of a smirk tugging at his lips, but then he closes his eyes again. If he can do that long enough, the rest of them will surely go away.

Corvinth> Her own wanting builds. Jeibeth wants to feel them. She wants one of them to ease the growing ache in her shimmering wings and carry her into oblivion. << Isforaith, >> is whispered back, full of sensual desire. << Hurry. >> The single word reverberates to each of her chasers, she can't be oblivious to the what's happening behind her, and she veers sideways to angle higher, wings beating desperately to gain just that little bit more in a burst of speed that will be her last in this dance.

Corvinth> Bronze coming up alongside and it's not a fully on body shove, but Corvinth's wing flicks at the blue's on the downbeat and it's enough to send him off-course. If old blue there takes out that other brown there, or another blue on his way out, well, so much the better. The dark-winged brown slides sideways again not above Zhikath, but under, first aiming to steel the ballast of the wind that should be pushing up underneath the bronze. Corvinth's wily enough not to try full on body contact /first/. Even as he slips sneakily beneath the bronze, his thoughts stay with Jeibeth, another seductive caress offered, the heat of the hellfires that burn beneath his shadows growing and growing, offered up as a gift to match her own heat, felt earlier. Desire. It's a beautiful thing in Corvinth's world.

No more words from B'tal. He rests his head against W'chek and his hands search for skin beneath fabric but once they find it, the greenrider stills except for the breathes that come a little too quickly, lost in Jeibeth's desire.

Corvinth> Isforaith strains with the effort; he'll soon come apart, at this rate, but he cares not for his own personal wellbeing. Who would, with such a prize for the taking? He maneuvers, jockeying upwards and onwards. Crafty usage of available thermals brings him closer, closer, closer; but is 'close' good enough? Raith has to believe so. <> he vows, his bass rumble a rough thing of bloodied sand and dim fires. He ignores all others, but to hazard by them without care for gentleness. He ignores all but his Jeibeth, and offers his valiant best, sacrificed to her on the altar that the windswept thermals offer.

From somewhere in the weyr there's a low growl as the riders of the two blues Corvinth knocked out pull away from the wall and head out into the bowl, one of them with a nasty look towards C'sel, who is completely oblivious, even /chuckling/ under his breath, though his eyes stay fixed on B'tal, even as the greenrider starts to half-undress W'chek in front of the circle of waiting riders. One young woman is tugging at her collar, eyeing some of the others there like they're so much dessert she needs to get down to eating right away.

Corvinth> There are reasons and then there are reasons. Isforaith may be flying for something like love, Corvinth may be flying for some strange combination of comeraderie and lust, Zhikath is flying for duty, and because how many nights has he spent on a cramped ledge not meant for two, close to this creature who is now up there flying away from him? He lurches in the shifting air, tries to pull out ahead and to Corvinth's side to get that updraft back, to reach for her now not because somebody else wants him to, but because he wants, too.

At some point later, W'chek will certainly be mortified by this display. At the moment, though, as Zhikath struggles, the bronzerider is going to hold on for all he's worth, come what may. His face is in the greenrider's hair, eyes still closed. "Please." Only a whisper, that, not to anybody in particular. It'd be a prayer if there was anybody to pray to.

Corvinth> Jeibeth is getting tired. That much is clear in the faltering grace to her movements, a misstep in her sultry dance. The green tilts her head to catch a glimpse behind her but it's not as though she needs it. She knows where the one she /wants/ is and she's at a point where she's more than willing to help him finish this. Her wings tilt to catch the air just that little bit to shift herself toward Isforaith, her blue. She trusts him, she /needs/ him to catch her.

Corvinth> There's something about Isforaith's dedication that impresses Corvinth even through the haze of his own deep-seated desire for Jeibeth. His fires burn nearly to incandescence, searing holes in the cloak of shadows that covers their glow. It's enough to galvanize the brown into surging upward, aiming to bump Zhikath off-course. It's not quite enough to pull him out of the chase himself though. He eels out from beneath Zhikath, using every bit of that updraft he stole from the bronze, wings spread wide to catch it to convert it into a headlong rush of speed, reckless, needy, longing speed as he hurtles toward Jeibeth, fueled by those eager, orange flames that punch through more and more of his shadows, threatening to lay his hoard of silver treasure bare to any mind that quests his way. Even in this reckless surge he doesn't interfere with Isforaith: bargain made good on, now it's may the best male win in the last round of the dance, last lap of the race. His path coming up from beneath is intended as a scoop, support for her faltering as she tilts herself towards the males and the gimpy-pawed blue in particular.

Corvinth> Isforaith is intent upon the green's movements, snaking past a dark bronze who fell short of the mark-- then it's the final press, against the rest for the ultimate prize. He notices the shift, the tilt of graceful wings, the angle of serpentine body. << Jeibeth, >> he growls more than pleads, this time. Bloodlust rises, and he reaches, reaches, reaches, maneuvering to attempt to catch Jeibeth, to ease the strain of her wings, to bolster her with his own being, to complete something started long, long ago. He needs her, as she needs him, and he reaches beyond the bottom of the barrel of his energy reserves to power forwards, slipping under a too-slow brown to be closer, so closer, neck and tail angled to twine-- as long as someone else doesn't get there before he can.

More riders quit the weyr as their dragons falter, drop out. One cusses volubly as he goes. C'sel's gaze still hasn't faltered, fixed on B'tal as it has been for the last little while and he's laughing again. Could be kinda creepy. Another rider on the way out bumps against him slightly and the brownrider bumps back with a low, displeased grunt. Get out of the way. As above, so below.

Corvinth> Were Zhikath a smaller dragon, he might have more ability to correct after having to veer off from his near-collision with Corvinth with an angry hiss through clenched jaws. As it is, at his size, it's not easy. He does what he can do to twist himself back, get around the others, to get to Jeibeth, but short of a miracle he's not going to make it, and he lets out a strangled cry of frustration at this.

Corvinth> Were Zhikath a smaller dragon, he might have more ability to correct after having to veer off from his near-collision with Corvinth with an angry hiss through clenched jaws. As it is, at his size, it's not easy. He does what he can do to twist himself back, get around the others, to get to Jeibeth, but short of a miracle he's not going to make it, and he lets out a strangled cry of frustration at this.

Corvinth> Jeibeth only has attention for one now and as soon as she figures he's close enough, her path veers slightly to lend herself to Isforaith's grasp just in time to avoid someone else snatching her away from him. There's a low, fiercely scolding hiss for the brown even as Jeibeth twines herself with the blue, two different sorts of fire meeting in a blaze of things much deeper than simple lust.

Corvinth> Corvinth zooms forward but it's not enough and that hiss from Jeibeth only draws a mental 'shucks'. In spite of his own frustrated desire, fire raging within, fog trying to gather to quell it, the dark-winged brown spares a thought for Jeibeth first: << Next time. >> Another promise. And another for Isforaith: << Enjoy. >> And it's sincere for there's some laughter behind it too as Corvinth peels away and finds another current of wind to carry him out of the Weyr.

Dragon> To Laurienth, Corvinth is a thing of fire and fog when his mind touches hers: << Race with me? >> is the offer made, a vision of the open sky beyond the Weyr offered and the sense of ... Jeibeth's sandalwood, receding already, but for a moment within his grasp and lost. << C'sel will need yours. >>

Corvinth> Oh. Wait. What? He-- wait. What?! Isforaith has a few moments of wtf-wtf, before instinct takes over, and wings snap wide to carry aloft the joined weight of Jeibeth and himself. His alcohol-commingled flames burn brighter, burn hotter, incited by Jeibeth's own: he is, finally, for the very first time in his young existence, complete.

Snap. The full hold Corvinth has on his rider's mind releases enough that C'sel is visible in his own eyes and his breath catches suddenly, gaze caught on the back of B'tal's shirt and then torn away quickly. He inhales, exhales and then turns to walk out of the guest weyr, back as straight as he can manage though his steps wander off-course a little, like he just had too much to drink.

Corvinth> A mental spilling-over of disappointment is cut abruptly short, as Zhikath peels off from the happy couple, shaking his head as though to clear away that unwelcome sensation of... of... well, loss. Then it's back towards his own ledge, just as he's done so many times. She's not the first, won't be the last, and he'll get over it with time.

Log: On Watch

2009-10-26T22:39:25Z

Who: C'sel, Z'yi, Corvinth, Isforaith
When: Evening, day 17, month 1, turn 21 of Interval 10
Where: Star Stone, High Reaches Weyr
What: Cas and Z chat on watch and make plans to reconnect with their runner roots.

It's evening, at the starstones-- a few hours past dinner, not necessarily late night yet, but definitely dark. Z'yi and Isforaith have been up here on weyr-watch since lunch, and the both of them are ready to retire for the night, to prep better for tomorrow's dawn sweeps. That doesn't mean that the two of them aren't a stoic pair, Z'yi up on Raith though not buckled into his straps, eating a cold leftover meatroll as a snack. "So," he calls over to the other rider on watchduty, "You ready for winter to be over?" There's a smile in his voice, even if it may be too dark for one to see his face.

Joining Z'yi at the mid-point of that shift, C'sel's been likewise stoic, leaning back against Corvinth's neckridge, chin burrowed down deeply into his scarf, the set of his shoulders relaxed for all it's cold as heck up here. He hasn't spoken much since he arrived, except to pass over a fresh thermos of hot klah at one point. It's the silent camaraderie of those on a cold watch. His chin lifts though, clearing his mouth of the folds of his scarf to answer the bluerider's question. "Yes," Cas answers simply. Pauses, thoughtful for a moment. "Though of course winter has its -- advantages. Things are -- slower," he answers ... slowly.

"Less crazy," Z'yi agrees. The typically quiet bluerider seems to be in a fine mood this evening, despite being regulated to a duty that's as boring as a-- "One, two dragons incoming," he reports over, Isforaith's sharp westward-pointed eyes whirling sharper. A brief moment. "Sardineth from Telgar and Svelkath," naming a green from Avalanche. What was he saying? Oh yeah. "Winter. Must be because if it was any faster more people would have frostbite than we have healers," quipped with rare humor in rumbling basso.

"Yes, much less crazy," C'sel offers over, a thread of dry humor infusing his voice. "Unless there is an avalanche," he notes deadpan and tilts his head, blue eyes taking in the incoming. Corvinth's head lift, his own shadowed gaze tracking the incoming. << /Telgar/. Svelkath, baby, you've got all you need riiiight here, >> the brown quips Isforaith's way. His rider looks over at Z'yi's profile, not too far distant and his head cocks to the side a little, probably assessing that note of humor. "That -- could be one reason," he allows and after a moment, chuckles softly. "It does make for time, when the weather is decent enough, to practice some of the more interesting maneuvers at least." Another pause. "I am looking forward to a rest-day in the desert though."

"True." Z'yi has lived in High Reaches long enough to understand the potential devastation that a avalanche can wreck. Speaking of wrecking, and potential devastation... << Ha. She's come in three times with that buffoon, >> Isforaith's scornful snark issues forth: << His rider's so drunk I'm suprised they made it through ::between::, him flyin' like he's on a ship. Tippsy tuuuurvy. >> Raith even mocks up an impression of Sardineth's flying, wings extended and neck bobbing to and fro drunkenly. Z'yi clamps down with his thighs to stay aboard, shaking his head. "Going to Igen?" he questions over to C'sel. "I was thinking about going and seeing my father. Perhaps we could all meet up for a drink."

"Lack of avalanches -- is a good thing," C'sel notes with further deapan ... humor? He's still not all that good at making jokes, but he's been giving it a whirl more of late too. << Pssh. That's no good. We've got fine flyers and excellent menfolk /riiiight/ here, >> Corvinth slyly snarks back in companionable fashion and snickers with a little roil of dark shadows edged with orange flame at the impression. "Yes," C'sel answers. "I -- do know a place by the beach, actually, that has good drinks." He's dead serious.

"Brimstone and fire, I'd be fine with a lack of hailstorms. That last one about took off Raith's ledge," states Z'yi with a shake of his head. His voice is companionable, though, the easy talk between wingmates. << Perhaps she's-- what's the phrase they use? >> Isforaith blinks out of existence before surging forth with soured beer and his never-changing fires: << Slumming. >> He seems rather smug with himself, honestly. Regarding good drinks, Z'yi's all for that-- "Well, I'll talk to dad and have Raith bespeak Corvinth," Isz states, tone well-pleased. "It's been a long time since I've-- gone out and had fun."

"I can't say I'm particularly fond of -- hail," C'sel agrees, squinting into the skies as another dragon appears. "Benden?" is uttered with some surprise as he watches the foreign brown down and Corvinth's head snakes around too. To Isforaith though, shadows and fog flickering with little sparks of light: << Oh yes. Definitely. On the down low. We'll have to /show/ her next time she goes up. >> Also smug. C'sel nods once in answer to his wingmate. "Very well." Though his gaze lingers on the bluerider, scrutiny focused as ever. "Is there a -- particular sort of fun that you prefer?"

"It hurts," comes Z'yi's flatly assessed commentary regarding-- hail. Then the brown's the focus of both the bluerider and his lifemate. "Benden," he agrees. "Whatever he's doing this late at night... can't be good. Bet he's part of that Glacier racketeering ring," oh-so-cheerfully noted. Ahem. << I'm down with that. We should put that on our schedule, >> Isforaith takes the pretentious Benden pronounciation of the word, shed-jule, with a snicker afterwards. Z'yi rolls his eyes, unseen, at the two dragon's antics, and focuses a reply to C'sel: "It's been forever since I've been out runner riding. I used to enjoy that. Flying. I tried to learn how to surf, down at Ista, once." Physical activities! Z'yi loves them. "Stuff like that, I guess." A pause; "You?" pitched curiously.

"Very much," C'sel agrees about hail and curls his shoulders forward a little. He squints down after the Benden rider. "Or he is -- ah, visiting. A special friend." Dry again because the brown's set down on a ledge and the small figure of the rider swinging off is shortly greeted. Warmly. Very warmly. By the weyr's occupant. << Duly noted, >> Corvinth fires back. << C'sel will remember for us. >> Confident. C'sel draws a breath, blows it out, distracted for a moment by assuring Corvinth that he'll remember this little date to show Svelkath something. "Runners. Yes. Ebeny and I have -- spoken of trying that. Corvinth and Laurienth would require distracting though," he notes mildly. Pause. "I did not realize that you -- rode." Runners. Seeing as C'sel has a very naturally keen interest in a well-bred riding runner, given his past occupation. But. "I -- like to sit and watch the sky change." Oh.

"Then he's not very terribly suspect," Z'yi mildly comments regarding the guy entering the weyr. "Oh well. There goes my conspiracy theory for the night." Isforaith's silent for a moment, then his fires turn green. Just for a second. <> That wasn't envy, really. Raith doesn't do envy. So... un-masculine. "Oh, yes, of course," Isz replies regarding riding. "I was training to be the stablemaster, when Sionath searched me. I still go down to the stables, every now and again when I have time, to help out. Runners... are simple. It's-- relaxing." Even if he very rarely rides, these days. His face turns towards C'sel, unseen in the darkness, and he smiles. "I imagine that is very relaxing, too," he comments. "Peaceful."

"The world might be ... better for it. Though I suppose there is some ah -- amusement to be gotten from such," C'sel says slowly, thoughtfully and unfolds his arms, leaning forward to hook up the thermos from where it hangs on Corvinth's straps. << Just tell him. Or find a corner in his head for it. >> Corvinth demonstrates: C'sel's thoughts, here, ongoing, humming back and forth. Corvinth's beneath and oh hey, right there, a quiet nook. Drop the memory in like a little treasure. In Corvinth's mindscape, it's literal treasure: silver drops vaguely shaped like whatever he's thinking about, in this case, a dragon-shaped charm that mimics the graceful shape of that green's wings. "Ah - then you would have been Ebeny's -- boss. Eventually," C'sel says after a moment and that draws out another of his own rare chuckles. A breath. "Yes. They are. I miss tending to them. Getting to know them." There's a softness in the brownrider's voice that is relatively rare, an edge of emotionality. "We should go sometime." Corvinth lets out a soft snort. << /Runners/. >> His thoughts drip with shadowy disdain and a sense of 'food'. Deeper breath from Cas. "Yes. I like how the colors change. It is never quite the same."

"Amusement. That's one way to call it," Z'yi replies with an unseen grin. << Huh. Never thought about that. Guess I'll have to try it, >> Raith states, suddenly thoughtful. Hey, if /that/ works, then maybe... /other/ things would work... (Enter Raith, the first dragon to ever brainwash his rider. No, seriously.) "Oh, yes," Z'yi states regarding Ebeny, his bass tones mild. "Eventually." A moment of silence stretches before he adds on, "We should. The stableboys would be happy to have a bit of their work removed," idly commented. Isforaith is blessedly silent regarding the prospect of his rider, riding.. food. "Mmm. It's been a long time since I watched a sunset," Z'yi distractedly states.

A little shrug answers that first, the movement very slight. C'sel's gaze turns up to the sky, thermos uncapped, and light catches faintly along the sides of the metal container as he drinks. << Ye-es, try it, friend, >> Corvinth encourages. << It works pretty well for a lot of things. Just be careful. No headaches is good. So nothing too big unless you've actually ... talked it over. >> Sly again. His grin like a mental shifting of darkness away from the face of the moon then gathering close again. "I would like to ride again," C'sel notes quietly after a little while. "Perhaps when we go for that drink. The sunset over the desert ..." he trails off, leans back against Corvinth's ridge again.

<< Right. >> Something to think about. Isforaith considers the skies. << Almost over, >> with the yearning for his own couch and a cozy fire in the hearthplace. "Then we should," Z'yi states regarding runner-riding. "I'm sure there are stablehands in Igen that would be just as pleased as the ones here to give up certain duties to allow us to enjoy ourselves," stated with a bemused tone.

<< Ye-es, >> again from Corvinth, but not with that same yearning. Instead his mind is skipping to the prospect of perching on the spires, of chasing Fridonith or Laurienth or maybe even Yyth through the dark - whichever green might be up for his games. His rider though ... yes. Home. And warmth. And contentment and a sense of Laurienth's rider accompanied by the pluck of strings which are more the green's. "I will see about arranging something," C'sel offers over, voice quiet. "It's good practice I think. Focus of another kind." The thermos moves upward again, then he holds it over, the cap clinking against the container's side as it dangles from its little chain.

"Mmm." Z'yi slaps Isforaith's neckridge in a fond gesture as a looming bronze rounds the bend-- their relief. "I'll have Raith bespeak Corvinth, then, once I know if D'ayo's up for going?" he calls over to C'sel. The blue's already maneuvering for liftoff, carefully plying his overlarge wings. << Tomorrow, >> Isforaith calls similarly to Corvinth, his tone a simple promise. Flying and maybe hunting and of course drills.
"Yes," C'sel confirms simply and lifts a hand in salute as the pair lift away. << Fly well, friend, >> is Corvinth's parting to the blue as the relief joins them and Corvinth stretches, shifts and C'sel has to grab onto a strap to avoid getting dumped off onto the cold stone on his rump.

Log: Nightmares and Shadows

2009-10-24T19:41:50Z

Who: C'sel, Ebeny, Corvinth, Laurienth
When: Pre-dawn, day 11, month 1, turn 21 of the 10th Interval
Where: C'sel and Corvinth's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr
What: Cas is woken by one of Ebeny's nightmares and they try to sort it out together.

It's more early than it is late, though dawn isn't peeking into Corvinth's wallow just yet. The brown sleeps, happy with the present company, very comfortable really. His rider isn't much different, having rolled over in his sleep to curl up behind Ebeny, one arm draping across her waist, though his breathing is regular, steady, indicating he sleeps still.

Still for the most part, it's only in the past few minutes that Ebeny's breathing has deviated from the rhythm of peaceful slumber and started to betray a far more fitful sleep. There's little movement even so, except for the moment when there /is/, all of a sudden; another minute and she wakes suddenly with a sharp intake of breath as if being deprived of air. Tensed, the greenrider arches and one hand curls in the sheets, but as she senses the arm at her waist, she freezes and attempts to be still again. She's not successful, for as she tries to relax, she shivers violently and presses her eyes tight shut.

That sharp intake and the tension bring wakefulness swiftly enough and C'sel's arm tightens lightly at Ebeny's waist. Slowly his head lifts from the pillow and blue eyes seek out her face in the darkness. Quietly, with just a touch of sleep-induced rasp: "Ebeny?" he questions, concern edging his voice lightly.

For a second, Ebeny is quietly inconsolable, unresponsive and still as anything, until she turns and makes to tuck herself against her weyrmate again. "Nothing," she murmurs, voice not quite right and hardly there. "Just a," she shivers again and takes a deep breath, "bad dream. Everyone has them." Though she may have only just been asleep, there's something heavy about the way she moves, as though she hasn't slept at all. "I'm sorry."

Silent for a moment or two, C'sel seems to just accept the explanation, though his arms close warmly around her and his cheek drops to the top of her head. It's her last that sees him drawing a slow breath. "Shhh, there is no need to be sorry," he says softly and one hand rubs gently at her back. He's silent again for a little while, just rubbing her back, but then he asks in a quiet murmur: "Do you -- wish to speak of it?"

Eventually, Ebeny's shivering subsides and the tension fades from her frame. "I don't know. I don't know if I can explain it," she says quietly. "And if I can, I'll seem awful." She falls silent again for a short while, eyes open and unseeing. Another breath and she tangles one leg between his. "I don't know if it's just a bad dream. They're always the same. Darkness and being chased by something or something trying to grab me. Envelope me." It takes another half minute of silence for her to admit, "...And I think it's Laurienth. I'm keeping her out. Have to keep her out," in a whisper.

Again C'sel waits until there's that break and he leans forward a little to brush a kiss to her forehead. "You -- are not awful," he says with quiet conviction. His hand keeps moving up and down along her back, brows knit faintly, though it might be hard to see in the dark. C'sel takes a breath, lets it out, slides fingers gently through her hair, soothing. After a moment: "Would she do such a thing?" The words are spoken slowly, as thoughtfully as he usually says anything.

"Time was, I'd say yes. But now... I just don't think it's on purpose," Ebeny breathes out. "I don't think she knows she does it. It went on when she was little, too, but it's... worse now. I draw so many lines when we're awake, why wouldn't she try and get closer when my guard's down? It's not fair to her. And I'll fix it, I will, somehow. I just can't. Not yet." She shakes her head just a little and makes a quiet, unintelligible noise.

Breath out again and C'sel is still, just holding her. "It's ... true that ... too many lines can cause ... problems," he says slowly still, very very quietly. And then he stops, eyes closing, arms tightening around her again. "There -- there is a balance to be found," he finally whispers into the darkness. Out in the wallow, Corvinth wakes, lifts his head from where it rested somewhere along Laurienth's flank.

"There have to be lines. I can't be like her. Several turns' time and you wouldn't be able to tolerate me, nobody would," the greenrider says all in a rush, a sharp breath dragged in the moment after. It's possible that Ebeny gestures in the direction of the wallow with one foot, unseen save for the ripple in the sheets, when she quietly asks, "...How do you balance?" In the wallow, Corvinth's movement wakes Laurienth, who stirs and blinks sleepily, peering up.

"Am I like him?" C'sel says after a moment and he leans back, eyes seeking out hers, for all it's hard to see in the weyr. "I have ... only shut him out in full ... rarely. Since we were weyrlings," the brownrider answers. "I am who I am and he is who he is and we -- we fit," he struggles to explain. Corvinth nuzzles gently at Laurienth as she wakes. << He used to be afraid of my shadows ... >> the brown murmurs a silver-touched thought.

Ebeny shifts a little, turning a fraction to settle more on her front, propped with one elbow so that she might look down and make whatever eye contact can be made in the darkness. Her murmured, "No," might seem an unnecessary answer, but is voiced aloud anyway. "I do... fit with her. She has what I don't. She draws lines where I won't; won't stand for things that I shouldn't... But I don't /want/..." She hangs her head and flinches, likely aware that her green is awake now too. It takes a few moments for Laurienth to wake properly and she nuzzles back at Corvinth in the time it takes her to form words. << Not anymore? >> is quiet, hopeful.

"You do not want to lose yourself," C'sel fills in in a low murmur, hand moving through her hair still and he clears his throat. "You won't." Confident again. "Sometimes it may -- be more difficult than others." Pause. "And flights -- the first may be very ... frightening. But I will be there." A promise. "Win or lose." Corvinth rearranges a little, curls back up closer. << No, he is not. He understands what they are. What I am. What he is. >>

A nod, slow, silent agreement with the first of his words, followed by another, stronger, more towards herself. "...I'll fix it. Somehow," Ebeny softly replies, some vague reluctance or hesitance in the words. "Before she goes up. I'll have to." She slumps back down and curls up close again all at once for his promise. "I know," she whispers against skin. A single blue spark flares somewhere at the back of Laurienth's mind, a light in the dark, hopeful still. << Then... she will learn too. I don't always mean to hurt her. >> Which yet means that sometimes she /does/, but that's barely acknowledged as her tail sneaks out around Corvinth's.

"You -- will have to let her in," C'sel replies and his lips press to her temple, arms never leaving her. "I -- can be with you. If -- if it would make it easier," he murmurs, voice thick with things unspoken. Corvinth's eyes half-lid, enjoying that curl of tail and his tightens along Laurienth's in turn. <> Flickering memories of a flight. Of their riders coming together. Satisfaction from that risk.

"I know," Ebeny says again, more than apprehensive and with a shiver down her spine that has her arching. "I don't know what I'm going to do. Just let her..." She doesn't finish that thought and nods instead, head dipped against his chest. "Please. I'm sorry," again, "I didn't mean for it to get this bad. It sort of happened when I wasn't looking. Deliberately not looking, maybe. Still." Laurienth sighs, contentment somewhere in her tangle of confusion. <> she admits very faintly, guarded, as if to warn that nobody had better let on anything of the sort. Ever.

"It will be all right," C'sel says firmly and his hands press against her back again. "And I am with you," he echoes himself a little, changes the angle of his hand to cradle her cheek, seeks to kiss her in that way he has, like she's the only person in existence at that very moment. Corvinth's tail tightens a little and he throws a cloak of shadows over them both. Sly. Their secret. << Good. So am I. He is /so/ much better with her. Getting laid is good for him. >>

It's easy to abandon words and talk of what she's rather obviously scared of in favour of that kiss, so Ebeny doesn't try for further explanation or apology and instead focuses entirely on him, tangling her legs back with his. There she stays, snug against him, and must choose to accept what he says as what will be, even if there's still that eagerness to dismiss talk of it. Laurienth's quiet snort is both vocal and mental, another spark lighting somewhere in the dark, amused by the bluntness of the brown's last remark. << So it would seem. She is who she is with him. It is better than the blankness. >>

All tangled up could very wind up with one thing leading to another. Since that line was crossed, C'sel has been more than willing to cross it again and again with her, slowly losing shyness and inexperience as they've gotten to know each other /this/ way as well as more cerebral ways. Corvinth's neck streeetches out and his head bumps lightly beneath Laurienth's chin fondly. << Yes. They are. They are themselves together. >> Beat. Quietly, with a curl of shadow to go with it, still their secret: << So much better than blank. >>

Less talk of troubling things and more tangling more than works for Ebeny, never exactly hesitant with the crossing of that line and not shy about seeking to wake him at all hours for more exploration. As it is, as with so many times before, sleep and the dawn not far off can wait, the smile that lights up her face still mostly hidden in the darkness. Laurienth tilts her head slightly to brush her muzzle against Corvinth's neck, the depthless dark maze of her mind welcoming shadow. << Much, much better, >> she softly agrees, edges blunted and all hidden away.

C'sel has often been mildly bemused at just how often she wakes him up at all hours, but he never complains. He continues to be tender, cherishing her in these moments, with the movements of hands and body. After he's caught his breath and they're a hazy, warm, happy tangle beneath the blankets, he murmurs a quiet request: "Wake me if you dream so agan?" And out in the wallow, Corvinth's shadows slip into that maze, exploring, seeking to know it, understand it, undaunted. << Yes. >>

Soft-voiced and with gentle touch for the time before she goes still and settles with obvious contentment, it takes a little while for his request to register with Ebeny, seemingly quite blissfully lost in their tangle. "I will," she promises in a whisper, eyes closed and fingertips of one hand smoothly following a winding path against his skin. The dark green goes quiet and Laurienth curls closer again, allows exploration without protest. There's a spark here, a string that could be all too easily snapped there. Smoke elsewhere, heavy and thick enough to choke, with the promise of unleashing a greater sense of unreality when set free. Edges sharp another day blur now, faulty connections crackling somewhere in the dark, screeching temper hidden somewhere amongst them.

There's no further words from C'sel, just his arms around her and again, the press of lips to her forehead, though he doesn't go back to sleep, just holds his weyrmate until dawn actually breaks. Corvinth winds nimbly through what pathways Laurienth allows him, gently caressing here and there, even daring to strengthen a connection here and there with a curl of shadow and fog. He's so careful though, tip-toeing cleverly through and otherwise leaves that uncertain temper alone. There's a place where it's dark and comfortable and he curls up there for a time, shadows pooling around him. When he withdraws, he leaves behind something pretty and silver, just for her. A little treasure, heart shaped and if she examines it, it's full of the sound of their riders' conjoined laughter.

Log: Meeting Gabrion

2009-10-23T17:06:40Z

Who: C'sel, Gabrion, Corvinth
When: Evening, day 5, month 1, turn 21 of Interval 10.
Where: Living Cavern, High Reaches Weyr
What: C'sel meets young Gabrion who may or may not be a little drunk.

Living Cavern, High Reaches Weyr(#350RJs)
Stalactites hang high above this enormous cavern like a jagged chandelier or an inversion of the Spires themselves, but shadows cling to them instead of light. Below lie great tables arranged in rows, each large enough to serve a fighting wing, while in the nooks and alcoves around the cavern's edge sit more sensibly-sized tables, from six- and eight-seaters down to intimate spots for just a couple of diners. The only really open space is around the kitchen entrance, smelling of food and rarely quiet, and by the nearby serving tables with their long buffet of the day's offerings.
Tapestries on the smooth walls -- some faded and others newly woven -- only slightly mute the sea of sound when a meal is in full swing, but they add cheerfulness augmented by the glowlight from wall sconces and the centerpieces of each table. Still, shadows always creep along the ceiling and into the mouths of the exits -- the myriad small hallways at one end of the cavern and, at the other, the twisting tunnel to the bowl near an array of coathooks and and hatracks -- and late at night, when the glows are allowed to dim, the chamber can seem very dark indeed.

It's edging toward late evening, and while a handful of people are still eating their dinners, most of the people in the living cavern have turned to entertainments such as card games, or just visiting over wine or klah. Gabrion is sitting off by himself at a smaller table in the corner, watching people through half-lidded eyes. His sleepy look and lassitude and the vacant smile on his face suggest together that he doesn't particularly need a(nother?) full glass of wine, but there's one sitting on the table in front of him anyway. He's toying with a well-buttered slice of bread in one hand, but dinner dishes, if he had any, have been cleared away.

Quiet footfalls mark C'sel's passage: dining late this evening. The brownrider carries a neatly arranged, full plate and a glass of water. Blue eyes go to the young man's glass, up to his face and brows arch faintly. "Are you --- well?" he asks the infirmary aide in an undertone, perhaps assuming Gabrion is in his cups given his relative youth and the fullness of the glass.

It would certainly appear that way. Gabrion's head snaps up and he blinks a few times at C'sel, trying to place him. After a long pause he says slowly, "Oh. Sure, yeah. I'm fine! How are you?" The smile he offers is a little too bright and cheery. He reaches for the glass carefully to take another sip of wine.

Snowdrift, says C'sel's badge, brownrider says his knot. Nothing special? And yet he continues to regard Gabrion with silent solemnity, the too-bright of that smile, the cheery tone. "I am very well thank you," C'sel replies politely and shifts his focus back to that glass once more, but he doesn't ask about it, just nods towards the chair across the way. "Do you mind if I -- join you?"

"I guess?" Gabrion is dubious, or maybe just puzzled as to why a Snowdrift brownrider would want to sit with him. "Did your wingmates all ditch you and go out partying or something?" he asks - not the friendliest of invitations - but he does nod to the empty chair across from him.

"No," is C'sel's succinct reply as he sets his plate down and draws out the chair, sits down, picks up cutlery and starts to cut into his food neatly. "It's past the general hour for eating," he points out and sets his knife down, spears a bite of meat, tuber and green bean with his fork. "And my weyrmate is on evening sweeps." Pause. "I am C'sel. Well met." His free hand is extended across the table, politely.

Gabrion uses a palm on the table to steady himself as he stands up to shake hands with C'sel. "Gabe. Gabrion actually, that's my real name, but." He shrugs as he sits back down with a thump. "Everyone calls me Gabe. So. Uh. Did you have sweeps too?" he asks. It's something to talk about, and potentially slightly more interesting than the weather.

"Gabrion. Well met." Apparently C'sel ... isn't really into nicknames with people he's just met. "No, I do not have sweeps this evening," the brownrider responds in the negative and considers the young man for a moment. "Do you drink wine often?" is perhaps an odd question to be asking on the tails of that but then the brownrider puts the bite of food in his mouth, chews meticulously.

Gabrion squints at C'sel. "Sometimes, I guess?" he answers, and shrugs. "How come?" he asks, nibbling at his buttered bread. He's not very meticulous about his chewing, though at least he keeps his mouth shut.

"You -- looked a little ..." his hand waggles back and forth. "Under the influence," C'sel notes and eyes the less-than-neat chewing for a moment, looks down at his own plate and puts together another bite. "I believe that you are relatively new to the Weyr?"

"I just came /back/," Gabrion says with a heavy emphasis on the last word. "But I was born here. So. Not really new." His chin juts out a little, defensive. "I'm not drunk either."

"Ah. I have only been here just over a turn myself," C'sel says mildly. "Though I was -- born at Nabol." He tucks that bite of dinner into his mouth. He chews just as carefully this time, blue eyes right on Gabrion's face. "I did not say drunk," he points out. "There are -- many stages before one gets to drunk."

"Well. Then I'm one of those other ones," Gabrion declares; he's not going to claim that he isn't drinking, after all, as he takes another sip of his wine. "Nabol, huh? Did you like it there?" he asks, leaning back in his chair and putting his feet up on an empty chair beside him.

"Perhaps ... tipsy," C'sel suggests after a moment's thought. The question draws a very faint frown to his face, though generally, his expressions haven't shifted much the entire time he's been sitting there. "I enjoyed helping with the beasts at Nabol. It was not a bad place to grow up," he says eventually. "I left to apprentice at Keroon, then impressed at Igen. I -- have been used to the desert for some time."

"So then you came to the weyr that's the exact opposite of a desert," Gabe observes with a snort of amusement. "Nice. Well, it's good here. I mean, it snows and all," understatement of the turn, "but I think I'd drop dead if we had to deal with the kind of heat they get in Igen. I went there once with my dad, and whoo! I thought I was going to sweat myself into a limp rag."

"Adjusting to the ... water. In the air. Has been -- difficult," C'sel replies between bites of food. "Corvinth, my brown, is in love with the seven spindles."

"What, rain?" Gabe squints at C'sel again, seriously entertaining the notion that his desert upbringing has so deprived him that he doesn't know the word for rain. His mouth twitches as he tries not to laugh.

"No. Just ... in the air. It feels ... different," C'sel says slowly. "Humidity. Not precipitation." Not really a vocabulary issue apparently.

"Oh." Now Gabrion feels stupid. He covers it by backtracking to a previous point in the conversation: "Corvinth's a nice name for a dragon."

The food on C'sel's plate is just about gone, but the brownrider pauses to reach for his glass, sips from it and regards Gabrion for long moments over the rim. Finally the glass is set down. "Yes. He is -- a very interesting brown. Have you spoken much to riders about dragons?"

"Well, my parents at least. Sometimes other folks. How come?" Gabrion asks again, though he does seem interested in how exactly it is that Corvinth is interesting. He takes an injudiciously large gulp of his wine and watches and listens to C'sel.

"What do you think that most dragons are like?" C'sel asks instead, taking another drink from his glass, then taking a moment to finish off his meal and sets the plate aside with fork and knife set neatly atop it.

"Well, they're all different, aren't they?" Gabe says with another of those shrugs of his. "Ma's green is kind of... sweet and mannerly and uptight like a holder girl, and Dad's blue is more, I dunno, hyper and bouncy like a little kid." He smirks. "An extra big little kid. But it's kind of hard to get to know dragons if they aren't yours or your ma or dad's. I mean, because mainly they just kind of lay there and do that thing where they open one eye and /look/ at you in that weird way."

The brownrider listens. His face doesn't really move much. He just ... listens. With his gaze fixed on the young man. "Yes." Finally. "They are all different." C'sel reaches for his glass, takes a swallow before going on. "Corvinth is ... clever. Sly. Very independent."

"Huh. Yeah?" Gabe says, leaning forward with elbows on the table. "Funny. Most people's dragons aren't independent. I mean, they don't like, go off and do stuff without their riders or anything like that."

"Corvinth does. Often." C'sel tilts his head. "He's up on the spindles right now. Looking up at the moons." His focus returns to the table. "We do not ... always see eye to eye."

"Wooooow." Gabrion's eyes go wide; he's impressed. "Like, you have /arguments/? With your dragon? Well, I guess Dad does sometimes but more like - eh. I dunno. I guess you could." He wrinkles up his nose. "Do you wish you had a dragon more like you? Or less, um, argue-y?"

"Yes. Frequently," C'sel states clearly. "And there are others of similar temperament. I help with the weyrlings," he explains further. "When there are weyrlings." Pause. "No. I would not change Corvinth."

"Huh," Gabe says thoughtfully. "I guess if I had a dragon I'd want one that didn't argue back. Or at least, not with me. He could argue with other folks if he wanted."

"We balance. As do most riders with their dragons," C'sel offers over quietly, picks up his glass and drains it, then reaches for his empty plate. His gaze rests pointedly on the lad's wine. "Be careful," he says simply, and pushes back his chair, rises. "It can -- catch you by surprise." He nods once as he aims to depart. "Thank you for your company. Have a good night Gabrion."

Gabrion lifts his wineglass by way of farewell. "Goodnight, brownrider," he says cheerfully, and politely. "Hope you and Corvinth have a nice evening."

Pausing before he steps away with his dishes, C'sel nods again. "He says thank you and that he believes that we will both be having a good evening in our own ways. He wishes you enjoyment of your drink." Pause. "Well. Actually he said: "Sink that wine, boy-o!"" The brownrider hesitates for a moment and clears his throat. "This is what I mean. By interesting." Very seriously. Very sagely. And then he turns and walks away to dispose of dishes and head back out into the cold night.

Vignette: Happy Turnover 21

2009-10-21T06:24:09Z

What: In which I take many liberties with absent Ben.

Out there in the dark, in the cold, bonfires burned.
C'sel had wandered for a little while, earlier, when it wasn't so dark, or quite so cold.

He'd met her there and he'd managed not to smash her feet for that one dance. Just one.

In here, behind the blue door, it wasn't cold at all.

Neither was it cold in the wallow where Corvinth and Laurienth were a happy tangle of wings and tails and slightly askew limbs.

Sometimes, C'sel suspected that maybe Corvinth might be losing a little bit of his attachment to Fridonith. Fridonith who'd brought them here in the first place. It was partly his fault, of course, because of the depth of his own attachment to Laurienth's rider.

It still surprised him that his usually independent lifemate could be so influenced by his own choice. Then again, who ever really knew about Corvinth? Even him?

She was drawing him down again in that way she had, arms and hands eager and C'sel couldn't help but smile.

This was going to be one incredible turn.

Log: Strange Memorial

2009-10-21T06:12:19Z

Who: C'sel, Eila, Leova, NPCs: Glacierites
When: Evening, day 27, month 13, turn 20 of the 10th Interval
Where: Snowasis, High Reaches Weyr
What: Just drinking. Only really, there's memorializing of those lost. Especially one former weyrlingmaster, though that's not who C'sel is drinking 'to'. There is also baiting of the Cas about his weyrmate. The former weyrling. FORMER. He may or may not have a sense of humor about this.

It's suddenly a quiet night in the Snowasis, what with the more boisterous group having pushed its way outside, muffling the ensuing thumps and exclamations. Though /tempted/, a long look's worth, this time Leova abandons her wingmates' newest tussle in favor of sliding back into the couch by the hearth and burying herself beneath a heap of their not-exactly-sweet-smelling leather and wool jackets. There's even a reason, maybe, an expectant eye toward where a certain bluerider just /might/ be showing up. If she can get past.

Said bluerider just manages, though there might be an elbow or two involved as she weaves through the Glacier riders, all upturned smile and round eyes. Success, though Eila takes a breather to scan the cavern and finally slate eyes fall on a pile of riding jackets and she tugs off her own while she makes her way towards the greenrider-turned-coatrack. Her greeting might be a bit subdued, but bright enough for the girl's wind-pinked cheeks: "Hi, Leova. Want me to get you anything while I'm still up?"

That boisterous group is passed with a brief assessing look by C'sel. The brownrider might just be trying to figure out how drunk they are and whether he should go out another way when he's through here. His path takes him to the bar proper where he orders his customary half-finger of whiskey on the rocks and turns around to observe the goings-on in the Snowasis, even if it's quiet. During this examination he discovers the ... pile and it's human head, one brow quirking upward as he takes in Leova's appearance. A rap of knuckles on the bar signals the arrival of his drink and he turns around again, missing Eila's entrance and puts down marks on the bar. Careful not to spill he moves on steady feet towards his fellow former-assistant weyrlingmaster, then slows, blue eyes settling on her recently arrived company. Still, he draws near. Quietly: "Good evening." Beat. "I hope that you are not too cold, Leova." To Eila: a polite nod.

A slow clap for Eila, once she's near: "/Nice/, getting through like that. Here, toss it on me." Jacket. Probably. "And a... klah with something in it, hm?" The greenrider's head tilts, amber eyes assessing. Then, "Met C'sel? C'sel, Eila. Tolerably warm, thank you," but his quip gets him another comment tacked on: "Going to be drinking around here. In the name of a body who's dead." Just so's he knows what kind of night it's planned to be.

Sketching a bow mid-air, Eila hasn't even folded her coat over an arm before Leova makes her request and so willingly enough the bluerider shakes it out and aims it for Leova. "There's some odds and ends in the pockets," she adds just before she turns to fetch the drinks, perfectly biddable, "but don't mind if the rattle around." She's only half a moment, fetching two klah-with-something-in-its, where 'something' is a casual aim of her finger at a bottle. Sugar, for hers, but the girl comes back with the little tub of it balanced in the crook of her arm, and two mugs to set on the table as she slides in and makes herself comfortable. "C'sel, hi. Eila," she repeats with a returning smile. "Blue Kelerith." Then: a dip of her head, a downward cast of her eyes. "Plan on doing a bit of it, myself. Personally."

Jacket-tossing is observed with typically curious scrutiny and slowly, C'sel's glass lifts and he takes a just-as-slow sip. "Ah," is all he says about 'drinking-for-the-dead' for now and he looks up and away, towards the fire, eyes settling there. The bluerider's return brings him back to the here and now: "Eila, well met. Brown Corvinth's," he enunciates clearly and offers a hand to shake. "There are -- worse ways to celebrate the missing."

"So I get to go through them?" Leova calls after the bluerider, more like a warning than a question, with the way she's begun to rummage... though in the next half-moment, Eila returned /already/, her hands make a show of freezing. Caught in the act! "Are there," she more says than inquires of the brownrider, shifting her feet over so she can prop them up by Eila's. "Which have you tried?" Like he's going to answer.

Like she wouldn't expect any less from the greenrider, Eila chuckles and jerks her chin down in the general proximity of where her pockets might be, advising, "At your own risk, though. I take no responsibility for," pinchy little things, she presses her thumb and index finger together a few times in Leova's direction, and then slides a mug across the table. Tilting her head towards C'sel, Eila tacks on to Leova's question with a lift of her brows, "And which of them worked best?"

Actually, he does. Still nearly without inflection: "Disconnecting from the world," C'sel answers succinctly, then nods to one of the chairs. "Do you mind if I join you?" Apparently reconnecting with the world is also in the cards. He considers Eila's question for a moment then shakes his head. "None."

/Risk/: it gets an outright laugh from Leova, who points out, "Not as though Kel can stick stuff in there himself. You'd have had to be go-between. Unless he can convince crawlies to crawl in with the very power of his mighty mind..." and here her look narrows, as if maybe he /could/. Doesn't stop her from rummaging in those pockets, however, and there's a brightness to her eyes: the spike in this klah won't have been the first. Unless it's overheating from the coats. Or a cold. Or so. "Not," Leova finally tells C'sel, "Unless Ella does. Just have to put your feet up. And: /disconnecting/." She leans forward enough to take the mug. Drinks.

"... Oh." Eila says in a soft voice down into her own klah, flicking one quick look across at C'sel as her lips purse over the hot drink. "I think I'll stick with this." Does she seem to mind? Certainly not, and she even waves her mug up at C'sel to prove it, then down at a chair. "Only if you won't be quite so depressing, please, from now on." Turning her eyes up now on Leova, the bluerider considers her words, wrinkles her nose. "I cringe at the very thought. Don't give him ideas. I'd hate to think even my pockets aren't safe from him! -- if you find any edibles, pass them over, would you?" If anything, there'll be a surplus of thimbles. Thimbles and buttons.

"Is it -- common, for Kelerith to... deal in crawlies?" C'sel questions Eila quite seriously, blue eyes lifting to settle on the young woman as he sits down. One shoulder lifts about 'depressing'. It is what it is. His glass tilts again and he sips long this time. "Yes." Beat. "It doesn't really work," he notes with a slight rasp in his voice. "This," he gestures around to shared drinking, "is much --" long pause, "more companionable."

"Will do." Leova's shaggy head is downbent, now, just a little rust at the tips of her hair: needs a cut again. Or summer. Whichever. She's picking through her finds, one of which gets a grimace of distaste and a flick towards the fire. Maybe it's just a ball of lint, given the way it goes up in flames, just like that. She pulls out a button, another. "C'sel knows about companionable," she tells Eila. "Just weyrmated. One of our weyrlings. Not that she /is/, now. Congratulate him, hm?" And she's got a thimble on her littlest finger, tippy rather than fitting snugly, as she reaches to put a shred of what /might/ be jerky on the bluerider's knee.

Cupping her hands tight around the warmth of her mug, Eila meets C'sel's gaze with wide-eyed, thoughtful regard, a faint smile tracing her mouth. "Yes, you could say that." Since everyone else is drinking, too, the girl takes a draw at her klah, sets it back on table and her brows lift higher again. "Companionable," she echoes slowly. "With a weyrling?" Surprise. "Congratulations? I suppose. Congratulations on your companion," now, she chuckles, casting her gaze down at Leova's offerings. Taking it up with some skepticism, she sniffs it once or twice first before nibbling at the end, pulls a face over at the greenrider. "Ech!" Probably not jerky.

"Interesting," is his conclusion on Kelerith. Steady blue eyes switch focus to Leova, holding there for a time, but he doesn't say a /word/ about 'just weyrmated-to-a-former-weyrling-emphasis-on-former'. But /thimble/. That occupies C'sel for a good minute or two of just ... looking. Thimble. Finally, as if it needed beating over the head: "Former. Weyrling." Drink.

Sorry? Though Leova doesn't voice it out /loud/, just leaves it in her one-shouldered shrug, the teasing lift of her smile. She slouches more. Tips the cup back as though she's going to drink. Lets it lap against her lip instead, a dark mustache, short-lived thanks to the flick of her tongue. "Corvinth," she says, "Is the brown, one of them, who likes the Spindles. Eila. Except that Corvinth likes to tease." Unattended, yet not falling off either, the thimble clinks against the fired clay of her mug.

Eila squints at C'sel, eyes crinkling at the corners as they narrow slightly, but her close inspection only lasts for a moment longer and she shrugs too, leaning back and wriggling her shoulders experimentally against the fabric of her seat. "Right. Former." Glancing side-long over at the greenrider, she doesn't say anything, only chews on her lower lip. If she recognizes the description, it's with a few quick blinks, and then an idle sort of nod. Then, finally, because she can't work it out on her own: "Tease?"

"Corvinth does enjoy the spindles very much and --" small sigh, "is very much the teasing kind," C'sel confirms with a flicker of a smile across for Leova. He knows she's teasing. It's possible his deadpan response was some strange form of teasing back. "He -- instigates. Cajoles. Wheedles." Several words to describe his brown and C'sel's head tilts to the side a little. "Does your Kelerith enjoy the spindles as well?"

"Yes," Leova tells Eila as well, while by now a second thimble has joined the first, so they can clink together as she draws out the sibilant and in the distance, muffled conversation starts getting louder: a few returning wingriders who've had enough of just going out in their sweaters, getting cold again even if they don't admit it. "/Wheedling/. Not just lurking, trying to be ominous, anyhow. Should also point out: you're a former weyrling. So'm I. So's he, even. Most of us are, really, except /them/." The ones that don't make it that far. "Stupid man." But her eyes are cast down at her mug, not C'sel.

Lips puckered, Eila twitches her head in what might be an amused shake. "Kelerith... has climbed the spindles?" If that is any sort of response as to the question. "Though he doesn't, um. React well to wheedling. Makes him cranky sometimes." Not that that's really relevant, either, but Eila offers it up anyway, along with a lift of her chin as though in defense. But -- "That's true." For Leova. "But some of us have been longer former weyrlings than others." Another shrug, a heavy sigh into the mouth of her mug. "He wasn't," she mutters, petulantly. But she makes no move to leave -- stays, instead, for some time, or for so long as she can stand it, until it's back to the warmth of her weyr and the comfort of Kelerith for the rest of the night.

"Yes. Corvinth usually sits there," C'sel tells Eila. Clink. Clink. Thimbles. Eyes on Leova again. "We all take as much as we can bear," he says slowly, carefully, looks down into his glass and then knocks back most of the rest of its contents. He looks over at Eila for just a moment, but his only comment and a very soft one at that about his weyrmate is much more openness than Leova would be used to from him: "We love each other very much." He leans back in his chair then, glass still held in hand with the ice slowly melting away into what little whiskey remains to at times add a comment, though he becomes much quieter once the horde has returned.

"Remember when he," inserted right after cranky Kelerith, leads to a quieter, "Remember when..." that's not about Kelerith at all. Leova's altogether quiet then, just sliding a look C'sel's way at his very-much, until it's time to be boisterous: he gets that coat, she gets hers, no, not the wrong one. That one. Yes. When that's squared away, she settles back with the ones that are left, until they really can't stand it any longer. Or, for the greenrider, when a little girl's asleep. Whichever comes last.
</lj-cu>

Vignette: Snowdrift

2009-10-16T05:23:22Z

Who: C'sel, Corvinth
When: Early month 13
Where: Bowl, High Reaches Weyr
What: C'sel and Corvinth get a new wing.

She'd sat down next to him while he was enjoying his occasional single glass of whiskey out on the patio. He bore up against the cold so that he could sit in his favorite chair at his favorite table and enjoy the view out into the Bowl.

It always surprised him when people suddenly sat without asking at his table.

<< Oh come on. It's not so bad Cas. She's not bad looking either. >>

I have a weyrmate, Corvinth.

<< That doesn't /have/ to stop you. >>

Yes. It does.

<< Okay, boss. >>

Slowly, he looked up, slowly crossed gazes with Mielline's. He knew her in passing, but not particularly well. He also knew that his vacation time was up the moment he realized who was sitting next to him.

She just smiled and put the knot and badge on the table, told him the time for drills.

"He'll be great with us," she said with a nod up to the tallest spire where Corvinth lurked. "If you can keep him reined in."

The snort from Corvinth was audible all the way down on the ground.

<< Reined in. Reined in my /ass/. >>

Corvinth. Behave.

C'sel merely nodded and took up the knot, the badge. "Thank you very much. We will be there on time at the appointed hour," he assured his new wingleader.

Mielline smiled again and reached over to clap him lightly on the shoulder. He made himself not flinch. "See you then, wingrider," she said cheerily and got up to exit stage right.

<< I'll come get you. We can go show them. >>

Yes. Thank you, Corvinth.

And they did.

Log: There Was A Ring?

2009-10-08T00:31:35Z

Who: C'sel, Leova
When: Afternoon, 12/16/20
Where: Kitchen, High Reaches Weyr
What: Questions and answers and a little needling. Cas blushes.

Kitchen, High Reaches Weyr(#267RJs)
Polished marble and granite surfaces, gleaming metalwork and pale woods characterize the vaulted fastness of the kitchen. Several large hearths gape red-mouthed against the outer wall of the cavern, their fires almost always stoked for the constant cooking the Weyr requires to feed its denizens. Sinks line the wall to one side of the hearths, providing ample space to wash large quantities of dishes, while to the other, cabinetry and a deep pantry provide storage space for items commonly needed on a day-to-day basis.
The remaining wall space is taken up by passageways and extra seating: swinging doors that lead variously to the main living cavern, the inner caverns and the storage rooms, a counter-height pass-through for food service to the Snowasis, and a series of nooks equipped with tables and benches for quick, out-of-the-way meals any time of day.

Maybe it's not the right time to have been eating a meal, but after graduation, certain of Meara's assistants haven't paid much attention to a fixed schedule as they wrap up their duties and make everything shipshape for the next clutch. Settled into one of the kitchen's nooks, Leova's got herself an empty-but-for-crumbs plate in front of her, and expectant eyes on the entrance to the main cavern. Watching. Watching and watching until... someone walks in, and a moment later she flicks her gaze away, only to repeat with whoever it is that shows up next. Until... well. C'sel. This time, she looks back after all, and... why not? Lifts a hand: might just be a hello, might be an over-here.

Among those who've been going a bit schedule-less is C'sel, though he still gets up early in the morning. When he steps through into the kitchen, he's laden with a mug that steams, freshly filled it seems. The brownrider starts to move towards the counter, but is halted by Leova's wave and he returns it, then completes his path to the counter, has a quiet word with one of the assistant cooks who hands him a couple of meatrolls from one of the cooling trays and he heads over to the greenrider's table, sits down opposite. "Good afternoon, Leova."

Leova gives him a long, thoughtful look that curves up one corner of her mouth at the very end. "C'sel." She sorts some of the crumbs with a forefinger, says, "Make yourself at home." She hasn't entirely stopped looking towards the main cavern, but it's a far more subtle thing, an occasional glance here and there.

"Thank you," C'sel replies simply and breaks a roll in half, nudges the plate towards her a fraction. "Still hungry?" Brows up. He's more expressive these days, in small subtle ways, especially around those he's comfortable with, which apparenly includes her.

"Thanks," but it's with a slight shake of her head. Only, second thoughts appear to be the order of the day, for the greenrider reaches over to break off a piece too, only she just takes her third and more holds it than actually bites. "Quite a sevenday," she says after a moment more. "Any news on your end? Heard Kalisti's begged forgiveness. Again." But there's a lift of her shoulder, not-that-that's-news.

"Yes, it has been -- eventful," C'sel replies before taking a bite out of that meatroll and washes it down with klah. "I have to be honest, lost track of what transpires between Mai and Kalisti," he notes in a very even voice and falls silent, like he's considering something, blue eyes on her face. "Corvinth has made a deal with Isforaith to help him catch Jeibeth in exchange for assistance with the same." Pause. "With Laurienth."

"Has he." Amber eyes regard him with the faintest shadow of lashes, and then of brows as her chin tilts back to rest on her fists. The bit of roll dangles from the pinch of her thumbs. "Now, why would he do a thing like that?"

A nod, first. "Because Isforaith fancies Jeibeth," is C'sel's first answer, before he takes another bite from the meatroll and reaches for his klah again, drinks a few mouthfuls, then sets both mug and roll down. The brownrider's fingers lace together and he considers them fora moment, then looks back up at Leova. "And because Ebeny would prefer it if he caught Laurienth," he adds very softly.

Do her eyes roll, just at that first, just a little? Maybe it's just a trick of the light, or the way she looks past to check the entrance again as long as he's doing such things as eating and drinking instead of spilling. The beans. "Such a self-sacrificing dragon you have," Leova murmurs with a hint of that half-smile again. "Out of the... goodness of his heart."

"He and Corvinth have -- a friendship," C'sel remarks lowly, voice rasp-edged. "However, I would hesitate to associate 'self-sacrifcing' to Corvinth," the brownrider notes in a dry tone and his fingers squeeze together, breath drawn. "Laurienth -- is for himself too. They enjoy each other." A pause. "And for me." And is that a faint blush stealing into his cheeks?

"That's more like it," Leova says, rather dryly in her own right. For Corvinth? For C'sel's 'fessing up? There's a moment where she leaves it entirely open, might not even resume at all, except: "Should be interesting to see how /that/ goes down. If they succeed. If one does."

"I did not ask him to," C'sel says with a sudden knitting of brows and his eyes lift up to Leova's again, steady and sincere. "And -- I will confess to feeling some apprehension about their plans. I think I may need to work on Corvinth in this. Though he does -- intend only to help."

"Intentions... well." Leova lifts the other shoulder, finds herself more hunched than anything, lets it go. Bites into the roll, even. Once she's swallowed down that if nothing else, "So. You two moving in together? Babies? Heard something about a... /ring/."

"Yes. He requires guidance for his intentions," C'sel answers, voice returning to dry tones and takes a breath maybe like he'd say something else and then doesn't. He blushes outright instead and lifts one hand to rub at the back of his neck, looking just a little hunted. "No." Beat. "Not yet." Longer pause. "Yes. It was -- my grandmother's."

"Mmm." And then, like he needed to hear it, "You're blushing." And while she's at it, "Looked like you were going to say something? Else." Leova widens her smile, all encouragement. She even leaves the roll be, for the moment.

Which only makes him give her a /look/ and increases the color in his cheeks. "His intentions can be -- not dangerous but ... perhaps complicated," C'sel finally says of Corvinth, drops his hand again, fidgets his thumbs together.

Which gets the greenrider's smile even wider, a flash of it before she tightens her mouth to primness so that that humor can only lurk within her eyes. And, maybe, in her voice. "Sounds pretty well in character," Leova allows. "Though. Think he'd have a taste for Jeibeth in the first place?"

Lips compress for that teasing and C'sel looks away for a few moments. "He had a taste for anything if it's /green/," the brownrider notes with fond frustration in his voice. "There are some he has an especial connection with and then there's Fridonith."

"So there you go." Leova's smile has crept out of nowhere again, and she stuffs it back with another bite of roll and then, "Z'yi. Know if he has any idea?"

Silence from across the table, if only because C'sel has retreated into his mug of klah. "Some," is the brief answer.

"Can stop, hm, following up," Leova points out. "If you'd rather."

"I am -- unsure as to the extent that he was -- listening in or that Isforaith was sharing," C'sel elaborates a little, both hands cradling his mug lightly.

She's got a dry nod for that, and a, "Wouldn't be the first time a rider got surprised." Those amber eyes look briefly distant, but speculative rather than reflective, and in the end she lets it be.

"No, it would not," C'sel agrees quietly, observing that brief distance in her eyes then almost like he's remembering it's not polite to look too long, shifts his gaze deliberately more towards her shoulder and sips from his mug again, reaches for a meatroll to eat in a few healthy bites. "You and Vrianth are well? Enjoying the -- downtime?"

"We are that. Getting out." There's that speculative look again, only this time it's turned on him more directly, like nobody told /her/ about politeness. Until it's gone again. "Tell me about your grandmother?"

"So are we. It's good to -- stretch his wings," C'sel says slowly. That last question though lifts his gaze to hers, very directly and holds there for a moment while he finishes off that meatroll. After his mouth is well-cleared: "She did the laundry at Nabol. I only knew her a little when I was a child. My father's mother." A pause follows. "She was kind. But not very -- educated." His brows knit a little and he takes a breath before going on. "My grandfather gave her a set of jewelry for a wedding gift. Two months of pay from the guard at Nabol. As I understand it, he loved her very much. She always spoke highly an fondly of him."

"Nice to have that for a... precedent," Leova muses after a silent moment. Your other grandparents? Did they get along, like the two of them." She adds then, "Speaking of Vrianth: she's getting restless. But I'd like to hear."

"Yes," simply, soft-voiced and then C'sel's shoulders lift. "Fairly well. They -- were arranged by their parents," the brownrider continues the tale of two generations back in his family. "They still live not far from the main hold, though my mother's father probably does not have many winters left," he answers steadily.

Leova's got another of those nods: arrangements. Typical. "Hope he'll pass down his stories while he can, then." She straightens, brushes off her shirt, stands and takes her plate with her. The roll's gone by now, except for those few crumbs, left in a little pyramid on the plate's rim. "Good seeing you, C'sel. Good... luck."

"Yes," C'sel agrees about stories being passed down and he rises, nods politely. "Thank you, Leova. Likewise. Clear skies to you and to Vrianth."

Log: Two Stoics 'Talk'

2009-10-07T22:11:13Z

Who: C'sel, Z'yi, Corvinth, Isforaith
When: Afternoon, day 16, month 12, turn 20 of Interval 10.
Where: Living Cavern, High Reaches Weyr
What: C'sel and Z'yi 'converse' in the way of the stoic. Corvinth on the other hand, offers to be Isforaith's 'wingman' with Jeibeth when she rises.

Living Cavern, High Reaches Weyr(#350RJs)
Stalactites hang high above this enormous cavern like a jagged chandelier or an inversion of the Spires themselves, but shadows cling to them instead of light. Below lie great tables arranged in rows, each large enough to serve a fighting wing, while in the nooks and alcoves around the cavern's edge sit more sensibly-sized tables, from six- and eight-seaters down to intimate spots for just a couple of diners. The only really open space is around the kitchen entrance, smelling of food and rarely quiet, and by the nearby serving tables with their long buffet of the day's offerings.
Tapestries on the smooth walls -- some faded and others newly woven -- only slightly mute the sea of sound when a meal is in full swing, but they add cheerfulness augmented by the glowlight from wall sconces and the centerpieces of each table. Still, shadows always creep along the ceiling and into the mouths of the exits -- the myriad small hallways at one end of the cavern and, at the other, the twisting tunnel to the bowl near an array of coathooks and and hatracks -- and late at night, when the glows are allowed to dim, the chamber can seem very dark indeed.

"Ah, I see," C'sel replies with a faint flicker of a frown caught between his brows, but then it smooths out. "Corvinth tells me that Isforaith is enjoying being in his new wing. Is it the same for you?" Corvinth teases a little with a very pretty picture of Vrianth, followed by a switch to foreign Chielyth and then Laurienth. << Great flyers all three. And the mind on Vrianth ... >> that cawing sound might as well be a wolf-whistle.

"It's-- interesting," Z'yi states, oh so diplomatically. "Not anything like what I'm used to, but-- I think I'll like it," he states, a thoughtful tone to his voice. Then he's glancing upwards, and questioning, "You're to continue with the weyrlingmasters, then? Not going back out into the wings?" << Vrianth! >> /That/ one is one Isforaith can appreciate along with Corvinth, the sudden overwhelming sweetness of mead flooding the link. << She's fun. >> Someday, Isforaith will grow out of his overgrown puppy stage and actually be a wisecracking smartass. Someday.

A nod acknowledges 'interesting'. "Time helps with getting used to things," C'sel says quietly then shakes his head. "We are all being given a little down time before rejoining the wings. But it will come in time." Sibilant and soft this time, Corvinth breathes her name into the ether between dragons: << Vrianth. >> Brash again: << She's something all right. >> There's a little pause and then carefully with the slight pulse of orange hellfire: << Yyth ... >>

"Ah." Seems to make sense, that down time; the look on Isz's face seems to express that well enough. Silence suits him just fine, however, so his sips companionably, watching the individuals moving by. << Yyth can kiss my big blue ass, >> Isforaith retorts. << If she could find her way past her own to actually see it, the blind bitch, >> he grumbles. Not a fan of Yyth, apparently. << Jeibeth, >> he adds to the conversation, with a brilliant image of the green: he probably adds a bit more beauty to the already gorgeous green than she already has, as impossible as it sounds.

"Mm." C'sel adds to the not-quite-conversation. Two stoic men with klah. Few words. Corvinth's focus sharpens on Isforaith's words and a curl of fog is extended towards the blue's grumbling. << Yyth is dark and tricky. >> Something curls hungrily within Corvinth but perhaps a word from C'sel or some sense of self-control prevails and it's quelled. << Gorgeous, >> is Corvinth's assessment of Jeibeth. << Graceful. >> About her flying.

And yet somehow more rewarding than a meanlingless conversation, right? Z'yi doesn't mind sharing the silence, at least. Better than hearing some of his fellow clutchmates natter on about their new wing assignments. << She is. >> There's a certain amount of lust that chases Isforaith's words, a deep desire untapped, truly unrecognized: Raith's never chased. For Jeibeth? He would. << Beautiful and sweet, >> is almost-- wistfully added on.

Pretty much. C'sel's been making efforts to be social, but if it's not required to actually talk to be social, hey, all the better. Up goes his mug, banishing some of the cold look to him when it returns to the table stop. << We should get her for you, >> is what Corvinth decides. Apparently pushing things for his rider isn't the only pushing he's willing to do.

<< We? >> is echoed, a certain measure of uncertainty clear in Isforaith's tone. He's not used to having anyone on his side. Like. At all. Well, other than Isz. And honestly... Z'yi doesn't count, sometimes. Speaking of which, Z'yi's still sipping, getting close to that halfway point at his cup. When he does get there, he shuffles back to his feet. "Want a refill?" he questions the other, poised to head back towards the hearth.

<< Sure. >> Corvinth, generous. << Does she like you? >> A little sly, but it's a genuined question. C'sel drops his gaze to his mug, eyes the level, nods. "Thank you," and extends it after a last mouthful that brings it nearly to empty. "I am -- still unaccustomed to the colder weather."

<< I... think so? >> Isforaith isn't too sure about this whole vein of thought. << She's always nice to me. >> That must mean she likes him, right?! "Oh?" Z'yi questions mildly, taking the mug and moving over to the hearth to fill both. He returns C'sel's mug to him, and regains his seat. "I've never known anything but the cold," is thoughtfully stated in reply.

<< Well that's a start, >> is Corvinth's assessment. << Do you talk to her a lot? Take her flying sometimes? >> The brown on the other hand, is incredibly self-assured. C'sel looks up, nods. "I had gotten used to Igen," he explains. "Even if I am -- from Nabol." Blue eyes focus on the newly returned mug, then lift back across the way to Z'yi. "What did you think of the desert?" From that trip they all took.

<< Yeah, we talk often. She likes to meet me up on the Star Stones, >> Isforaith comments, wistfulness bleeding away to a flashback of vague memory, pulled from Z'yi's mind by the looks of it: Isforaith and Jeibeth up on the 'stones, cuddled next to eachother in the cold. A pretty picture, backlit by stars. "Ah. Igen, right," Z'yi states, as if remembering. He takes a sip, ruminates on an answer, then replies, carefully, "Hot. Dry. Uncomfortable, but not anything I wouldn't get over if need be, I imagine."

<< Good, good, that's great, good groundwork. Find out what she likes, where and how she likes to fly. Tuck her under your wing. >> Corvinth's voice sounds keen, so very keen. << Hold onto that pretty picture, friend. Remind her of it when she rises. I'll knock some of the others out of your way. >> Again with the brash. C'sel takes a breath, presses two fingers to his temple for a moment, then focuses on Z'yi again. "Ah. Not your thing, then," he notes with an understanding nod.

Z'yi is chuckling, then, suddenly. His mirth is rich, full-sounding: terribly amused. "I'm not sure how Isforaith would ever have developed without Corvinth's influence," he deadpans to C'sel after a moment, nodding briefly regarding deserts and his comfort zone. Raith, meanwhile, is enrapt with this thought. << You would? For me? >> Friendship kindles bright like a match lit in the darkness.

The chuckling and those words actually give C'sel the faintest hint of a pained look. "I ah -- ahem. They -- have an interesting ah. Relationship," the brownrider says a little discomfited. Corvinth meantime lets that match light up some of his darkness at least, shining softly off of hidden silver treasures. << Sure thing, friend. Won't play any tricks on you neither. Clear the air and it's fair and square. >>

<< Agreed. And I can help you, too! >> Probably moreso than Corvinth realizes, given-- again-- that while Isforaith hasn't exactly risen after greens yet, he probably would enjoy the hell out of himself trying to tackle other dragons out of the sky. Isforaith, running back for the High Reaches Brawlers! ... Flying back? Something like that, anyhow. "They're fine," Isz states after a minute or two. "Corvinth and Jeibeth are really the only two he opens up to. With Vrianth, they just-- play with bugs," he states with a vague wave of his hand. "And the rest of them he doesn't talk to."

<< Deal! >> Corvinth agrees readily. << With Laurienth, >> he adds craftily. Tit for tat on the Weyr's greens. The dark-winged and minded brown is very pleased with this arrangement and there's a sense of macho 'fist-knocking' offered with a curl of shadow made firm. C'sel listens, nods. "Corvinth -- is very sociable. He learns something about them all," he says quietly. "He enjoys challenges with Isforaith and Xadovith, however. I -- think that they helped him too. It's been a while since he's been so very engaged with a clutch."

"Well, that would make sense. Xadovith and Isforaith have a certain number of similarities-- which they probably share with Corvinth," Isz muses aloud. "Like calls to like, and all that." He falls into silence to consider this a bit longer. << With Laurienth? >> There's just a bit of incredulousness there: who'd ever want to tap /that/?-- and then it fades to predatory agreement. << Deal. >> This just gives Raith more reason to spruce up on 'specialty' flying! He's down. His fires reach out to firmly butt up against Corvinth's darkness in reciprocity of that sensed fist-bump.

"Yes. They do at that," C'sel says mildly enough. "Like to like," he confirms and joins the silence, still companionable as he leans back in his chair. It's a concession, a sign of trust that Corvinth offers up this particular pretty treasure in the shape of a silver ring. << For C'sel, >> he murmurs softly. << Deal. >> Confirmed again and with the mental equivalent of spitting in palms and shaking on it. From beneath the shadows, Corvinth's own banked fire flares to life and curls with Isforaith's.

A silver ring. It takes a minute for Isforaith to put it together: aaaaaaah. <> There's a beat. << That wasn't Yyth's. >> Ahem. << But no. The bastard says he wants to be alone. >> There's a roll of sarcastic humor at the end there, and a shared secret in return: << But he's lonely, when he's by himself. He just... doesn't admit it. >> Meanwhile, mister lonely is sipping his klah, still considering this whole 'like to like' thought.

Carefully, tenderly even, Corvinth tucks that away where it's safe again. << Yeah. Well. I'm just glad he's getting laid regularly. /Finally/. >> Blunt brown. << But I hope you guys get all settled up too. It's better this way. A lot better. >> Pleased. And then, sympathetic and again, that drawing near, comforting. << I'm sorry. Anything you can do to make him realize? >> C'sel is looking at his mug, considering things but maybe not like to like. "Perhaps you and Isforaith would like to fly with us sometime?" he offers after a moment.

<< I've been working on it, >> comes a rather determined reply to Corvinth's question. Oh, and has Isforaith been working at it! To C'sel, Isz gives a thoughtful look, then a nod. "Yes, sir. I think we would both like that very much." Something seems to click, then. "Ah, sh--" Word is cut off before it can be uttered. "Excuse me. I think I'm supposed to be at a wing meeting in... three minutes ago." Just as a wild guess. Isz nods, again, to C'sel, before rising to his feet and heading off towards the bowl. Back out to the cold!

<< Let me know if you want ... ideas, >> Corvinth says, smirky on that and then his thoughts retreat a little. "Of course," is C'sel's quiet answer. "Good luck with the meeting, Z'yi. And a good day to you and Isforaith." He rises with his newly empty mug and refills it but heads on through to the kitchen this time, perhaps intent on a snack.

Log: How It Works

2009-10-06T02:28:33Z

Who: C'sel, Ebeny
When: 12/8/20
Where: C'sel's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr
What: C'sel is a bundle of nerves the morning after Ebeny's tapped. With very good reason.

The evening before was eventful, the night partly interrupted and C'sel sleeps a little later than usual, though not much past the dawn that typically sees him up and out of bed and ready for duty. Though last night he showed no reservations about bringing Ebeny home with him, he pads about tidying up now, dressed in his pajamas for modesty. The thing is, there's not much to tidy, but it could be the brownrider is oddly nervous about having a woman in his weyr for the first time in his entire life.

Not really one accustomed to sleeping the morning away either, Ebeny doesn't seem to be able to stay asleep, no matter how she curls up or tries to vanish into one pillow. It's a battle lost and she knows it, yet she says nothing for a little while, simply observes padding about silently and without moving. Eventually however, words are required. The greenrider doesn't sit up or stretch, only stays as she is and quietly calls, "I think you're about as organized as you're going to get."

Words halt C'sel mid-step and he stops fussing with the angle of that tree branch in one of the alcoves. He takes a deep breath and steps back towards the bed with a rather ... deer-in-headlights expression though this softens to a smile as he nears, sits on the bed's edge. "I -- hope that it is ...," he gestures around, "comfortable for you." Throat cleared and then his hand drops seeks out hers wherever it lies.

Ebeny still doesn't move, an odd tension in the line of her shoulders for the few moments before he smiles and sits on the edge of the bed. "It is," she says softly, fingers lifting to thread through his. She watches him for a few seconds more; begins to sit up as she asks, "Are you alright?" The sheets are kept mostly still around her, one hand drawn up to hold them in place, maybe following his lead.

Fingers threaded seems to deal away with the rest of C'sel's nerves and Ebeny earns herself one of his rare, full smiles. "Yes, I am -- very happy," the brownrider says quietly, with a touch of color in his cheeks and he leans down, slowly, almost uncertainly to kiss her, by contrast with the very straightforward passion he's shown her before. It might almost be comical: all strictures lifted and /now/ he's restrained about this?

"Me too," Ebeny murmurs, yet the tension in her shoulders seeps back in and though she returns his kiss, his uncertainty has her drawing away reasonably soon. The hand holding the sheets uncurls from fabric and instead aims to settle just shy of his shoulder. "You don't have to humour me everything, you know. If it's not - If I'm not -," she begins, hesitant. "Are you sure?" The question and what exactly it addresses isn't entirely clear; it's quite possible she doesn't know what she means by it from her expression.

There's his smile again as he looks up at her for that answer and if anything, C'sel suddenly looks a good few turns younger, so very pleased, though his color is rising. She draws away and the pleased expression starts to fade away, replaced by a dented brow and confusion. "I -- do not understand," he tells her slowly, sincerely and his hand tightens in hers, blue eyes, intense as ever, searching her face.

"Me. You could... do better than me," Ebeny says slowly, struggling with the words. "You know I'm not organized. You know I say things without thinking. I mean-" She pauses again and stares back at him helplessly. "I don't know what I mean. I just... don't want you to think you're... stuck with me." Blushing, maybe for lack of eloquence, she looks down at their hands.

Blink. Blink. Blink. Of all the things she could have said, this is not at all what C'sel expected to hear and he sits very still for long moments, just breathing and looking at her with an increasingly befuddled and almost sad expression. His fingers work their way free of hers gently and he swallows hard, holds onto the leg of his pjs to hold them still as he reaches into his flannel pocket for something. Nervous. But determined. Of course, the nerves mean that the little wooden box gets stuck half in, half out of that pocket and he has to tug a little harder, nearly drops it, fumbles the box into both hands and looks down at it for a moment. "Ebeny -- I want to be ... stuck ... with you," the brownrider says quietly and opens the box, draws out a ring that is neither particularly elegant, nor new. It's silver band and fitting are a little dinged up though they've been meticulously polished and the small, semi-precious stone caught within the setting's tines is clear of any grime. Square cut it's a simple thing, the only touches of prettiness the deep violet color and the curlicues graven into the band's sides. "This was a part of a set that belonged to my grandmother. My brothers have the ah - earrings, bracelet and necklace. I was given the ring. If I ever -- chose to marry." He stops there, lips pressed together and he looks up at Ebeny, seeks out her eyes, maybe hoping she'll help him out with this.

His fingers untwined from hers and Ebeny retreats just a fraction, arms caught around drawn-up knees and eyes attempting to catch his. For a second or two, she tries to find something further to say, obviously struggles and instead remains silent, watching him with an expression tinged with enough confusion to match his own. His words effectively end any effort to find something - anything - to say, at least immediately, and even though she remains still, her eyes betray her, guilt, concern, embarrassment there to be seen before such emotions are banished. There are still no words from her for a little while, one hand reaching out to rest against his cheek, maybe the contact meant to make up for continued lack of eloquence, for when she does speak, it's, "You want to be with me," softly, voice barely there.

Her touch tilts C'sel's cheek into that hand and he swallows again, nods a few times, short, jerky motions and his brow wrinkles again a sort of helpless little 'yes' implied in his gaze before he speaks. "I -- yes. If we were not riders, I would ask you to marry me. But we -- are riders and I -- I failed to ah, ask anyone. How this is done." More throat clearing and swallowing. And then another nod. "I would like to be with you," he finally settles on, confirmation and request both at the same time, with that little box still held between them curled in his palm with it's humble token of love and affection still twinkling faintly in the low light that filters through the open blue door along with a drafty current of cold air.

Ebeny dips her head a little and smiles faintly, the moment of laughter caught up in her smile no stronger than her voice. "I don't know how it's done either," she admits, looking back up at him, eyes focused on his. "None of my immediate family are married or have weyrmates." She takes a breath in, thumb smoothing an idle path back and forth against his cheek. "But I think the general convention involves giving an answer." Another smile tugs gently at her lips. "So... yes, I would like to be with you too."

"Oh well I --" C'sel starts, stops and his head turns, trying to plant a kiss against that hand of hers there. Her answer though, just cracks his face it does, nothing expressionless about him now and it might be charming just how innocently overjoyed he looks as he takes her hand from his cheek and tries to be solemn about it as he fumbles the ring out of the box and onto her finger. It might be either a little loose or a little too tight, apparently he did not get it re-sized. "Good. Good. Very good," he breathes out and then just sits there, looking at her with the silliest happy look on his face.

The ring turns out to be a little too loose, but certainly in no danger of going anywhere or ending up lost, secure as Ebeny's hand sneaks out after his, to try and capture his fingers again. "Promise me you'll do that more often," she says gently, other hand lifting to trace one finger down the line of his jaw, the greenrider seemingly transfixed by that happy look. "Smile like that." Then she's inching closer, trying to close distance without sending sheets into absolute disarray.

C'sel colors again at that request, but C'sel looks up and nods once, then leans forward to meet her halfway, kissing her /properly/ this time, in the way she's gotten used to from him. And even if she was trying not to send the sheets off into disarray, they're getting disarrayed, because the brownrider is at least taking decisiveness back into his hands and pulling them out of the way so he can join her in the bed again. Poor little wooden box. It goes tumbling to the floor, forgotten and empty with a dull little thunk. C'sel pays absolutely no mind though. He has a weyrmate to kiss and make very very intensely tender love to.

Vignette: In the Night

2009-10-05T05:52:56Z

Who: C'sel, Ebeny
When: Night, day 7, month 12, turn 20 of the 10th Interval
Where: Someone's weyr. Not sure whose. High Reaches Weyr
What: After graduation. Mushy.

Three months.

They'd waited three months and C'sel had resisted every temptation but for the night of Vrianth's flight.

Now, leaving the party, his fingers curled around Ebeny's warmly and he smiled at her openly in the dark. With dragons reached, his hand slipped from hers only slowly and ultimately, he kissed her, right there in the bowl, long and slow and luxurious after so much waiting.

The short ride up left Corvinth snuggling up happily with Laurienth, his darkly shadowed thoughts zinging with little happy sparks that lit up the silver treasures hidden in the deepest recesses of his mind.

In the weyr, C'sel kissed her again, just like he had that very first time with so much, so much declared in it that still had yet to be said in words. Instead, he said it with touch and curled up close afterwards, drowsy and content, with his fingers threaded through hers again.

Sometime in the night, after she'd woken him for more intimate closeness, he finally spoke the words he hadn't yet, let them fly into the darkness and hang between them, hopefully.

Three words.

Log: Tappings

2009-10-05T04:02:17Z

Who: Ajatha, B'tal, C'sel, Ebeny, Ezalea, K'del, K'ndro, Milani, P'ax
When: Evening, day 7, month 12, turn 20 of Interval 10.
Where: Living Cavern, High Reaches Weyr
What: K'del has an announcement about Crom and land. Weyrlings are tapped into wings. A lot of celebrating going on. Cas and Ebeny slip out quietly together.

Living Cavern, High Reaches Weyr(#350RJs)
Stalactites hang high above this enormous cavern like a jagged chandelier or an inversion of the Spires themselves, but shadows cling to them instead of light. Below lie great tables arranged in rows, each large enough to serve a fighting wing, while in the nooks and alcoves around the cavern's edge sit more sensibly-sized tables, from six- and eight-seaters down to intimate spots for just a couple of diners. The only really open space is around the kitchen entrance, smelling of food and rarely quiet, and by the nearby serving tables with their long buffet of the day's offerings.
Tapestries on the smooth walls -- some faded and others newly woven -- only slightly mute the sea of sound when a meal is in full swing, but they add cheerfulness augmented by the glowlight from wall sconces and the centerpieces of each table. Still, shadows always creep along the ceiling and into the mouths of the exits -- the myriad small hallways at one end of the cavern and, at the other, the twisting tunnel to the bowl near an array of coathooks and and hatracks -- and late at night, when the glows are allowed to dim, the chamber can seem very dark indeed.

The caverns staff have spent much of the afternoon preparing for this evening's celebration. A light dinner was on offer earlier, designed for the weyr's younger residents, and those uninterested in the party; now, the living caverns are resplendent, decorated in dark blues and blacks, with accents of silver, from drapes hung along the walls and ceilings to flower arrangements that decorate each table. The servers have already started to emerge from the kitchens, bearing trays laden with bite-sized treats, while the buffet tables are set up in preparation for later, more substantial food.

Triumphant in expression, and dressed carefully in black and pale blue, his hair flattened with water and a comb, K'del emerges from the bowl in the company of B'sil; the older bronzerider shares a few more thoughts with the younger, then tips his head sharply, and turns away. That leaves the Weyrleader to shake his head, still looking pleased, and wander on through the crowds, not so much looking for someone as, perhaps, looking for everyone: "Does look lovely, doesn't it?" "Mm, of course, we're very proud of all of them." And so on.

Probably a lot of people are only here for the food. P'ax is here to heckle the unfortunate ones who end up in Avalanche. The bored expression painted on his face is justifyable in this light, even if he does gravitate towards the handful of weyrlings he's close to before the actual ceremony gets under way. Ignore the boring packages tucked under one arm, those aren't for them.

Well turned out but not in anything spectacular, in one of his more conservative shirts with Idrozti stylings -- if Trader styling can ever be called conservative -- and charcoal trousers, and the pair of boots with the least scuff marks having recently seen a brush and oiling, would be K'ndro. Perhaps intentionally avoiding the Weyr's colours, the shirt a dark forest green. For anyone who actually knows the large weyrling, it probably won't be surprising that he doesn't look entirely comfortable with all the glitzy decorations. He's accompanied by an older woman a full foot shorter, iron grey hair cropped short at her jawline, the knot of a bluerider upon her shoulder and limping along with the aid of a cane. Lucky him, Mikaela's actually come out of hibernation.

Dressed with at least a splash of color more than usual, though still typically conservative, C'sel heads down to the festivities in blue and brown. Yep. Really colorful. The typically stoic weyrlingmaster's assistant is no different today except maybe for a faint underlying current of ... tension? Excitement? Either way, he does pause to relieve a server of a bite-sized something and turns in time to catch K'del passing. "Weyrleader," he says simply, politely, inclines his head.

"C'sel," says K'del, with a smile that seems genuine enough, and not just passing formality. "Congratulations-- getting them all through safely, and all. Good job." If he has noticed the underlying current, whatever it is, he makes no note of it; instead, "Got plans, what to do with yourself now that your duties are over? Aside from joining another wing, of course." For the moment, his attention remains wholly upon the brownrider.

There's nothing particularly noteworthy about B'tal. His clothes are clean, some of his nicer ones but definitely nothing overly fancy. He doesn't seem to be with anyone in particular but there is a point where he's caught to talk to a blonde that looks very much like an older version of his sister. His mother, Tamaris. She fusses over the way he's done his hair, straightens out his collar and licks her thumb to rub away some non-existent mark on his cheek. "Mom, I'm fine. Stop." Embarrassed but not very firm with his protests.

It's not often that Ebeny seems shy when faced with a crowd of people, but this evening she looks quite uncertain as she weaves her across the cavern, gaze fixed more on her feet than where she's going. Every so often, she looks up and glances around, as if expecting someone to tell her she doesn't belong or to point in her the direction she should be going, seeing as she appears to have no particular destination in mind. As she apologizes for accidentally clipping the shoulder of a young woman considerably shorter than her, she stops long enough to focus properly on her surroundings and offers over a quiet, "Good evening, K'ndro," when she spots him, "Ma'am," added for his companion a moment later.

Ezalea has spent a goodly portion of her afternoon in the living cavern - time well spent observing the adornment of the grand cavern, lending a hand here or there where needed, browsing through the lighter morsels and delicacies. Now, her hair wrapped in a scarf so that it's high off her neck, braving a skirt for all the fading warmth of the season, the weyrwoman has taken up in a position where she might mark the comings and going of the evening. "Weyrleader," she notes with a nod as K'del passes by, and for the passing weyrlings: "And congratulations."

P'ax could go bother B'tal with his mother, or K'del and C'sel. Both options come with delightful awkwardness, but one particularly more so. It's there that he heads. "I suppose I can't call you Weyrling anymore, can I?" he says when he reaches the smaller greenrider's side, nodding to the blond woman. "Ma'am."

"Thank you, sir," C'sel remarks in his measured. "I can hardly claim all credit. They -- worked hard as did all of the weyrlingmaster's staff," the brownrider says and perhaps to mask the gap in conversation, takes a bite out of his hors d'oeuvre. He then gets an odd expression on his face and looks down at the item in question and his brows knit faintly. He chews hastily, swallows. "I -- look forward to a little bit of time off, beyond new duties," he states finally.

It's probably not a weyrling event without an argument between Mai and Kalisti, that famously mercurial weyrling couple - but it's brief enough, the two greenriders stalking off in different directions entirely rather than cause an outright scene. Kalisti confers with Urda, who puts an arm around her, and leads her off into a corner for a good chat.

"Ebeny," K'ndro returns with a thread of relief under the name, "good evening. I uh, don't think you've met Mikaela? Blue Xiloth's. My mother." Order of importance. The older woman scans the younger with something a bit milder than scorn, "Not the one Xadovith was encouraging you to--" "Ma! Go sit down, or something." Please. Cackling, not caring about appearing rude, Mikaela stumps off after whacking her son's shin with her cane and making him wince. "I'm sorry, Ebeny," the bronzeling sighs. "Excited?"

"Junior Weyrwoman," K'del greeted Ezalea with, as he passed. "Ezalea. You're allowed to go enjoy yourself, you know." But his conversation, for now, is with C'sel - not so far away. His smile grows amused in the wake of C'sel's remarks, his head shaking; "Course they did, all of them. You all deserve your congratulations, every one of you." He accepts a glass from a passing tray, sniffing it carefully the once with an expression that verges upon disappointed. Not, then, what he thought it was. But; "Time off! Of course. It's my intention that all of you weyrlingmasters will wait a few sevens before joining wings, to do any last minute packing up Meara has in mind, but also, to get a break. Hope that'll be sufficient."

Over by the kitchens, the headwoman confers with one of the cooks, nods and gestures around to some of the tables, beams a bright smile and then slips into the crowd to offer up congratulations to a pair of weyrlings who just came in all clean and pressed. Milani's laughter carries a little ways and she nods, pats shoulders, then steps away again as she spots an assistant gesturing to her and goes to take care of whatever that's all about.

Ezalea's passage is met with another polite nod from C'sel and a simple echoing of her name, before he addresses K'del again. "I mean to speak with the weyrlingmaster about a seven away from the Weyr," he adds more quietly and his eyes fix on that tray of drinks and his hand sneaks out to collect a glass as well with thanks offered to the server. Several sips from the glass follow and he doesn't take another bite from the tidbit on his plate.

"You probably can if you really want to," B'tal returns, turning to look at P'ax with an awkward sort of smile. "Tamaris, my mother," he introduces the blonde woman, who smiles and cuts in when B'tal starts to introduce the other young man: "I know who this one is." Back to her son she says, "You have fun, dearheart. I'm going to go look for your sister. You have your-- Yes, there it is." She smiles at the small bit of chain visible from one pocket. His precious pocketwatch.

"I-" Haven't. Am pleased to meet you. Something. Whatever she means to say, Ebeny doesn't finish, doesn't return the look in kind and waits for the exchange of words between mother and son to be over before so much as daring to look K'ndro in the eye again. "Don't worry," she quietly assures. "It's alright. ...Though do I want to know what Xadovith was...?" Maybe it's a genuine question, maybe it's not, but she smiles anyway. "Sort of. Excited. Keep expecting someone to announce it's all a joke or something. Or that I'm going to wake up in five seconds. You?"

P'ax lifts an eyebrow at B'tal, his eyes on his mother as she beats it, but only after he's murmured a polite 'Wonderful to meet you' to her before she can get too far. One of the packages under his arm is selected, probably because it has Bety's name scrawled across the top in his precise handwriting. "Congratulations, B'tal," he offers sincerely while he's holding it out.

Pouting Mai, now abandoned by her girlfriend (ex-girlfriend?) wanders relatively aimlessly through the crowds until she's waylaid by her blueriding mother. The poor woman is the recipient of quite the torrent of tears; "Mai! Sweetheart. You're supposed to be celebrating. worry about Kalisti /later/."

K'ndro coughs lightly, going a bit squinty as he tries not to chase his mother's retreating form with a glower. Lifting his hand to scrub over his hair and inadvertently turning the careful combing into a mess of random spikes, "Ah, nothin' important. Just... Xado bein' Xado." Which is a maybe-not-answer for the maybe-not-question. He does lift his chin a little, questing about after a familiar-sounding laugh, but returns his attention swiftly back to Ebeny when he fails to locate the source. "Pretty much th'same," he admits. "Nervous about where we're all gonna end up. Got a wing you're hopin' for?" And with a vague hand gesture, "Care for a drink? Somethin' to eat?"

B'tal watches his mother wander off for a moment, not looking as though he wants her to go just yet. But then he's turning more directly to P'ax and he eyes the package just as awkwardly. "Thanks," he says for the congratulations. "You didn't have to," he says for the package even as he reaches to take it and eyes the others. "What is it?"

A group of male weyrlings, young V'nian included, celebrate with whiskey shots that leave a couple of them looking a little green already. Meara's glance in their direction as she passes draws immediately straightened shoulders, their glasses set down. "Perhaps," she suggests, coolly. "We'll wait until /after/ the ceremony to forget who we are and what we're here for, hmm?"

"I've no doubt she'll approve such a request," says K'del, quickly, though a sharp upraising of his brows illustrates his surprise. He takes a hasty sip of his drink, using the time it takes to do that, and swallow it (without more than a twitch of displeasure at the taste) to come up with something else to say. "Imagine you've earned the break. Well--" beat. "If you'll excuse me? Reckon it's just about time to get the formalities over with."

A quirk of a smile, a tip of her head: Ezalea acknowledges K'del's words with a soft chuckle and, "yes, thank you. I shall. C'sel," in response, before Leah straightens and twitches at her blouse. Schooling her expression into something polite, pleased, she sweeps into the crowd. An attempt to waylay Milani is with a light touch aimed at her arm, her fingers hovering only inches above the Headwoman's sleeve. "May I say the decorations are lovely, Headwoman."

P'ax offers B'tal a lazy smile, a very knowing smile and gives him the up and down in the least subtle way ever. "Oh, just something in case you're planning to spend much time at the lake this winter," drawls the greenrider, unable to contain his smirk. He knows he's a bastard, he has absolutely no apology for it. "You can open it later. I think this thing's about to get under way." He nods towards where K'del is breaking away from his conversation.

There's no real warning when a certain blond comes up from the outside, though when she makes her addition to the crowd, it's with one more than usual. Clean and near -perfect- in appearance, Ajatha even has her hair all (mostly) unbeaded and flowy, as much as it could be. Save one braid out by her temple that's braided into a rainbow-bead-studded magnificence. But as mentioned, she's not alone. Walking arm in arm with her is a dark-haired woman with the blackest eyes that could ever be seen, of the same-ish height, but with such an energy about her. And a bluerider knot and Southern Weyr colors. Mama's come to town. Chatting animatedly, Jathi takes in the scene and exchanges a word over to her mother and parts, going over that way to settle on in beside K'ndro and Ebeny. "Hey."

"I'm sure that a reasonable request would not fall on deaf ears," C'sel replies without much in the way of inflection then inclines his head to the Weyrleader. "Of course. Good luck," the brownrider offers sincerely and steps slightly to the side as K'del makes his excuses to start the formal part of the proceedings.

Audria slips in from the inner caverns. Her hair is wet, and pulled back into a tight braid. She pauses near the edge, watching. Her eyes move towards the food for a second, checking it out. But whatever her part was in creating that, it's apparently over.

Milani turns after dealing with the latest harried question and beams at Ezalea. "Oh thank you, I'll be sure to let the staff know. They had such lovely ideas," the headwoman says enthusiastically. "Make sure you try some of the little mushroom caps with the pepper stuffing. They're really really good!"

Ebeny accepts that answer without seeking further information, a nod of her head and a smile edged with amusement her only response to it. "I don't really mind. Nowhere I really want, but nowhere I'd hate to be either. Do you have a preference?" About to reply concerning food or drink, instead she takes a step back when Ajatha appears, greeting her with a wave rather unnecessary at close range. "Evening, Ajatha."

"Please do," Ezalea bids Milani with a gentle bob of her head, and then she's moving off again into the crowd: there are people to see, congratulations to make, and almost most importantly, little mushroom caps with pepper stuffing!

B'tal blushes. He can't help it. And there's a quick glance around for any nearby presence of a certain bronzerider. But when he doesn't see him, he nods again to P'ax and says, "Thanks." He looks like he might say more, still grinning, then he gives his head a small shake and turns away for now, sticking the package under his arm, for things getting under way.

K'del manages one more warm smile for C'sel before he detaches himself, collects his Weyrwoman, and then makes his way to the front of the room. There's a low murmur that marks the commencement, well before the bell is rung for silence - and the young Weyrleader takes a step forward. "Thank you all for coming," he begins, his smile bright. "We're here tonight to mark the occasion of our weyrlings taking that step from being in training to being full High Reaches riders. We're enormously proud of them."

Please forgive the expression on K'ndro's face when Ajatha appears. He missed the entrance, so the momentary look of being happily stunned doesn't get hidden very well. "You let your hair out." Hi. Well, except for that one braid, and he lifts a hand to aim a playful flick of one finger at it. A couple blinks and he's returned to normal, though his smile finally makes an appearance. "Not Hailstorm--" he starts to reply to Ebeny, but anything further is cut off when that bell rings. With a very slight squaring of shoulders, his attention shifts entirely to K'del.

P'ax spots Ajatha just a moment after B'tal turns but has no time to go congratulate her when K'del's getting things under way. He exhales and shifts his weight, getting a better grasp on the packages left and settles in for the ceremony.

Hiding in the corner is just Audria's style. Or maybe it's just staying out of the way. As K'del starts to speak, Audria leans against an empty chair, turning her eyes up to him, listening. She'll hunt down familiar faces later.

"Yep. I let my hair out," Ajatha agrees with a lazy grin up at the too-tall bronzerider. "Think I'll try this for a little while. Be more serious, y'know?" Or, so she's going to try. After all, knowing Ajatha.. There's a bell? She stops when she might have said something else and turns her eyes up toward K'del with a little lift of her chin to see what the younger man has to say.

Another nod of his head and C'sel discreetly disposes of his bite-sized bit of food, 'hides' behind his drink, listens attentively to what K'del has to say. Various murmurs in the crowd die off and amongst them, Milani comes to a halt, turns with hands folded demurely in front of her to listen as well.

K'del's speech is-- predictable. The Weyr is proud, the Weyr looks forward to seeing where their futures take them, and so on. Thankfully, it doesn't go on for too long. Finally, with a glance back at Tiriana, then one that takes in the entire assembled group, "The-- no longer weyrlings, the new riders! Will be tapped into their wings starting from tonight, by their new Wingleaders. Their Weyrlingmasters will also be joining wings, but not for a few sevens, yet, to give them a much needed break. Congratulations, everyone." It might seem like a nice end, but from the way K'del stands, he's not quite finished, yet, though he waits for the cheers that have broken out from a small group of former-weyrlings to die down first.

B'tal is making no moves tonight to get all clingy with W'chek, though he does seek him out enough to look in that direction during K'del's speech. The greenrider claps rather than joins any of the cheering that goes up but soon enough his attention is quite focused on the Weyrleader again.

Ebeny listens without making any quiet remarks and without smiling, though she does fidget a couple of times, once to tug an imaginary crease from her dress. There's no cheering from her either, but she does eventually manage a smile when she looks to be not concentrating quite so much.

K'ndro at least, doesn't cheer, and he tries to keep an expression of polite interest on his face for the duration of the speech. But when that part is finally over, assuming they allow it, he's got an arm each for Ebeny and Ajatha, a brief squeeze of shoulders and a low, "Good luck t'you both, I hope you end up somewhere you'll be happy with." If he's looking for any other face in the crowd, someone who -should- be standing with them, if the world were as it should be, he does so discreetly.

"While we're all here, there's just two more things I'd like to mention," says K'del, eventually. "The first is that I'd like to officially - publicly - welcome Ezalea, to the Reaches. We're not sure at this point how long she'll be staying with us, but we're very glad to have her. And, for the curious, all reports suggest Lujayn is enjoying herself at Igen, too." He takes a moment to pause then, to take a sip from his drink, and then, finally, "Finally, I have an announcement to make. And that is that..." Pause. Breath. Smile. "After a period of negotiation, Lord Crom and I have signed a deal for some land. Come spring, we will be clearing, planting, and growing some of our /own/ food, leaving us less dependent upon the tithes we will continue to enjoy."

Ajatha also seems to be looking for a certain back of a head, but whether she has found them or not remains to be seen, quietly doing so while the others cheered. K'ndro curling his arm over has the subtle gaze flicking over his way and her hand looping up around his waist for a quick, friendly squeeze. "You too." And that over to Ebeny as well as Mik. Her attention jerks back up toward K'del at the renewel of his announcements, lifting her brows.

There's an instant murmur of surprise - and, in some quarters - horror, at this particular announcement from K'del. He what? They what? With CROM? "Riders aren't /farmers/," says someone, loud enough to be heard across the room, though not seen. "We're supposed to trust /him/?" It's not all negative, but the negative is definitely louder.

Bore, snooze, P'ax isn't here for K'del's speech, pretty as the Weyrleader is up there giving it. He lets his gaze wander around, accounting for everyone he'd hoped to see. He meets K'del's announcement with a raised eyebrow and looks around again, this time for something to drink. He even leaves B'tal for a moment to find it. If there's going to be yelling - and it sort of looks like there will be yelling - he needs something to hide behind.

C'sel applauds lightly when the speech calls for it and the news about Crom doesn't seem to draw any reaction at all beyond a long slug from his glass. Milani looks ... unsurprised but her teeth catch at her lip before she turns away to signal some of the staff to bring out more food, re-load trays and get the drinks circulating all the more.

Echoed, "You too, both of you," quietly to K'ndro and Ajatha, a light touch to the former's shoulder and then the latter's arm, if they land. Words are accompanied by a stronger smile that fades too late for it to be at the announcement and more likely to do with the murmurings rippling through the crowd. "...That's not good..." Ebeny says softly, her focus not on K'del, but on the reaction of the people assembled.

K'ndro's reaction? The same as it was for the speech. A carefully held expression of polite interest. Whatever he may know, whatever rumours or gossip he's picked up thanks to his mother being a long-term Reaches rider, he's keeping any opinions to himself. "Gonna be trouble, that's for sure," he agrees quietly with Ebeny. His mother is far more vocal over with the pack of cronies she's found to sit with, and amongst those grumbling about dragonriders not being farmers, though Mikaela will wisely keep her insults about children being allowed to run things held to a very low voice for certain ears only.

K'del looks, in the wake of his announcement, a little bit like a little boy lost, and uses that moment to back away, effectively - if not terribly excitingly - indicating that that really is the end of the speech. He and Tiriana predictably part company entirely now that the formalities are over, and after a few quiet drinks, the bronzerider returns to the floor to mingle, his smile perhaps a little less brilliant, but still securely in place. "Disaster," he murmurs to Milani as he passes, but it's accompanied by a little shrug: it's to be expected, then.

B'tal doesn't have much to say on his own in the wake of that announcement. This is B'tal. His opinions don't generally get beyond a rather limited group of people. When it's definitely over, the greenrider goes to find himself a drink. He'll probably grab a few of those before he disappears.

P'ax blows out a breath when K'del steps down and he finds some juice instead of wistfully ogling the wine. He stands for a moment drinking his juice and picks his way back to B'tal. "Well, now that that's over." Cheerful.

Ajatha really has nothing to say to the topic, though she drops her head with a little shake and a murmur to Ben and Mik. "Trouble, and then some." Jathi's mother Rajazad's found herself at a seat with a 'Reaches bronze and brownrider near the same band of cronies, though she certainly can't be so old as to be called a crony. Her brows are furrowed as the bluerider listens, though being a rider from another Weyr altogether, she says nothing at all. Out loud. She is, however, speaking to the older men riders.

Audria makes her way over to get a drink after shaking her head as K'del finishes. She doesn't comment on it though, instead just securing a cup of juice before she moves out in the crowd. She hesitates for a moment before turning towards B'tal. "Congratulations." She says simply when she gets close enough.

Briefly, the headwoman's hand reaches to touch down lightly at K'del's forearm and she gives him an encouraging smile before getting drawn away by Giorda who's all a-flutter and flapping her hands about /Crom/, Crom? Of all things. C'sel meanwhile finishes off his drink and sets the glass down somewhere then starts to thread his way purposefully through the crowd. K'ndro's not hard to spot after all and that's where he's heading.

K'del's gaze follows Milani's path towards Giorda, and he has to bite back a laugh despite what must no doubt be the frustration of it all. But his head shakes, and he turns back towards the crowd, seeking through for what looks like someone in particular. His hand slides quietly into his pocket as, dogging around a few people, he ultimately approaches Ebeny. Beat. "Greenrider, congratulations."

What can one really do after all that? "So... food, drinks? I can at least be useful and clear a path for you two." This remark coming from K'ndro with a cheerful enough smile for Ajatha and Ebeny. "Oh, and if one of you spots G'chet in this mess, I should make sure to speak to him." Except... this group is getting converged on? "Sir," an aside for K'del when the Weyrleader shows up to speak with Ebeny, only polite and proper to acknowledge the boy after all. Then he's giving a look towards Ajatha. Shall they stay or shall they go? He'll spot C'sel eventually. He's just a mite too distracted right this second.

"I don't think I want to be here when the proper arguments break out..." Ebeny utters, maybe not meant to have been said aloud at all. Her gaze skims the crowd and from how her sharply her eyes move, it's pretty obvious that she's trying to ignore any conflict, ramblings or loud assurances that someone-or-other will not be having anything to do with such an endeavour. "I'm going to..." Not try and escape any arguing, since K'del is right there and it takes her a moment or two to summon, "Thank you, sir," from somewhere, eyes gone wide.

"Now that that's over," B'tal repeats, after taking a long drink of his whatever he found to drink. Audria earns a bright smile from the greenrider and he gestures to P'ax, "Thanks. You two have met, right?" He's not sure, obviously. He couldn't be.

P'ax manuevers so that he can set a hand against the small of B'tal's back briefly and gives Audria a grin. "We have," he replies to Bety and dips his head to the woman. "Hello again, Audria."

Audria nods her head with a quick smile to each of them, and a quick double take at P'ax's hand on B'tal's back. "Hello. Yes, we've met. Once he didn't even run off." She states with another quick grin before she looks around. "Are you excited to be graduated?"

"Riders, congratulations," C'sel says simply to K'ndro and his companions, nods to K'del politely, but for a fraction of a second his gaze lingers on Ebeny before it jumps away. "I'll look forward to congratulating you again when your wings are known." His head tilts towards K'del again though. "That was a very interesting -- announcement." Pause. "I -- assume that those who know how to ... grow things will be needed?"

Ajatha's been watching the crowd for the last few minutes, but when K'del comes up to snag Ebeny from right under their noses, she can really only nod her head toward K'del in greeting. Catching K'andro's glance, she shifts to the side with a little nod, clearly guessing his meaning. "C'mon. You owe me a drink. Oh, C'sel, hello, thank you." So, her drink aborted, she nudges Mik in the arm. After all, she did notice.

K'del adds, a moment later; "And to you, Bronzerider-- and Brownrider." It's obvious, though, that the greeting towards K'ndro is an afterthought, though the Weyrleader's attention hesitates on Ajatha for a moment longer. His eyes light briefly at C'sel's comments on his approach, wry amusement visible. "'Interesting' may not cover it, I'm afraid. But yes... you're right." But rather than continue on that train of though, he lifts a finger to note 'one moment', and turns back to Ebeny, drawing out from his pocket a knot and a wing patch, both of which are offered out to her, flat in his palm. "Want to fly with Avalanche?" Half the room might be aiming daggers at the Weyrleader with their eyes, but the graduation? The graduation must go on.

"Very excited," B'tal says, all smiles and no protest to the hand at his back. "Jeibeth is, too. It's nice to finally have that over with." At least tonight it's nice. Tomorrow might be a different story. "I should maybe get back to her soon. She's been kind of antsy."

P'ax winks at Audria. "And I'm /not/ running away this time, either, but I do have more gifts to deliver." A pointed look is given to B'tal and his own package. "I'll catch you both in a bit." Turning away from then he takes himself into the crowd to hunt down the rest of his graduating friends.

"Thank you, sir," is K'ndro's reply to C'sel when he lifts his attention at that nudge, and while polite, there's also real warmth in his voice for the elder man. He really, really does not mind being an afterthought as far as the Weyrleader's concerned, barely even registering the younger's tacked on greeting. He's happier keeping his attention on brownriders. "Hope this doesn't mean we ain't gonna have reason t'speak much. Your knowledge of maps is better than mine." A bit of humour touches his eyes for that last. Then, with a grin for Jathi, and a small wink, "I'll go fetch you something darlin'. Can't have you beatin' me up again." So, it's become a joke.

Ebeny might have been quite aware of the people eyeing daggers and the less than pleasant murmurings here and there, yet she seems not to be in the moment that she sets eyes on knot and wing patch. Again, her response isn't immediate, isn't really any kind of nicely-worded or formal, but then that might not really be expected of her. "I'd love to, thank you, sir," she replies with a ridiculously bright smile for K'del as she reaches for items offered. "We'll do our best, Laurienth and I." Her voice is quiet, but the smile is still there and just won't be smothered.

"Ah, perhaps not," C'sel answers the Weyrleader thoughtfully and nods for the upheld finger, takes a little step back to address K'ndro, gives Ajatha a polite nod. "No, of course not, we may still speak at length about -- maps. Or other matters," he says with a lowering of his chin that is followed by a sudden intensity of focus on the Weyrleader offering Ebeny that knot. As the greenrider accepts badge and knot both, suddenly, the brownrider just /smiles/. Just like that. Out of the blue. Riiight.

Poor K'del. He's so abused with all those glares. Ajatha's also watching him, though it's more for the hesitant glance that lingers her way. And before that can dissipate, she's lifted her brows enough with a grin shot Ebeny's way and now mocks a little clap of congratulations where Ben can see from over there, though it's not too very loud. "Congrats, Ben." C'sel and K'ndro gain her attention, though the latter gets a grin at the joking mention. "Don't even go there. I'd prefer to forget that." What fight? Never happened. She doesn't mind being politely ignored, and even nods back toward the others. "Think I'm going to get that drink myself. Let you have a bit to yourself to talk. Want anything?"

"Know you will," K'del tells Ebeny, smile matching hers; at least in this, he's allowed to be unreservedly pleased, no politics allowed. "You've got tomorrow off, but the day after, you'll start drilling with us. Eighth hour of the morning; we'll work out your exact schedule after that. We drill hard, but--" Beat. Rueful smile. "Try to make it interesting, I hope. Welcome to Avalanche, Greenrider." But Ajatha is not entirely being politely ignored, and now that this particular badge and knot has ben handed over, the Weyrleader turns his attention towards her, sliding past C'sel once more with a head bob of 'just one more minute' so that he can say, "Ajatha? Just a moment, before you go. Got something for you, too, if you want it?" Because there's another badge and knot, and these ones get offered to the female brownrider.

Audria smiles over to B'tal. "Tell her that I said congratulations." Audria states before she nods to P'ax. "Have a good non-running-away night." And Audria, well, she'll just slip off into the kitchens, make sure that they don't need her help again.

If Jathi's heading off to collect her own drink well, K'ndro's still gonna be going to. Belated, but there is a dimple-revealing grin to Ebeny when she's actually accepted that knot. Except. Except. After dropping a polite nod to C'sel that probably is going to be missed now that his girlfriend is on-limits, the big-n-bulky bronzerider had turned away. Only to turn back again at hearing his friend so addressed. Wait, what?

"Thanks, P'ax," B'tal says again, beaming a smile after the other greenrider and gesturing the package slightly to let him know that he'll open it as soon as he has a moment of quiet. "I'll definitely let her know. Have a good night, Audria." B'tal starts making his way out, pausing only to hug his sister and his mother.

Smile still in residence, it could look like Ebeny's not really concentrating, but the nod of her head every so often and the repeat of, "Thank you, sir," before Ajatha is addressed signals that the greenrider really is paying attention. She doesn't look unsettled by news of how drills will turn out to be and smiles instead of answering her clutchmate's congratulations verbally, not wanting to interrupt. A grin for K'ndro as she steps back and a /look/ over shoulders at C'sel, before she turns in a half circle or so and laughs, looking like she doesn't quite know what to do now. There's just more delighted laughter, quieted before it can get out of hand.

Before Ajatha can really get more than a half-step back away from the little group with her K'ndro shadow, she hears her name being called to stay, so she turns back to peer up at the younger Weyrleader. And it's a peer, as if that'd been a possibility that she's not considered. Well! Her pale eyes consider him and those about her for a long moment - but her lips curl upwards, of course. No long dissertation of course, but she's not hesitating. She's letting suspense build. "Yes, sir, certainly." As if there really was a no in her mind. That's not likely!

That look of Ebeny's is returned with a steady one by C'sel and as K'del steps over to Ajatha, the brownrider closes the distance between them, comes to stand beside the freshly tapped greenrider. He doesn't say anything, just smiles again, then turns to observe the passing out of another knot and badge. "Congratulations once more," the brownrider offers over to Ajatha with another one of his little nods.

The consideration K'del gets from Ajatha draws a hesitance to the bronzerider's face, as though he's almost anticipating being turned down. Her response, in the end, draws a brighter smile - relief, perhaps? Pleasure? It's so hard to know. "Wonderful. Like I told Ebeny... take tomorrow off, and we'll start drilling the day after. Glad to have you. Enjoy the party, go get your drink." This duty done, the young Weyrleader lets out a sigh of relief, contented, and turns back around, glancing at Ebeny, then at C'sel, and then noting, "Nice to see /some/ people excited about things, instead of plotting ways to depose me."

K'ndro looks at Jathi, and only Jathi, while she allows that suspense to build. He knows her too well to bother getting anxious, knowing she'll answer K'del in her own good time. So when her affirmative comes, he actually laughs instead of just grins, shaking his head at her as he reaches out to touch her shoulder lightly, and possibly twine a lock of her hair through his fingers while he's at it. "/Now/ I'm getting that drink," is all he says, still just for her, before he turns and finally -- finally! -- manages to escape.

"Congratulations, Ajatha," Ebeny calls, brightness of her laughter now woven through her voice too. When she looks back to K'del, she's suddenly all out of words as well as unable to banish the smile from her features. She glances between the Weyrleader and C'sel a few times, perhaps hoping one of them will say something further before she has to find something sensible to reply with. "It's just the shock. They'll see reason sooner or later," is all she can summon.
After finishing up his good byes for now with his mother and sister, B'tal is heading out of the living cavern to deal with the antsy dragon waiting for him in the bowl out there. She can't be left out of the celebrations, after all.

Only so much of an escape, though, for K'ndro, because approaching through the crowd is F'rint, his path altering to match that of the bronzerider's now that he's left the group he was with. "Come sit with us, when you're done with them?" he invites, offering knot and wing badge. "And take these to make it official. Welcome to Glacier." 'Us' must mean the group of Glacier wingriders, sitting together - a close wing, that one.

"It's a good night," is what C'sel says, conservatively about all the badges and knots getting handed out and it takes a moment or two but finally, /finally/, he dares to slide an inconspicuous arm around Ebeny's waist. Humor curls up the corners of his mouth as he spots F'rint welcoming K'ndro and he nods in that direction. "There is much to celebrate this evening," he says mildly.

"Sure will. Thanks, Weyrleader," Ajatha tips the words up at him with a radiant grin shifting up toward him also. Well, a day off isn't something to shake a stick at either. "Thank you." To Bel. And whoever else congratulates her too. The grin shifts and grows a good deal innocent as she flicks it over at K'ndro, touching his arm in return. "Hey, still owe me one, you know." So she's hot on his tail. Or will be when he goes off to get that drink." And only when F'rint comes up his way, does she twitch her nose to try to stifle laughter. Yes, turning to get her drink. And one for K'ndro as well.

Really, can't a man fetch an ale around here!? Though at least F'rint isn't someone K'ndro's actively seeking to avoid proximity with. Which turns out to be a good thing, all things considered. His initial "Sir?" slips out before the knot and badge appear. And once they do, if he looks mildly surprised, at least he doesn't look disappointed? "Aye, sir. Thank you, sir." What a relief he doesn't have to spend a day or more worrying anymore over where he's going to end up.

Whatever K'ndro looks - and even if it had been disappointed - F'rint doesn't seem too much to mind. He claps the bronzerider on the back, gives him a sharp bob of the head, then says, "We'll see you in drills the day after tomorrow, then, lad. And at the table, any time you like." This news passed on, the brownrider turns and heads straight back for his table.

K'del hesitates, and then laughs, at Ebeny's assessment of the situation. "Hope you're right," he tells her, honestly. "Really, honestly, do." He can't, surely, have missed the way C'sel's arm drapes around the greenrider, but aside from the smile that was already there to begin with, anyway, he doesn't reference it; instead, "Right, lots to celebrate. Graduations, tappings... the Crom stuff /is/ good, even if people don't like it. Good for the weyr." It's a lame kind of thing to say, and awkwardly, he adds, "Suppose I should keep on mingling. Have a lovely night, you two."

Finally, and even so, Ebeny freezes for a fraction of a second like she can't quite believe C'sel has just done what he has. Clearly she wasn't expecting it and she doesn't have the presence of mind, nor the will to stop herself from tipping her head back against his shoulder. "Let them calm down. Nobody says anything sensible when they're angry," she says quietly to K'del. "And you too, sir."

"I trust that it will be, sir," C'sel tells the young Weyrleader, voice as measured as always though it's entirely possible that he just tucked his arm that much further around Ebeny. "If there are any plans for planting trees, do let me know," he says quietly. "I -- have some experience myself in such matters and my father would likely be pleased to help." As the Weyrleader makes his excuses he inclines his head politely. "Certainly. Do enjoy your evening, Weyrleader."

K'del, stretching, pauses as Ebeny speaks, and finally nods; and then again, as C'sel adds in his own comment. "No doubt you're both right, thank you. C'sel-- I appreciate the offer, truly. We've got a lot to learn, and a lot to figure out, before spring. Good night to you both." And there's a final smile, a warm one, shared between the pair of them, before the Weyrleader goes back to mingling, and perhaps, if he's very lucky, depositing another wing badge somewhere. Or perhaps not.

Ajatha's gotten the long sought after drink and has been lingering over there against the table. But eventually she moves back over toward the table of a Southern contingent that has appeared. Rather, she does that for a while, but after a while, she snags her mother's arm and is ambling outside. That way.

A nod for K'del, a faint 'goodnight', then Ebeny turns to C'sel and reaches to set her hands gently on his shoulders. "Do you want to stay?" she asks quietly, nodding at present surroundings; the people murmuring not so quietly and the celebrating going on in small pockets around the room.

Another little nod is given to K'del and C'sel's attention is drawn down to Ebeny, a smile slowly growing on his face as her hands reach so and his head ducks a little. "No," he says simply. "I have given my regards as necessary," the brownrider continues gravely, eyes right on hers now, speaking volumes that don't make it out in words.

Ebeny might be forgiven for how quickly she says, "Good," soft laughter following right after that one word. One hand slides down his arm to find his, fingers threaded together, eyes never leaving his until she absolutely has to look away and lead off through the crowd, out into the night.

There might be a surprised look or two, some whispers behind hands as C'sel's fingers lace through Ebeny's in turn and he's led through the crowd and out into the night. The brownrider though, isn't paying any attention whatsoever. He's got much more engaging things to pay attention to. Much.

Log: Secret Ilumination

2009-10-01T04:46:40Z

Who: C'sel, Ebeny, Corvinth, Laurienth
When: Night, 11/14/20
Where: Bowl/Ebeny's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr
What: C'sel asks Ebeny for a favor after Corvinth wins Yyth.

It's well into the evening when Corvinth's thoughts, still bleeding dark shadows and dull orange fire, smoke and silver blending, reach out to Laurienth. << Hey lovely, C'sel would like to talk to *Ebeny*. He's down in the Bowl, near the lake. I think he could use a hug, >> the brown notes with a touch of sly cleverness before he leaves behind a silky caress from a coil of fog and retreats back to the hot darkness that lurks just outside his thoughts. C'sel does indeed wait down in the Bowl, near the lake but not at the shore itself, leaning against a rock and looking out towards chilly moonlit water, hands in pockets, shoulders hunched against the cold breeze. It's hard to see in the low light, but Ebeny might pick up on the slight tension in him.

Watching the goings-on in the pens for what seems to be no other reason than to observe, Laurienth's focus goes from herdbeasts to the bowl, to locate Ebeny, C'sel, who knows? << I... will tell her, >> she responds to Corvinth, electric blue crackling in that pause between words, not precisely a promise made that she'll say anything at all. And yet she must, since her rider appears a few minutes later, crossing the bowl with long strides. Ebeny doesn't speak when she finds C'sel at first, only stops beside him and follows his gaze to the water. Unsurprisingly, the silence doesn't last and she glances across at him with a slight tilt of her head. "Are you alright?" Soft, it's a question this time.

<< Thanks, Laurienth, >> is offered up in cavalier thanks before Corvinth is just -- absorbed. C'sel doesn't move at first, but after a moment, he pushes away from the rock and reaches for the greenrider's hand. "I'll live," he remarks softly, voice rasp-edged and falls silent again for the space of a few breaths. Finally his head turns and his gaze settles on her face, taking in the difference of features by moonlight with much shadow over the broad light of day. "I --" he starts, stops, clears his throat. He starts again, quieter still. "May I -- stay tonight?"

Ebeny curls her fingers comfortably between C'sel's, grip tighter following his initial response, no concern voiced, just that pressure that's not fast to ease. In the wake of that question, her other hand begins to stray towards him, seemingly aimed to brush against his jaw. But darkness does not make people invisible and the touch doesn't land, drawn back slowly. "Anytime," she murmurs, eyes searching his in the dark.

He's holding onto some kind of control it seems, from the tension in that jaw she doesn't touch. C'sel's gaze intensifies on hers and he nods once, swallows again. "It was -- intense," he says finally, voice very low. "Moreso than usual." Pause. Long moment of silence. "We -- hurt each other." Confessional. Soft.

She must try to find words, from the shallow breath taken in and the quiet sound that could be a single syllable or a soft exclamation of worry. Ebeny lets the noise fade into silence and instead sends green eyes roaming over the brownrider, like she might be able to see through clothing to damage done. "Come home with me," is all she says in the end, voice gentle. It's not far for Laurienth to pace to find them; not long in the air to her ledge. Not that many steps for riders from ledge to weyr.

There's nothing visible outside of clothing to find, even that torn sleeve is hidden under his jacket. There's a lessening of tension in C'sel though at that offer and he only nods once, says nothing else and follows to Laurienth, with a steady hand to green hide in thanks and aboard, only the light pressure of his palm against Ebeny's waist to betray anything. Inside C'sel removes his jacket, hangs it up in the entryway and pulls off his shoes, pads further inward on stocking feet. The left sleeve of his shirt hangs drunkenly from the shoulder seam at the top, flapping a little as he moves and there's faint traces of scratching across that shoulder, bruises starting to become visible just below.

Ebeny's jacket likely falls right back off its hook and her boots probably wind up separated from each other, yet she pays dismissed articles no mind and doesn't so much as glance back over her shoulder at them. Attention fixed entirely on C'sel - rather, the state of him - the tiny frown that dips her brows is gone by the time she reaches him, the ever so brief flicker of anger banished from her gaze too. She reaches with one hand to gently hook a finger in a gap between the buttons of his shirt, steps up on tiptoe a little to brush a kiss to one temple. "Let me?" she asks softly, fingers straying as if to start on buttons.

Caught breath follows that kiss to his temple. C'sel's eyes close and he nods for that request, one hand lifting to curve around her shoulder. "I have had numbweed put on. And a bath," he explains quietly, not fresh off the endgame of that flight. He takes another breath and opens his eyes, looks down at her. "Ebeny ... should I try to hold him back?" he asks suddenly, a dent appearing between his brows, slowly deepening.

The greenrider simply nods acknowledgement of his explanation, his hand at her shoulder easing away some of the tension that hikes it higher as she discovers scratches and bruising. Staring blankly just doesn't seem to be an option, however much she tries, an edge to her expression betraying something like anger again. Ebeny's voice doesn't match that at all, her, "Why?" quiet, curious whilst she goes about easing his shirt back over his shoulders, carefully down his arms and abandoning it to the floor.

Removing C'sel's shirt reveals a lot more minor injuries, the mark of teeth on skin plain to see, some deeper marks than others. His chest, the side of his neck and if she looks, his back are all scored with nail-marks as well, the worst a long gouge to one side of his spine. Blue eyes follow her gaze and he gives a minute shake of his head. "It was mutual, Ebeny," he says quietly. "I -- we bit them." Fingers flutter to the side of his neck where there's no mark on him, but P'ax will be sporting quite the giveaway for a few days. He swallows again and reaches for her, hand curving to cheek. "So you do not have to see this on me. Especially -- especially Yyth. He -- they --" he stops and his brows knit all the further, then suddenly he aims to pull her close, falls silent again, just holds on.

It's not that Ebeny sees, instead feels where those nail-marks and scratches across his back are, her fingers skimming lightly over his skin in an attempt to find some way to settle that might not cause hurt. "Mutual or not, doesn't mean I'm not allowed to be angry you're hurt," she says against his chest, low-voiced and with a heat he's probably never before heard from her. "But," she continues, exhaling slowly, "it's not me that you should worry about. If you can handle the results, then... that's that. I can't promise that you won't ever find me marked up after she rises." Her arms tighten around him as much as she dares to considering bruising, her words faint, whispered. "Hush. It's alright. It'll be alright."

Silence for a little, just accelerated breathing and the sound of his heart pounding against her ear and C'sel's cheek drops down to her hair. "I -- I know. I just thought, perhaps you might prefer if he did not chase so much." Pause. "Other than my own -- preferences, I have had little reason to rein him in," the brownrider notes in earnest tones, "until now." Her fingers earn a twitch or two, skin and muscle finally registering pain hours after the fact even if only dully. One of his hands lifts upward, curls lightly into her hair. "I stayed with him for a little while. We -- talked. But I -- I want to be with you." The words come out stumbling, fast-slow, vulnerable, but not uncertain.

"I /won't/ be the source of potential conflict between you," Ebeny declares vehemently, fingers curling for the fraction of a second before the motion registers with her. "And if I allowed myself to start getting upset over flights now, I might never stop," she murmurs, drawing back a little to press a kiss to his collarbone. "Just assume me to be as possessive as is sensible," might be a very weak attempt at a joke, paired with a ghost of a smile. Reaching up, she means to brush the knuckles of one hand lightly against his cheek. "...Will you call this another lapse of better judgement? Because I can't... can't..." Eyes close and she faintly admits, "I don't have much control left."

There's another faint wince from C'sel as fingers brush bruised, scratched skin. "Very well," he says quietly, looking down into her face, tilts his cheek into that touch. "I -- he takes over, very fully, during flights," the brownrider finally says in a low, almost urgent voice. "Should he catch Laurienth ..." he trails off an leaves the rest of the thought unexpressed. "I should go. We shouldn't. I -- only wanted to lie beside you. Hold you."

"I would rather he caught her, whatever it might mean," Ebeny replies, voice nearly not there. There's a note of protest from the back of her throat and then she's gazing up at him with intense focus. "You don't have to go. You shouldn't go," she says quietly. "Stay with me. I only... I didn't - don't - see it that way and I don't... see what's so wrong with just /being/. You're just stronger than me. And I'm sorry that I don't think before I speak."

"He's different with her," C'sel offers up as possible reassurance. "I don't think -- he won't ... I won't ... we won't ..." All stop. The brownrider looks down at her and he shakes his head. "There is nothing /wrong/ with it." The rasp in his voice is suddenly thicker, conviction threading his tone. His hand lifts out of her hair to cradle her cheek gently. "I --" he stops and looks down at her with something that smacks of helplessness in his eyes. "I just don't want there to be any questions, anything hanging over your reputation, or mine," he finally musters a bit awkwardly.

Ebeny can't look at him for a few long moments, though she tilts her head into the touch of his hand almost reflexively. "I know," she answers. "It's just more difficult than I anticipated. I... want. And I'm not accustomed to... /wanting/ like this," she confesses in a whisper, blush colouring her cheeks. "But that doesn't mean I should make it your problem. Especially not now. Not when you're..." One finger runs gently shy of a scratch, completing the thought for her.

C'sel's forehead drops towards hers, palm pressing that much more against her cheek as she blushes. "Neither am I," he murmurs in a low voice that's gotten thicker again, the rasp all the more audible. "I -- my principles. They are -- they're important to me. This is -- this is difficult," he agrees, "to be so -- torn." He clears his throat, curls his arm around her a little more tightly. "I could resign," he murmurs softly. "There is not so much need right now. The time is short."

"You can't resign," Ebeny tells him, dragging her 'this is not a discussion' voice from somewhere, for all that a tremor runs through it. "You won't resign." Her hands drift away from his back, wrists folded back to let her fingers curl into fists and close harmlessly. "And I don't want you looking back and thinking that you compromised what's important to you because of me." She exhales slowly and falls silent for a little while, still for the duration too. "...We should sleep," the greenrider says eventually, softly, her eyes closed.

"I have no particular duties .... there would be no harm in it," C'sel answers though he does bend, presses a kiss to her forehead gently. "You are important to me as well, Ebeny," he brownrider murmurs against her skin, hands moving to slowly travel down the length of her back. "Please do not think that I refuse out of -- lack of desire or caring."

"Yes, there would. Be harm in it," Ebeny murmurs. "It might make one thing right, but it would call a whole collection of others into question in the minds of others." Her hands uncurl from their fists and palms settle gently in the small of his back. "I know. I shouldn't be, though. I'm just some stupid woman who winds up getting people to dance in ridiculous places. A certain person, I should say." A flash of a tiny grin and green eyes open. "Come on. Sleep." She edges away just enough to allow her to pull her shirt over her head, which probably doesn't do the situation any favours even if it is done innocently. Maybe belatedly realizing that, she turns suddenly, apologizes again and reaches for the stray blanket at the end of her bed.

"Perhaps," C'sel concedes, not entirely convinced and those words, even with that grin rock his head back, blue eyes suddenly intense on hers. She edges away and he reaches for her again, hand to wrist this time as her shirt comes off, which means that when he tugs her to him, it's probably /really/ not helping the situation much, except that the expression he wears has very little to do with lust and almost verges on anger. "Please do not speak of yourself that way," he says in a low, intense voice. "You -- touch me. You -- allow me to see things in new ways. You --" he stops and there's another hard swallow right before he tilts his head down to kiss her the way he always kisses her, with enough oomph to make knees go weak.

The reach for that blanket results only in fingertips catching against it, a quiet exclamation from Ebeny as she's tugged against him and freezes with her gaze locked to his. She's silent throughout all he says, though from the set of her jaw it seems that she might argue, disagree or just utterly fails in finding an adequate response, maybe too stunned to do so. Yet there's no real time for a response, certainly no words, and the energy still simmering that would have gone towards a reply instead ends up pouring into her return of his kiss. No restraint, no hesitation, but at the very least she manages not to pull him closer to her still.

In the wake of that kiss, C'sel trembles but though his arms close around her tightly and his forehead drops against hers again, he makes no further move to take things to another level. "I am here, because I want too be with you. And because after -- after -- after them, you make me feel clean and whole again," he says low-voiced. "This. This between us. Is real. Is good. Is right. I don't want to think about what Yyth does to Corvinth anymore tonight. It is not necessarily bad," he echoes his words to P'ax earlier, "but it is very difficult for me to bear. It's like being -- harnessed to a dark star and pulled into it and I can't --" he breaks off and squeezes his eyes shut. "Please. Hold me."

Ebeny still tries to avoid scratches and bruises when she wraps her arms around him, though they're being paid increasingly less and less mind. As close as she can get, as much skin to skin contact as possible, she tilts her head and grazes a kiss to his jaw, another as she murmurs low, "Hush. It's alright," once more. "Don't think about it. It's not you. Not you," is spoken softly into the crook of his neck. With a glance back towards the bed, she makes no fuss of stepping out of her trousers, or of going gently after his in the moment after. A step back and it's her turn to tug him to her, after her, down into bed.

There's a quiet sight as her arms go around him and she pulls him close. Kisses him so. He doesn't fight anything else she does, and C'sel curls into the bed with her, face buried in her shoulder once they're both down. In a little while, he speaks again. "Thank you," down low.

Covers drawn up and tucked around them, Ebeny curls up against him, limbs tangled or wrapped snugly around him to maintain as much contact as she can. Her quiet reply isn't intelligible, just a quiet sound from the back of her throat as she sets one hand to running through his hair in a soothing rhythm. Eyes close and she dips her head towards his; settles down and allows her breathing to slow. She stays close throughout the night; wakes a few times before morning but makes no effort to disturb him unless he happens to be awake at the same moment.

Contact is not unwelcome and the soothing works like a charm. C'sel is soon asleep, breathing regular, with his arms and legs all wrapped up in hers until the natural motions of sleep carry them apart for a while. He gravitates back to her in the night off and on though and during one of those wakeful periods, he wakes as well and lifts her hand to his lips to press a kiss there, runs his fingers through her hair until /she/ settles again. Come morning, he's up early with it seems, restored equanimity. Dressed again, he leans down to kiss her good-bye and slips away to find Corvinth and his own ledge before most of the rest of the Weyr can notice where he spent the night.

Log: Secret Darkness

2009-09-30T01:43:23Z

Who: C'sel, P'ax
When: Evening, 11/14/20
Where: Guest Weyr, High Reaches Weyr
What: Corvinth wins Yyth. Awkward after for riders.

Guest Weyr, High Reaches Weyr
This broad ledge is dappled with bright light in the morning and commands a lovely view of the eastern end of the bowl, including the lake and the trees that dot the shoreline. Reached by a flight of stone steps that climb up from the bowl floor, the ledge is relatively low, an easy jump down to the ground; possibly its selection was a safety precaution, so anyone stumbling out the wrong way after a flight would be unlikely to break his or her neck. Within the weyr itself is a comfortably-sized dragon wallow, rarely used but swept clean nonetheless.
The cavern broadens as it stretches back away from the entrance to reveal a neatly made double-sized bed pushed up against the back wall, a press at its foot with an extra blanket folded on top of it and two chairs standing guard to either side of the hearth. A rectangular table lurks against the side wall, kept stocked with a pitcher of water and a basket of seasonal fruits. The weyr is well-lit and kept immaculately clean, the refreshing scents of citron-infused sweetsand mingling with the tang of herbs.

Shadows and blood. Blood and shadows. Trick after trick. And they pay off this time, Corvinth's dark wings reaching for Yyth to claim her, to wrap her in the secret darkness and murmur some of the secrets he holds within, bright silver treasures, tucked away in fog and shadow. He's been raked lightly and her talons grip, but he only cinches her more tightly to him and bites her neck lightly, his dark side brought to the fore with a wash of blazing orange hellfire seeping out through their shared darkness. C'sel was lost to it long ago and the expression on his face when the two twine is not one that anyone would think him capable of, unholy glee as he seizes P'ax and actions above are mirrored below. He warned the greenrider before that it wouldn't be gentle, and it's not. It also takes a while for the brownrider's awareness to slink back in beneath the burn of Corvinth's passion unleashed, but when it does, there's a harsh drawing in of breath and C'sel rolls away very suddenly, sitting at the bed's edge with his face buried in his hands.

Nobody could be more gleeful to have Corvinth clutching her so tightly than Yyth, hot and black and stiffling and as greedy to take his body as his mind for a time, the same way she's taken over P'ax. Which means, for a time, what happens there between them pleases him as much as she is pleased. It can't last, doesn't last, and by the time C'sel's rolled away, he's already back to himself, taking tiny gasps of air into his pounding lungs. It comes out after every flight, usually when he's presented with the other rider's back(and he often is), two words that are loaded with guilt. "I'm sorry." He shifts the sheets, untangles them from his ankles, and rather than try to go to C'sel, he reaches up to touch his neck curiously, drawing his fingers back just to see if he's bleeding.

Silence from the other side of the bed where C'sel is massaging his temples with both hands. There's a long scratch on his back that he'll probably be wincing about in a little while. But P'ax speaks and the brownrider's head lifts, turns, so his face is cast in dark profile. "So am I," he says quietly, voice rasping and falls silent again, for a moment or two. "Are you -- unhurt?"

P'ax decides it's just a bad bruise and lets out a sigh, his hand falling into his lap. "I'll live." Another line from his personal script, as fast and as toneless as it comes. "Are you? Corvinth...?" He slides gingerly from the edge of the bed and makes painstakingly slow progress to the first bit of clothing strewn on the floor nearest him, throwing each piece back towards the bed if he decides it is C'sel's and over his arm if he thinks its his.

"Likewise," C'sel says in the same vein and there's another one of those long silences the brownrider is prone to. "He -- is very pleased." Offered over lowly. "He -- wants me to stay," the brownrider says with an edge of reluctance in his voice. He turns as clothing hits the bed, slowly reaches for trousers and shakes them out. His.

That's not one P'ax usually gets. It throws off his routine a little so that he's left with a sock in his hand and casting wide for what might be an appropriate reply. "This is normally when I'd go drink, but the Weyrleader has revoked my, er, privledges at the Snowasis. Suppose I'm better off here as anywhere. If you want to stay..." He shrugs and lets the offer lay there dangling.

There's movement from the other side of the bed, C'sel rising and pulling his pants back on, buckling up his belt with fairly steady motions. Again it's over his shoulder that he speaks and it's only a single word, no reply to the question yet: "Why?" he asks one instead

This, also, off-book. This whole post-Flight talk thing is not really his strong suit so he's left looking at C'sel like he's lost his marbles. "Why?" he repeats dumbly, totally mystified. "Why what? Why won't the Snowasis serve me? Because K'del's under the impression that I'm drinking to cover up deeper problems." He doesn't mention his ill-thought-out induction into the polar bear club, it's irrelevent.

Again it takes a moment before C'sel speaks again, turning now to face the greenrider with the mussed bed between them. Almost without inflection comes another question: "Are you?" Simply. With that rasp still in his voice and very quiet. Blue eyes settle on the younger man with typically intense scrutiny.

P'ax stuffs one leg into his pants, quickly followed by the other, and hikes them up to his hips. "Yes." That's a short enough reply, delivered with no small measure of annoyance. Rather than look at the weyrlingmaster he sits back down on the edge of the bed, back to him in kind, and examines the texture of the wall.

A palm rubs at C'sel's still-bare chest, a mostly absent gesture while out there somewhere, Corvinth's shadows twine deeply with Yyth's blackness. "What -- troubles you, P'ax?" the brownrider asks quietly, gaze fixed to a point on P'ax's back, maybe finding more of the mutual damage they've unwittingly inflicted on each other while sunk deeply inside dragons' passion.

There's probably plenty of marks on the two of them, but that's to be expected, given everything. P'ax, though, is studying his hands fixedly after that question, like the lines in his palms hold the immediate answers he needs. "Lots of things, none of which anyone seems to consider a big deal. Therefor I must conclude they aren't a big deal and stop whining about them."

This is taken in by C'sel in ... you guessed it, silence. The brownrider bends after a moment to collect his shirt, shakes it out and starts to put it on, finds the sleeve half ripped out and pokes at the tear for a moment then finishes putting the garment on, tear and all, buttons it up like there's nothing wrong with the white linen. Then he pads around the bed on bare feet and sits down beside P'ax, not quite touching, the frame creaking a little under his weight. Softly: "Tell me."

P'ax probably thinks C'sel is getting up to leave when he feels his weight release off the other side of the bed, so it's natural that he'd look surprised when the other man joins him on his side. Again, another look at the weyrlingmaster like he's lost his marbles. With the sort of tone that he's really indulging him this time he says, "My parents hate me so much they didn't even tell me they were having another child. I can't hold down a man for the life of me, and I have this sadistic bitch in my head who thinks the best way to make me happy is to make herself happy." He taps a scratch down his bicept with a wilting look.

Silence again though C'sel actually reaches over to curl his hand around P'ax' upper arm and tilts that scratch so he can see it better. "We -- need numbweed," he decides after a moment and without further immediate comment, rises to go find the emergency pot that's stowed in a drawer over yonder, comes back with it and starts daubing the stuff on that scratch, sees the bite that, while it's not bleeding, does have some welts in it that indicate almost-broken skin and the brownrider treats that to a light coating of the ointment too. "Do you -- really think it's because they hate you?" C'sel asks, still in that quiet, rasp-edged voice that holds absolutely zero judgment and very little to betray any particular emotional reaction.

P'ax would probably protest the need for numbweed except C'sel is already up and getting it so he just falls silent again, folding his hands in his lap and looking sullen while C'sel numbs the worst of it. "Want me to get the scratches on your back?" he offers, extending his palm for the numbweed pot. Matter-of-factly he answers the question with another yes. "I may be a lot of things on the spectrum of stupid, but being called worthless, a failure, lazy, idiotic, unnatural, and all sorts of other things over sixteen turns sort of builds up a whole big picture of loathing."

"Please," C'sel says simply. "It is -- starting to sting." Of that scratch. P'ax might need to clean out under his fingernails pretty well later. The pot is passed over and the brownrider turns a little, apparently unconcerned about touch, appropriate or otherwise now he's got his faculties back an a pair of pants on. He waits while P'ax speaks, nods just once. "For what it is worth -- I am sorry, P'ax. That they are blind." There's not exactly warmth in his voice, but a softer edge to it, sincerity and C'sel's head tilts back over his shoulder a little, a gleam of blue eyes turned towards the younger man. "And -- I do not know if it can provide some consolation or not. But." Pause. Breath. "I have only recently found the -- wherewithal to share any sort of feeling with a woman at all. I -- do not know if she will ... stay."

P'ax takes the pot and makes a face when C'sel isn't looking about how deep that scratch is, a fleeting grimace of guilt as he smears numbweed on without the least bit of wandering hands or lingering touches, very clinical. "I'll live." That is the best motto against wounds physical or otherwise. He chuckles just a little at C'sel's admission, not cruelly but uncomfortably. "I'm not the person to really...bond about relationships with. I've never had one, not... a romantic one, at least. The last attempt at that sort of lead to a lot of this renewed misery." He considers the brownrider and sighs. "Who knew three weyrlings could wreak so much havoc?"

"Neither have I," C'sel offers up still in that same subdued tone of voice. He clears his throat and lifts a hand to the back of his neck, rubs there for a moment, drops it back down to his lap. "I -- had never been with anyone. Intimately. Outside of a flight or ah -- well. After Yyth's last." Breath out. "Until recently." His brows pull together a little and his head inclines. "Yes. It has been --" he breaks off there, shakes his head. "Puzzling."

P'ax tips his head. "You know, you're... a bit old to be a -- can you even count that as virginity? If it's not really your mind inside your body at the time." He doesn't know, so he lids the pot and sets it down on the bedside table. "You don't know the half of puzzling. W'chek still hasn't apologized to me for his last piece of bullshit, even."

"Thirty-four," C'sel provides absently and rubs at the back of his neck again. "And yes. A -- technical virgin," the brownrider says mildly like it's not really something he worries about much. "Corvinth -- has always been eager for that state to be ... corrected." And he turns, flicks a glance over at the greenrider. "What ... bullshit?"

P'ax's mouth curves in commiseration. "As the rider of a dragon who thinks the world would just be better if we all just ate and screwed, I can understand the frustration that might cause. Her hedonism can be wearing." He lifts his arms out behind him, arching his back until it gives a satisfying POP. "Oh. He asked me up to his Weyr to discuss...something that had happened between myself and B'tal. Basically arranged it so that he and I would be... well, compromised when he called B'tal up as well. It was more or less very humiliating."

"Yes," C'sel says with a nod about the wearyingness of hedonism and his eyes roll up a little towards the ceiling as if seeking out Corvinth and he makes a little face, kind of like beating a hasty retreat. One of his hands tightens in the fabric of his pants and he pushes to his feet, paces away a few steps, tension visible in his back. A long pause follows then he looks over at P'ax again. "He ... entrapped you? All of you? On purpose?"

P'ax stares after C'sel when he 'leaps up' and moves off. "No, I wouldn't say that at all. I think he just...wanted to have sex, and rather than seeing if we both wanted to from the outset he just.. took it upon himself to organize it. Which would have been fine if he hadn't gotten withdrawn and angsty at the end. And then have the gall to say I just wasn't 'him'...whoever the hell 'him' was."

One hand lifts to rub at the space between C'sel's brows and he listens again. "Ah. I -- hm. I am out of my depth with such things. It seems .... cruel though. Uncalled for." The brownrider's gaze gets lost in the middle distance. "I suppose this is why B'tal is so often miserable as well." He lingers there a few steps away, unmoving, then turns back, reaches down to retrieve his shirt again, abandoned while P'ax doctored his back.

P'ax waves C'sel's assumption off. "Bety isn't miserable because of anything Whit did, I'm sure. B'tal might be the only person W'chek /isn't/ an ass to." He fingers the sheets beside him, tugging them into some semblance of straightness. "Are you going?" he asks, seeing him go for his shirt again.

"Ah," C'sel says again as he fastens buttons and looks down at P'ax. "I -- could buy you a drink," the brownrider offers. "Corvinth is refusing to come down. I do not know when he will be ready. Perhaps if I go to the bar and ask for a small bottle ... we could ... share?" Brows lift a little.

P'ax chews his lip at the offer, some hint of desperation there but it's a testament to willpower that he doesn't leap immediately at a yes. Not much of one though because he begins carefully, "Only if you promise not to tell K'del."

"We will not get drunk," C'sel elaborates, with a drop of his chin and a look right at P'ax. "And the Weyrleader need not know. Flights ... are flights," the brownrider concludes and pulls his shoulders up straight. "I -- will be back presently." He casts about for his jacket, puts it on over his ripped shirt and then there's a moment to locate footwear too before he steps outside into the chilly bowl. He's not gone long. When he comes back, he has a bottle of whiskey and two glasses.

P'ax takes C'sel's little warning with a sigh and a nod. The time that he's gone is used to put his own clothing back in order. There's a button missing on his shirt, but it's the top one so it's not a big disaster at this point. He scoots himself back up against the pillows, taking one to put between his back and the headboard. He glances up when the brownrider returns, taking the whiskey in.

Silently, a glass is handed to P'ax. One of the chairs from the table is pulled over and C'sel sits there rather than on the bed. The bottle is a half-sized one, rather than full and he cracks the seal with expert enough hands, then holds it out to hover it over the greenrider's glass, pours a finger's worth of the stuff in, then fills his own glass similarly. Once the pouring is complete, the bottle is set down on the floor and C'sel solemnly holds his glass out towards P'ax. "Cheers," he says in his quiet way.

P'ax holds his glass steady while C'sel pours and then draws it towards his chest, holding it between both hands, looking into the amber liquid solemnly. Blinking to clear his brain he belatedly tips the glass in a salute. "Right, um, cheers."

A nod from C'sel is all the further acknowledgement there is, then the glass is lifted, sipped from slowly, swallowed without flinching though the brownrider's eyes close for a moment or two. "Your problems are not nothing," C'sel states after a moment, looking into his glass thoughtfully. "They are -- yours. Different things are difficult for different people." There's another pause and a deep breath. "I -- offer this advice with the caution that I do not know you well and may be -- wrong." Blue eyes lift to find P'ax' steady. "As regards your family, there is little that you can do to change the situation. You can let it weigh you down, or you can let it go. There is nothing to be done there, but to move on." Pause. Sip. Swallow. "As concerns your -- love life. I can only advise ... patience. And perhaps avoiding W'chek for a time." The glass is rolled between his two palms. "As concerns Yyth -- I am not sure how many boundaries you have worked out with her. It has taken me turns to work such out with Corvinth and things are far from perfect. However, I can sympathize with the difficulty of dealing with such a personality, even if his is not usually quite so dark as hers."

P'ax isn't a sipper, he just bolts the whiskey down in a single shot and stares into the glass again, letting C'sel's words flow over him in silence. "I know," he murmurs at last with a resigned sort of sigh. What he knows, he doesn't specify. "Yyth and I don't have very good borders," he adds in response to the last bit. "I know it makes me sound weak-willed, but that's probably because I am... I don't like shutting her out, except the basic seperations, you know? I like feeling with her and thinking with her."

The bolted drink is regarded for a long, quiet moment. "This -- is good stuff," C'sel notes mildly. "It's worth tasting it." But he lifts the bottle to give P'ax a little bit more. Not enough to get him plastered though, even with one more refill possibly. "It is not so much a matter of not sharing and not being close, but of having the rules clear," C'sel says about dragon bonds. "Corvinth and I are in nearly constant contact. But he knows for the most part, when and where he can push me and when not to." Beat. Sip. Breath. "Mostly."

P'ax gives C'sel an apologetic look and does his best to sip the second round at a more moderate pace. "She's okay after a flight. She's like the moons, the closer she is to full, the harder the tides. Or, well, the closer she gets to going up, the more she pushes. We're still new, you know, we'll work it out as time goes by."

"Mmm. He is usually ... distracted then. Very absorbed with his lady and as long as I have been able to separate I do not get pulled under by his continued attentions," the brownrider explains musingly, tilts his glass up again for another sip. "Only a few turns, yes, I remember," C'sel adds and smiles just a little at the greenrider. "You will get there. But I do recommend some boundary-setting on your part."

P'ax lifts an eyebrow, looking over his glass at C'sel. "Yyth isn't the kind to linger overlong. Is is...very distracting, then?" Another drink, this one kind of a gulp. "I am working on it."

Head cocked to the side, C'sel's mouth pulls just a little, wry. "They're still ---" he makes a vague gesture with his glass. "He's giving her puzzles and shadows," the brownrider adds drily then slides his gaze back across to P'ax, nods. "Yes. It takes some time for me to -- set things back in place after. When he's won." A pause. "Or when it is her." More softly and he looks down at the floor. "She brings out certain parts of him that others do not."

"I know," repeats P'ax, returning that wry look in kind. More drinking, a little sigh. Sourly he mumbles, "None of it good, I'm sure."

"Mm," C'sel echoes, joins in the more drinking part of things. He considers that mumble and after a moment, reaches across to set his hand to P'ax' shoulder, squeezes gently. "Other than that I regret hurting you, it is what it is, P'ax," the brownrider says softly, but earnestly. "He has always been -- cunning. She brings that out to a greater degree than any other he knows. He enjoys her -- lust. Revels in it." There goes his throat clearing again. "It is not necessarily -- bad."

P'ax reaches up awkwardly to pat the hand on his shoulder. "I'm used to it, I'm sorry I hurt you back though." He can accept the rest of it with a small nod of his head. "I think you've taken this business better than anyone else. Most times...they just leave when it's all done."

That hand stays put a moment longer then retreats and C'sel finishes off his whiskey. "Normally -- I probably would have too," the brownrider admits. "But -- you ... seemed to need the company," he says quietly. "T'bral always prefers it if I stay. Since Corvinth catches Fridonith so much, I do for them. But we have an understanding." Pause. "It is easier. When there is an understanding."

P'ax grunts in bitter amusement. "The 'I'm straight so don't bother' understanding?" He finishes off his glass as well and sets it aside. "I'm not really the type to ask unless I think it's going to be offered, anyway."

"I prefer to think of it as -- respect. For one another's preferences," C'sel says mildly and reaches down to fetch up the bottle, then across for P'ax' empty glass. "T'bral prefers to have -- company. Whether that involve intimacy or not. We are friends and I am happy to grant his preference as far as I am able, even if further ... contact, is outside the realm of what I feel comfortable with."

P'ax passes the glass back over and exhales, slumping down into the pillow. "Same thing, you just phrase it more nicely. I'm not really into the whole...pity thing, by the way. I'm not going to ask you to stay and I don't want you to just because you feel obligated somehow. I have friends who would take me back to my weyr if I asked."

"I do not pity you, nor do I feel obligated," C'sel replies promptly as he collects things. "But I do -- need to step out," he says simply. "Please excuse me and I hope you'll get a good rest tonight."

"Sure. Thanks for the drink," says P'ax, not bothering to get up or see the brownrider out. Instead he draws a knee up to his chest, hooking an arm around it, and leans his head back against the headboard. "Have a good night, man."

"You're welcome," C'sel says evenly about the drink, nods again and pushes up to his feet, glasses collected, bottle safely under arm. "Thank you. Good night, P'ax," the brownrider offers over sincerely and heads out to return the glasses to the Snowasis, keep the whiskey to take home and heads discreetly over to the baths to have a good wash before seeking out a very different greenrider for a quiet conversation of another stripe entirely.

Log: Not Wrong

2009-09-28T06:15:11Z

Who: C'sel, Ebeny
When: Afternoon, 11/14/20
Where: Diving Cliff, High Reaches Weyr
What: C'sel's got things on his mind when Ebeny comes to sit by him on the cliff. They talk about future expectations, including possible wing assignments and the difference between breaking rules and doing wrong.

Three days until this clutch of dragons reaches a turn old. Three days until tappings are likely to start happening, though celebration of the end of weyrlinghood is still about three weeks off. C'sel sits on the edge of the diving cliff, legs dangling over the void, dressed against the change in the weather that's brought chilly temperatures and early snows to the Reaches. The brownrider is quite still, hands resting atop his knees, blue eyes looking out across the lake, while Corvinth occupies his favorite spot atop the spires. It might be there were sweeps earlier, but right now there seems to just be quiet contemplation though a book lies closed beside the rider on the cliff's rocky surface.

Ebeny will probably never learn to be orderly and organized and not to scramble a pace or two wherever she's going, but the ability to drift through crowds without focus also gifts her with the skill of soft-stepped meandering. It's as she makes it to the ledge that she halts without feet scuffing rock or sending stray gravel scraping underfoot to make noise; just stands there for a little while and looks over at the brownrider at its edge. Three days until maybe she gets a wing. Long strides send her forward sooner rather than later and she folds down to sit beside C'sel, careful to avoid the book. "What are you doing up here?"

Lost in contemplation, with the lack of scuffing, Ebeny's arrival goes unremarked until she's sitting, speaking and C'sel looks up with a faint touch of surprise reflected in his eyes. He does smile though, more widely than he does for anyone else and one of his hands turns over atop his knee, tilts her way, on offer. "I am -- thinking," the brownrider says slowly. Silence. "About wings."

A smile and Ebeny reaches for his hand, slowly threads her fingers through his. "Wings," she echoes quietly. "You don't get any more choice than I do, do you? Or are there general ponderings being exchanged concerning which wings my class are going to end up in?" She glances down at her knees, tips forward to eye her boots unnecessarily. "I'm trying not to think about it."

Without comment, C'sel's fingers part, allow hers to slip between his, then tighten a little. "No, I do not, though a preference can always be stated," the brownrider says after a moment and moves his thumb slowly along the outside of her hand, head ducking forward a little. "A little of both. And --," he takes a breath, looks back up, tries to meet her gaze with his, "-- whether or not we will share one."

Ebeny shuffles a little bit closer so she doesn't have to reach out so much, then settles again, quiet for a moment and with her gaze fixed on their hands. Until she looks up and her eyes find his, that is. "What would you prefer?" she asks softly, likely addressing the last of his words. "...Do you think anyone realizes? That..." She doesn't elaborate and falls silent once more instead.

"I -- am not sure," C'sel answers that after a moment, reaches over to move the book out of the way. Looks like a collection of small, bound maps. With the volume moved, he scoots a little closer too. "Laurienth and Corvinth work well together. It ... could be helpful. If they were." He falls silent, looking up towards the spire where Corvinth lurks. "I would like to be able to -- make sure that we have... time," the brownrider says after a moment or two, quietly, slowly. For her last, he shakes his head. "No. I don't think so."

"Neither do I," Ebeny murmurs, adding her conclusion to the latter of her questions to his. "It could be helpful. As long as we could make sure they didn't set each other off." It's not quite a grin, but her lips do quirk to one side and betray her amusement at the thought, despite it being what they /shouldn't/ do. "And I've been told there's going to be lots of... time," she breathes out. Her fingers tighten and she makes a sound that could be the start of a word, yet isn't until her second attempt. "If - when - they find out... They could make it something it's not been. They'll probably delight in it."

"Yes. Finding a balance, would be best." C'sel's head moves in a sort of slow, sideways nod about the dragons. His hand turns a little beneath hers, turns her fingers upward so he can touch them lightly to his cheek. "I do not think that -- anyone will be particularly interested in making anything out of it." He looks her way again, some weight to his gaze. "Though it will be a relief to -- be out from under certain -- strictures."

"Some days I think they won't. Others, I think they will," Ebeny softly admits, her focus wandering between the slow path one finger grazes against his cheek and a study of his eyes. "People can make a story out of anything. That's one thing I've learned this turn." Another confession follows a slow breath out, an incredibly faint trace of humour flickering across her features and gone. "That's why I'm trying not to think about it. If I think too long, I might go a little bit crazy."

"I have faith," C'sel says softly in return about their dragons, his gaze steady on hers. The remark about stories and gossip dents his brow very faintly. "I -- suppose that that is true. However there is little reason. And we -- have given little reason /for/ it." There's an undercurrent of frustration in his voice and his fingers tighten around hers. "Three days," he speaks it aloud, in his quiet, measured way. "I cannot think it more than a seven or two beyond that." The tone of his voice has shifted, that undercurrent more intense somehow.

"You'll have to keep it for me for a little while," Ebeny murmurs. "Faith." The humour returns, harsh-edged and driven away even more quickly this time. "I'd really, really love to give a reason for it right now. But. Three days." How her words tumble out in a clipped manner unusual for her must be evidence in itself for some measure of control being exerted. "...Or more," she reluctantly adds in a whisper, forced out and her eyes suddenly pressed shut.

C'sel's hand tightens again and he says quietly: "Then I shall." That harsh edge takes him a little aback and his brows tilt inward, forehead wrinkling at the tumble of words, the clipped manner of speech. "Ebeny ..." he starts, stops, perplexity and compassion both caught in his eyes.

"I'm okay," Ebeny says quietly, eyes blinking open after a long moment of stillness. "You know you have to humour me my moments of insanity, right?" she continues through a ripple of laughter. Quick to apologise as always, it can't be surprising that, "I'm sorry," are the next words from her, her voice mostly back to normal.

"When have I not?" C'sel murmurs an answer to that, then releases her hand, slides his arm around her gently. "Just a few more days," he says again, a touch of firmness in his tone. "And then there will be no more need for secrets."

"You are very good at that, you know," Ebeny replies with something more like a proper smile, likely meaning his humouring of her. "I know. It's just sometimes it feels like lying and I'm terrible at lying and I hate it and-" Deep breath. She edges closer and rests her head against his shoulder. "At least I'm not suggesting we jump off this ledge again," she jokes.

C'sel's arm tightens a little and he smiles, though he's looking out across the lake, not down at her leaning into his shoulder. "It is a little -- cold. For jumping," he says quite seriously, though there might be a hint of dry humor in his voice. C'sel falls silent though, that stillness to him again that seems to indicate thinking, finally he lets out a breath, nods once. "There is one lie," he says finally, voice low, raspy. "Just one. That night." She know which one. "Otherwise, there is nothing to lie about. Yet."

Ebeny doesn't move, her gaze gone distant. "Too cold. I could do without catching another fever so soon," she says softly, idle words drawn out until she can find the ones she really wants. "Don't say that," she eventually manages, voice barely there. "It makes it sound..." Just the wrinkling of her nose follows, no suitable descriptive term dragged up. "But no, otherwise there is nothing to lie about. Yet."

Talk of fevers tightens his hand at her shoulder for a moment, but otherwise, there's only the slow turn of his head and blue eyes seeking out green again. "I do not regret it," C'sel says straightforwardly. "But I have -- thought a lot about what I would say." Beat. "If asked directly." His lips press together for a moment and he clears his throat. "I would not lie."

"I... haven't thought about anyone asking like that," Ebeny replies, unsettled by the thought if the sudden tension in her shoulders is any indication. "People making remarks and my ignoring them was about as far as I got. They can think what they like about me, but you..." She tips her head up and finally allows her eyes to meet his. "Maybe you should lie. I'd lie - I'd try - to save... trouble."

Again, his brow wrinkles faintly. "Remarks?" C'sel questions quietly, eyees still on hers. But his head shakes after a moment. "I cannot lie. Though sometimes --" he breaks off and the furrow in his brow deepens as he mulls what he's saying over. "Sometimes it's difficult to -- to balance what I think about it. On the one hand, it -- was a rule, broken. But I cannot find it in me to think it... wrong."

"That something has been going on since the start, that sort of thing," Ebeny explains in a murmur, uncertain. "I don't think it was wrong. And I'm pretty certain that nobody will care, but that doesn't mean that there's no chance. Considering what goes on in this place, nobody really has the right to say anything." She shakes her head just a little and smiles ruefully. "You can tell I'm quite undecided about what might happen, can't you?" The greenrider sighs and closes her eyes again. "It wasn't wrong."

"Has -- anyone said any such thing?" C'sel does ask, his expression difficult to read, though his arm doesn't move from her shoulders. "I suppose, in the end, really all that can be done is to -- cross that bridge if and when we get there," he says slowly and gives her another little squeeze. Outwardly it would probably just look ... friendly. Softly: "No. It wasn't. But it was -- against the rules and better judgment."

Ebeny shakes her head again, movement kept to the bare minimum. "No." She's just about able to agree with the rest with a quiet noise from the back of her throat. "I'm tired of better judgement. I'm tired of a lot of things," she admits, less frustrated and more resigned. "But Laurie's all grown up, I'm apparently about to get a lot of free time and everything is about to change again. I can live with that."

Stillness again, on C'sel's side of things and he takes a breath, lets it out, looks away out towards Corvinth this time and his spire. "I can't let mine lapse." His eyes fix on the dark shape of his brown. She'd understand why. "Yes." Things are about to change again. "There will be time." And when he says that, there's one of his more open smiles easing away worried wrinkles in his forehead.

Maybe it's how he smiles, maybe it's something else, whatever reason she finds, Ebeny turns her head a fraction to whisper, "Lapse again," low in his ear with quite the improper tone. Meant to tease rather than condemn, a barely audible apology follows, so very, very quietly. She lingers there a moment before her better sense kicks in and she slowly begins to move away, makes to get to her feet. "I'm going to go before I do something silly," she declares. Marks for honesty? "And Laurienth is nagging, besides."

It's more than stillness, it's freezing in place and C'sel's eyes close at that whisper, hand closing around her upper arm, maybe more tightly even than he meant to. Her movement away sees fingers releasing, drawing away almost guiltily. "Don't be sorry," he says quietly and his eyes open again, seek out hers once more. "I will see you soon." And the way he says that somehow conveys a lot more than the simplicity of the statement. His head cocks though and he smiles again just a little. "Corvinth is proposing a game, if she'd like."

In the second before she finds her feet, Ebeny reaches after his fingers to capture them with hers if she can; if she does there's a kiss brushed to his knuckles in the course of her moving, hidden in how she unfolds and stands. No response beyond that, until something, someone nudges her to. "I think she'd like that. In fact..." She stops before she turns, long enough to nod towards the angular green arrowing up to find Corvinth on that spire. "See?" A smile, amused, and then she does turn away and move off without further goodbye.

Fingers caught and kissed brings back C'sel's smile for just a little while. He looks out though towards the dragons and nods. "Good. They'll keep each other busy for a time." His hand drops back to his lap and fingers thread together this time, maybe to keep him from reaching after her. "Good day, Ebeny," he does say softly, wtihout turning her way as she moves off.

Log: Renewing an Old Connection

2009-09-20T21:53:59Z

Who: Ezalea, C'sel
When: It is an autumn morning, 11:34 of day 21, month 10, turn 20 of Interval 10.
Where: Garden Patio Ledge, High Reachesy Weyr
What: Two from Igen, catching up on the patio.

It's coming up on lunchtime and C'sel seems to be a little bit ahead of the curve, a bowl of stew standing before him on the table he's occupied on the bar's outside patio. It's cooler out now, but a pleasant day and the brownrider's gaze rests out in the bowl often, where children play. Corvinth is perched atop the spindles, predictably, keeping an eye on everything.

Although so far Ezalea's stay a the weyr has been marked by a particular (or peculiar?) penchant for long, flowing skirts and saris, today she has chosen a loose pant and layering of colourful shirts to ward off the dampness. Her meal choice, too, tends towards the warmer, although light: she steps out onto the patio bearing a small bowl of hot cereal, sprinkled with sweetner, and a mug of tea. There she hesitates a beat, and then picks her way over towards C'sel with a dipped head. "C'sel, hello."

That voice catches at C'sel's ears right after he's put a spoonful of stew in his mouth so when he looks up, his cheeks are puffed out slightly. His gaze thought rises to find Ezalea's face and he does not hurry through chewing and swallowing, for all his nod is polite and there's a slight, very slight warming to his eyes when he finds the goldrider approaching. Once his mouth is clear: "Good day, Ezalea," he says in what are probably familiar, measured tones. More shocking might be the small smile that goes with the words. When did stoic C'sel start smiling? "I had heard you had joined us here at the Reaches," the brownrider continues and gestures with his free hand towards a vacant seat at his table. "Please, do sit."

Neatly trim, Ezalea's presence is stripped away of all unnecessaries, leaving only the raw guilelessness of her open countenance. Her limbs, loose and lanky, seem infused with precise vigor in every motion, and roughened long-fingered hands, nails clipped short, attest to a body seasoned by routine and labor. Mousey hair, bounding her face in relaxed curls, hangs to somewhere past her shoulder blades when unfettered, and framed by such tresses her features appear only longer. Cocoa-brown eyes, almond-swept and deep set, sit over high and thin cheekbones; her smile, when it comes, is swift and wide and stretches faintly pinked lips across even, small white teeth.

Laying flush against olive skin, her tunic is a tanned, uniform sandy brown, dipping low in the front and tailored to fit close to her small bust. The chemise is fringed with a rich, chocolate-hued lace, threaded through flattened embroidery and knotting into a long-hanging bow where the V of the neckline adjoins. Her hair is currently bound back by a sheer scarf, leaving only a few ringlets free, the rest a loose mass tossed over her shoulder. Airily light, her skirt is long and straight, fastened at her slim hip, and the pattern is made up of large, irregular blocks in varying shades of deep blues.

And even before C'sel makes his motion for her to sit, Ezalea has set down her bowl. For a moment longer, she simply twines her fingers around that steaming mug and observes the brownrider over the rim as she sips at the tea, brown eyes inscrutable with thought. "I hope the morning finds you well." The woman does sit, eventually, and offers to him a warm, open smile, for all that her gaze travels along the brownrider's features, finally settles on his hands, his stew. "We did. Nimae found it to be a viable arrangement, and I have found it to be entirely agreeable, thus far." No suggestion in her voice hints that it might be anything else, and when she turns her gaze back up to his, her tone is light, "And you? It has been how long since you left Igen?"

"Thank you, it does," C'sel replies, his voice still kept low, with the characteristic slight rasp that she may remember from the desert weyr before he left. Her smile earns another one of the smaller variety from the brownrider, the warmth that goes with it reflected more in his eyes than in the movement of facial features. "I'm pleased to hear that and to see you again," he remarks, tone continuing mild. "The transition from -- dry and warm to much less so can be ... a challenge." C'sel's chin dips a little, sort of quasi-nod to accompany the words. "It has been over a turn and a half now. It will be two full turns this coming spring."

Ezalea recognizes it indeed, and it is with a delicate familiarity she tips her mug forward to the man before replacing it, leaning back in her seat and folding her hands neatly in her lap. Her breakfast is left untouched for the moment as she says, "It is nice to see a known face again. It has been some time, yes." She chuckles ruefully, a low sound, before tipping her head in acknowledgement, one shoulder lifting and falling. "I have not found it so difficult. The autumn here is no cooler than one at my home hold, although I may have to find a more appropriate wardrobe for the weather." Mmm. She presses her lips together, thoughtful, for a moment. "And what are you doing here, now, C'sel?"

C'sel takes up his spoon again, takes a bite or two and draws his own mug, filled with perhaps predictable cider. "Corvinth is extremely pleased to see Nahalith again," the brownrider notes further, blue-eyed gaze shifting back to the weyrwoman's face. The intensity of his focus has not changed in the time since they last spoke. "I found the water in the air to be more challenging than the temperature," he answers after a moment, fingers slowly tracing down the outward curve of his mug's handle. "Even as a native of Nabol. The desert -- got into my blood," C'sel muses softly then takes a breath, tilts one shoulder very slightly. "I have been assisting the weyrlingmaster here. I assume I will be placed in a wing once more once this clutch has been tapped. It has been -- an interesting group."

At the mention of Nahalith, Leah's mouth twists into a wry frown. "Then perhaps he can bespeak her on the behalf of the weather. She is, regrettably, unwilling to consider the fact that we might be staying longer into the season and may have to face the winter." The woman does not appear nearly as dismayed as her lifemate; indeed, her voice is full of unspoken laughter. Nahalith's ornery nature is no well-kept secret. "Nabol, yes. I believe... I knew that, once. I had forgotten. I am of Balen, myself, and personally," Ezalea's teeth flash bright for a moment, "I found the heat oppressive, but one acclimatize to such things over time." This time, her gaze lingers long on C'sel, as she says, "Ah. So you continue your work with the weyrlings. I encountered one the other night. He seemed..." She considers a moment. "Diffident. Are the others so timid as well?"

"I'm sure you can imagine that he'll be pleased to try and delight in pointing out the up sides of the weather to her," C'sel replies with a slight quirk of his mouth that might be answering wryness. He listens as Ezalea goes on, nods slightly. "Yes. Our roots were here and transplanted there. But the dry heat ... suited me," the brownrider admits though there's a touch of sympathy in his gaze for her opinion of Igen's heat. "Yes, I have," for work with the weyrlings. A breath taken and C'sel considers the weyrwoman in turn. "I would not call the clutch as a whole timid, though some are more restrained than others." Beat. "May I -- inquire as to whom you met?"

"I'm sure," Ezalea echoes. His next words brings an attentive lift to her brows, though Leah leans forward to retrieve her cooling bowl and spoon a mouthful of her breakfast. Free hand deftly hovering over her lips, she replies, "I imagine it did. You seem the type. And I do so enjoy the vogue of Igen's style. It is so lavish compared to the fashions here." C'sel's own modest clothing earns a long, speculative look from Ezalea, although she does not comment further on the matter, and says instead, simply, "B'tal. We spoke only briefly."

"There was Keroon before Igen as well, for me," C'sel adds quietly and pokes at a chunk of mushy tuber awash in stew gravy. "There is a weaver here, who is very talented. Mievne is her name," the brownrider describes, eyes studiously on the contents of his bowl. "She made me a good set of clothes for the cooler weather." Which could explain why the vest he wears over his simple white shirt is of higher quality and subtly more stylish than the rest of what he's wearing. Slowly, blue eyes lift to Ezalea's warm brown. "Ah. B'tal. He --" C'sel breaks off, considers for a moment or two. "He has had some struggles. But I do not find him timid, though he can be -- withdrawn." Those words are carefully chosen and weighted.

Leah merely nods, toying the edge of her spoon around the lip of her bowl, her air one of deliberation rather than inattention. Then, quirking an eyebrows at C'sel, she repeats the name carefully, and inquires easily, "You would recommend her, then? The sooner I can commission clothing for the winter, the better I might be prepared for it." Her scrutiny so drawn to his vest, Ezalea inclines her head again, now steepling her fingers over her meal and resting her chin on her pointed index fingers. "Struggles? How so? And of the rest of the class?" There is no implication in her tone, only intent curiosity.

"I would recommend her highly," C'sel replies solemnly, straightforwardly, that tuber lifted into his spoon finally, eaten while Leah is examining that difference in the quality and cut of his clothes. "Without delving too deeply into that which is highly personal: affairs of the heart amongst the weyrlings that led to -- certain tensions," the brownrider says carefully. "For all that B'tal may at times seem reserved, he has a very ... impulsive heart." He eats a few more bites while mulling over the rest of her inquiry. "K'ndro is usually merry and competent. He has an incisive mind in spite of the way he speaks. W'chek and Z'yi are both -- intense in their own way and still figuring some things out if I interpret correctly. Ajatha --" he breaks off and shakes his head about her. "It is difficult to get a true read on Ajatha but she seems to be deeply entwined with the men in her class." Another pause. "Ebeny has struggled with Laurienth in ways similar to my struggles with Corvinth which you are -- familiar with." It's very slight, the increased warmth in his voice when he speaks of that last, so very, very slight, but someone attuned to shifts in tone and to C'sel's usual lack of expressiveness might pick it up.

Highly personal. Ezalea sits forward, shifting her hot cereal (long cooled, now, and she sniffs faintly with chagrin) so that she might now cross her arms, listen with a tilt to her head and brown eyes rounded. "So it often is, with youth," she comments softly when a pause in C'sel's speech presents itself, only to fall still again and half-close her eyes, regarding the brownrider somberly under long lashes. Perhaps she is tuning in to those faint, telling stresses, the timbres of his voice. Is that last, lingering warmth of his for Corvinth, or for Ebeny? Yet the weyrwoman says only, kindly, "And so you are certainly qualified. We may hope, then, that your wisdom may be," here is a heartbeat pause, a tightening of her jaw, "imparted aptly so that mistakes made in the past do not become their own."

"Yes," C'sel agrees simply about the young and continues on, with some thoughts on Mirax and Iabri and the others from the class, short observations mostly about how they've handled themselves through weyrlinghood, who showed ability as a leader. "It has always been a part of my motivation for pursuing such work. In this clutch it has proven to be more beneficial than some of the other clutches I have assisted with before." Another pause. "Isforaith. Xadovith. Laurienth. Three at least with more or less similar qualities and a very -- independent streak." His head inclines slightly at her last. "Yes. And in so doing, too, have found benefits for Corvinth. He responds well to having companions of a similar mental capacity."

Each name, each dragon and weyrling, each pair; Ezalea takes careful heed, noting all this information as if it is to be stored, recalled, and marked at a later date. A pointed question here, an interjection there, and only after C'sel has reported on the class as a whole is Leah satisfied to soften back into her seat, sipping at her tea. "You have been putting your experience to good use, then." It's not a question. "That is ..." The weyrwoman breathes out slowly. "Yes. I am glad to hear it, C'sel." Delicately: "there are many other paths you and Corvinth may have taken, and it is a relief to me that you have chosen this one. How long is it until they are tapped into wings of their own?"

"I -- have tried," C'sel agrees and inclines his head a little. "I believe it has been helpful for some at least," the brownrider muses thoughtfully. "But I am also -- working on being more ... sociable. Personable. The Weyrlingmaster has asked me to smile more often," he notes with a hint of dry humor in his voice. The bottom of the stew bowl is scraped and C'sel pushes it aside a little, draws his mug nearer. "They are just under a month away," he reports in answer to her last.

As even and demure her voice may be, Ezalea sparks a brilliant smile across the table at C'sel, proving to him the way it should be done; she tweaks the handle of her mug and says, "It will do you good. Perhaps you should attend within more often," and the woman's nod indicates the bar beyond, with all its alcoholic benefits, if her words were not clear enough. "I am told," and here it is Leah's turn to deadpan, though there's a telling sparkle to her eyes, "that it tends to help in terms of socializing. Though perhaps not intelligence."

Taking two long swallows from his mug first, C'sel's answer is just another one of those quick, faint smiles. His gaze has settled out in the bowl again, watching the kids toss a ball back and forth. "I believe that my time spent in the Snowasis is -- enough," the brownrider says simply. "There are often good conversations alongside the -- lost intelligence." The corners of his mouth pull just a little, answering deadpan humor.

"I've yet to spend longer then a moment or two, but perhaps some evening when I am not too busy, we might share a drink." It's not quite an invitation, neither an expectation of company, but Ezalea extends the offer anyway; a perfunctary pleasantry, maybe, as she begins to collect herself to depart. "And share a good conversation. It is good to see you, C'sel." And here is a speculative moment Leah might have filled with something else, another thought, but she leaves it to silence instead as she gathers her uneaten breakfast and makes a slow move to stand.

"I would be honored," C'sel replies formally but with honest sincerity, "to share both drink and conversation with you," the brownrider completes the acceptance. He rises, his own mug left behind on the table, waits until she's stood before giving a half bow. He's always had very formal and correct manners with due observance for rank.

"And I. Clear skies, C'sel," Ezalea bids with a motion not unlike a curtsey, a courtesy returned in kind for his formality. With that, she whisks down the steps, bearing her dishes along, and disappears across the bowl.

"Clear skies, Ezalea," C'sel echoes and waits u ntil she's stepped away before seating himself again, looks down into his mug for a moment or two, perhaps lost in thought. When blue eyes lift again, they track the weyrwoman across the bowl before skipping upward to find Corvinth who descends shortly after to fetch his rider away.

Vignette: Expedition, a.k.a. Survivor, Weyrlings

2009-09-16T17:28:32Z

Who: C'sel, NPC Weyrlings
When: 10/4/20
Where: Swamp, Southern Continent/Plains, Telgar Area/Desert, Igen Area
What: C'sel's POV on the trip

The plains had just been sharding cold. Cas hadn't said anything and he'd borne up under the winds but he'd been feeling it pretty keenly. Privately, he hoped he'd acclimate back to a cold climate more quickly. He wasn't looking forward to Reaches' own winter by now. There was also the fact that you wouldn't think you could lose a whole weyrling out there in the open like that, but for about twenty minutes V'nian had gone missing. It was amazing how much deep grass could really hide and let that be a lesson to all of them about wandering off alone. Of course his dragon had helped with finding him, but even so, it had been another close call. They'd had to human-chain him up out of the mucky mire he'd gotten stuck in and it was just lucky that it hadn't been one of those deep slough things.

In retrospect, the southern swamps had been a /bad/ idea. That had been one /nasty/ snakebite on Kalisti's ankle. The thing had gotten into her boot and she'd forgotten to shake them out before putting them back on in the morning. Thankfully, there was snakebite knowledge in the group and while the weyrling was bandaged up and needed numbweed for the pain, it wasn't going to kill her.

C'sel had almost pulled the group back to the Weyr, but Kalisti had stubbornly insisted that she wanted to keep going. The navigation exercise in the desert had gone much more smoothly, steering by the stars was something they grasped and no one did anything dumb to get stung by any deep desert insect-life.

They wrapped everything up on a small island off the coast of Ista: water rescues and then fun swimming rather than the 'you don't want to die' kind.

Tired, C'sel and Corvinth had glided home after the group had been disbanded, each weyrling checked on, Kalisti ushered to the infirmary for another check on her wound.

They'd sat for a while in the dark in their weyr and finally, he'd caved and had Corvinth reach out to Laurienth. He just wanted to sit with her for a little while, fingers threaded together and not be cold, muddy, wet and sleep deprived for a bit.