[Log] A Picture's Worth a Thousand Words
Who: I'neph, J'tei, Sh'van
When: Day 10, Month 9, Turn 442
Where: Living Cavern, Fort Weyr
What: Dioscuth likes pictures; Chaemith likes words. Sh'van gets to referee the dragons and their riders.
Living Cavern
Huge, still mostly the natural shape of the bubble cavern that formed it though embellished with intricate columns, the living cavern is large enough to seat over two thousand people at any given time. But it has fallen into a state of disuse, for the most part. There are long gaps in the room where tables must have been at one time: Now, there are only twenty tables - each with space for twenty-five people - left in the room, where once there must have been closer to eighty tables. They are all gathered near the northeastern wall where the largest of the room's four hearths are. The rest of the space seems bare. There are a few smaller tables to seat five or six people scattered randomly throughout. Though there is easily room for twice as many, and still many bare swathes of wall that should boast tapestries, there are only three hangings in the living cavern, and all of them are small given the grand scale of the cavern: Two are Fortian brown with the black "Fort" symbol on them, and the third is a light brown field with a brownish-bronzish wing breaking out of the shell of a single white egg. Up a set of handsomely carved stone steps is the Weyr's large kitchen, wrapping around balcony-style with a view into the cavern.
The cavern is mostly deserted right now. It's nighttime in the autumn. The fire is kept low in the hearth to keep out any lingering chill.
Players:
I'neph.........6', athletic; olive skin, dark brown eyes & hair; early 20s.
J'tei..........6'2" with a lean build. Reddish-brown hair, blue eyes.
Sh'van.........Almost 6', lean. Pale blue eyes & scarred. Impeccably groomed.
Exits:
Bowl..........................[W] Inner Caverns.................[S]
Kitchen.......................[E]
Sh'van
A brush of murky dishwater-blond hair never looks mussed; Sh'van's chin is always smooth. His grooming, always impeccable, may be an effort to erase a first impression, or at least lessen it. Nevertheless, 'striking' is his most tactful descriptor. Sh'van is close to six feet tall, perhaps half an inch under, lean and predatory with sharp features. A high forehead shades deep-set, icy blue eyes that are barely darker than the whites around them. Long ago something carved up the right side of his face, two scars pulling that eyebrow up in perpetual cynicism, barely missing the socket, and then curving over to clip off one earlobe. The muscles on that side were injured, limiting facial mobility and expressions. His nose is too long and the beak barely keeps his eyes apart, while lush lips would look less bizarre on a woman. Van tends to sunburn in the summer and get chilblains in the winter.
The sleeves of his pale grey shirt blouse from shoulder to wrist, there tying closed. A medium blue vest made of felted wool laces loosely up the front, the same lacing echoed at his shoulders. The trousers he wears are four shades darker than his shirt and soft to the touch. Low black shoes finish his garb. On his shoulder is the complicated knot of the Fort Weyrsecond twined with a strand of bronze.
J'tei
Tall and well-built, Jathein clearly takes effort to keep his physical appearance in line. At 21, he stands at 6'2" with long, lean limbs, lightly muscled - more agile than bulky. Calloused hands and what looks like a belt-knife scar on his forearm might hint at the labor that keeps him trim. A bit fair-skinned with reddish-brown hair, he's one of those unfortunates that sunburns and freckles, though his complexion is otherwise unmarred. Short, trimmed reddish hair curls unmanageably though it's cut so that it only brushes the tops of his ears and the middle of his forehead. His eyes are actually quite pretty, bluish-green with amber lashes and laugh-lines at the corners of them. There's a good chance that his nose was broken and reset at some point in the past, making it slightly crooked with a bump in the bridge of it.
His russet and tan clothing isn't especially impressive, but it fits him well. The sleeves of his off-white, collared shirt are rolled up to his elbows, and the tails of it are tucked into his canvas pants. Over this, he wears a lightly quilted brick-red vest with pockets. His boots are scuffed but in good repair, as is the plain leather belt with a belt-knife sheathed on his hip.
I'neph
About six feet tall and built along athletic lines, I'neph is blessed with the dark, olive-tinted skin and dark brown hair more characteristic of a tropical climate. He keeps his hair close cropped, swept back off his forehead and to the right. I'neph has brown eyes and thick dark brows above a straight nose and firm mouth, a slightly squared jawline framing his features. He seems to be in his mid-20s.
I'neph's clothes are in good condition, either relatively new or well-cared for, a pair of heavy dark brown pants and a long-sleeved shirt in a dusty green. His winter jacket is a little large on him, the sleeves and shoulder seams longer; based on its more worn condition, it's probably a hand-me-down.
"I will," J'tei says without missing a beat. "What choice do I have, right? Besides, it doesn't actually seem all that /hard/." He scoots his cup back and forth across the tableptop, managing to indicate the two bronzeriders with the slidey motion. "The work isn't any harder than what I did before, and now that I'm not-- spinning from the hatching anymore, it's not such a big change. Though I kinda wish I'd been here more than three months, because it's still strange here."
"It will be strange for some time yet, I imagine," Sh'van agrees, idly watching the cup-spinning. "I had three years here before I Impressed, and some things still came as a shock to me. Though... how old are you? You look like you're about twenty or so, right? I was fourteen when Lanmith found me. You ought to have a little easier time of it because you're old enough to make sense of things."
With little to no warning, I'neph inserts him into the conversation by pulling up another chair at one side of Sh'van and J'tei's little table, settling himself into it and glancing between them. "Evenin', sir, 'Tei" is his easy greeting; he has a glass in one hand, half-finished, so he was probably on his way out before he decided to just drop in.
J'tei hehs. "Not sure if old's really better. Because I'm old enough to have had like a whole life before this. All gone." He makes a poofing noise, a shrug. "Oh, but I'm going on 22. He's older," he adds, nodding in I'neph's direction when he sees the other weyrling over there. "But you're weyrbred aren't you, I'neph?"
Sh'van turns in surprise to the sudden visitor, his expression going decidedly cool. "I'neph. I didn't see your salute; would you do it again before you answer?" He's all perfectly correct, perfectly restrained, and perfectly comfortable in his higher rank.
I'neph, called out thus, winces and obediently salutes, crisp and practiced. "Sorry, sir." For a few moments, he's properly chastened; then, he glances to J'tei. "Faranth. You make it sound like I'm ancient or something. Twenty-four, and, yeah, I am. Makes it easier, mostly. Sometimes."
J'tei ducks his head when I'neph gets chastised, hunching his shoulders in misplaced guilt. "Sorry, not to make you seem really old or anything. We were just talking about how age and upbringing affect stuff. But 24." He rubs his face, grinning underneath his palm. "That's pretty old. Old enough to know how to salute, ya'd think," he teases.
From one to the other. Sh'van turns the same cool patient look on J'tei, says firmly, "/J'tei/." Quellingly. Back to I'neph. "Who is your mentor, I'neph? Is it B'rek, or one of the other bronzeriders?"
"To know, sure. To /always/ think of it?" I'neph replies, frowning at J'tei, nevermind Sh'van beats him to the reply. "S'not something I'm used to, considering I've never had to do it before. You always think of everything?" He shrugs, however, irritation short-lived as he glances to the older bronzerider. "M'vari, actually, sir," he corrects.
Accepting the chide with a serious nod, J'tei removes his hand from his face and puts it back around his mug, revealing that he has completely contained the grin. "Lucky you," he deadpans.
Sh'van closes his eyes for a moment, his left hand moving out unerringly to rest on the hide just to one side. "-Weyrlings-," he says then, his eyes opening and moving to spear each of them in turn. "One of the more important traits of a bronzerider is control. You need to be able to control your dragon, and to do that, you need to be able to control yourself. Which means holding off on your juvenile sniping. It might -just- be acceptable if you were both eight years younger. You aren't, and it isn't. Do you understand me?"
"Yes, sir," agrees I'neph, nodding at once. "We were just teasing, didn't mean nothing by it." To prove it, he offers J'tei a toothy grin, and then adds, "Speaking of. You and Lanmith fixed Dioscuth up for, well. A couple of days, anyway. First peace I've got since almost the hatching, I think. I keep reminding him, too, what you said, although I don't think that works quite so good."
J'tei looks surprised by the chide this time, opening his mouth in preparation for explaining things to Sh'van. "Yeah, just teasing. It's all right to still be friends, right?" He gives I'neph a questioning look but it goes away quickly. "About him being competitive?"
Sh'van doesn't seem all that convinced but he lets it slide, accepting their explanation as reality. "Yes. Dioscuth was trying to get Lanmith to... I'm not sure what. But Lanmith told him what we were talking about." Glancing to I'neph to include him he continues, "How bronzes don't have to compete with the other colors to prove their worth. They're already bronze. Nothing else is needed. --Perhaps he doesn't believe it because you don't? It's just a suggestion, mind."
[DTU] To Chaemith, Dioscuth's images are sleep-fuzzed, like I'neph woke him up just to relay this message. He offers a picture of an unusually full living cavern laughing uproariously, while in the middle Sh'van stands stiff and proper and entirely unamused, not even a smile on his face. No sense of humor, see?
[DTU] To Dioscuth, Chaemith clips all the imagery off in one fell swoop. << Couldn't you just say he has no sense of humor? Use your words. >>
"Right," agrees I'neph at once, nodding firmly. Then, glancing between his companions, he nods again, less so. "Yeah, that," he agrees with J'tei, wrinkling his nose. "I'd believe anything that got him to lay up, and considering I figured that out a long time ago, anyway..." A shrug. "He just--he's just--I don't know. I guess it's just how he is. He likes winning stuff. You get used to it, after a while." His tone grows a little defensive, a reversal from his usual complaining.
[DTU] To Chaemith, Dioscuth, in sulky retort, jets off a pointed image of Chaemith with the new harper's face superimposed over his.
"He doesn't like winning the how not to annoy Chaemith game," J'tei mumbles, pushing his chair away from the table with a clipped grunt. "What's with all the pictures? Why do they do that when they can talk just as fine as we can?" Sh'van and I'neph get to share a bemused frown.
[DTU] To Dioscuth, Chaemith informs, << Clever. >> Sarcasm!
"He's your lifemate, I'neph. There's no need for him to change. Just... alter slightly, perhaps. Either he will, or he won't. But you'll get used to it, as you say." J'tei's question gets a startled series of blinks from Sh'van. "Pictures? Why, don't you understand what he's saying?"
I'neph quirks a brow at J'tei, smirking. "He's liking it so far," he points out. "Anyway, he just... likes pictures. He won't say noth--anything, not unless he has to. And he's getting better at getting around it, too, although that the pictures just get weirder." Pause. "Like now. He's crossing Chaemith out now, ha." He seems quite amused by this, just grinning at the other weyrling. He doesn't answer Sh'van's former words, though he does shoot a quick look at the older rider and nod.
[DTU] To Chaemith and Dioscuth, Lanmith's probably cued by his lifemate to come break it up, whatever the 'this' might be. << You are upsetting your lifemates. >> He images J'tei and I'neph in the living caverns, just as Sh'van must see the pair.
"Huh?" J'tei shakes his head hastily. "I understand Chaemith perfectly. He-- he uses his words," he quotes. "Right now, he's using words like 'Dioscuth annoyed me, so now I'm awake and I'm itching.'" So he stands up with a grunt, shaking his head slowly as he rises. "I'm gonna take care of this. I appreciated the talk, sir." Salutes once more.
[DTU] To Dioscuth and Lanmith, Chaemith answers sharply. << No, I am not. >>
[DTU] To Chaemith and Lanmith, Dioscuth's confusion results in an image of I'neph grinning, and J'tei... Okay, J'tei's not grinning, but Dioscuth isn't concerned. He just enlarges I'neph to emphasize his rider's good humor.
Sh'van hrms, displeased, but lets J'tei go with another salute. "All right. Go tend to him. Don't wait for me to come to you, if you have questions or just want to talk. I'll find time for you. My regards to Dioscuth," he adds with the traditional courtesy.
"I don't have any problems getting Dioscuth's point, either," I'neph agrees. Though, he amends, "Mostly. Anyway, sorry about that--I woke Dioscuth up, too, but he'd been out half the day already, I think. Sleeping as much as Eneyith." He doesn't sound particularly sorry, but he does send J'tei off with an easy, "Night, 'Tei."
J'tei agrees, "Regards to Lanmith, sir. Night, I'neph." He's a little surly toward the other weyrling, annoyed with dragon, annoyed with rider. Mumbling, he strides away.
J'tei heads to the bowl.
J'tei has left.
[DTU] To Chaemith and Dioscuth, Lanmith exhales heavily and clarifies for the babies. /Sh'van/ is displeased, therefore you two are to cease and desist. Then Sh'van will stop pestering him, and he can get back to napping.
[DTU] To Dioscuth and Lanmith, Chaemith projects, << I'm going to ignore you both now. Goodnight. >>
[DTU] To , Dioscuth is thoughtful for a moment, then finally offers an image of himself and Chaemith racing, posing, comparing sizes, and just generally competing, for the older bronze's approval. Is /that/ okay?
Sh'van sighs once J'tei is out of earshot and shoots I'neph a frankly irritated look. "Care to explain what all of -that- was about?"
I'neph shrugs. "I have no idea, sir," he admits, truthfully. "Dioscuth... I think he sent some kind of picture, Chaemith told him to use words, and he sulled up about it. He doesn't like using words. He /can/," the weyrling quickly stresses, "but he just doesn't like to. And the pictures work, so. I dunno why he gets all worked up about it. It's not worth it." Another shrug.
Sh'van hmns and drowns his irritation under swallows of water. When he speaks again, that control he's espoused is back, leaving his voice neutral. "They're both young. They, like you weyrlings, have growing up to do. More, really, since you have years on them. --I dislike being rude, I'neph, but was there something you needed? If not, I'll ask you to excuse me. I have a letter to finish." Ergo, the things at his elbow, though it looks more like he has a letter to start rather than just finish.
"Of course, sir. I understand," agrees I'neph, standing. "Good night, sir. See you later." He leaves Sh'van in peace, heading toward the bowl.