[Log] My Meanie, My Coward
Who: Brijana, D'ar, Mellora, R'dur
When: Day 31, Month 10, Turn 4
Where: Inner Cavern, Telgar Weyr; Gardens, Telgar Weyr
What: Brijana and R'dur fight when he gets embarrassed and she flirts with D'ar, but in the end R'dur admits he loves her.
Inner Cavern
This huge cavern lies within the bowels of Telgar Weyr. The ceiling above, somewhat darkened, seems to be black in the dim light of the glows. Under this blackness, it's almost a hive. A large part of this cavern is a place where the lower cavern work is done: washing, making, remaking - endless chatter and noise concentrated around islands of bright glowlight. People come and go from several tunnels to the east and west, adding to general movement. There are several more secluded places with a table and few chairs, used by more idle folk for gaming or chat.
In the southwestern part of the cavern, a small opening in the dark seems to be overlooked by everyone, and quite unused.
From here there is a large entrance into the Living Cavern, the center of activity of the Weyr. There are also smaller entrances leading off into the weyrfolk quarters, the tunnel to the steam baths, candidate barracks, and a corridor leading to the Nursery.
Several corridors also lead to quarters for the more permanent members of the Weyr.
Contents:
Brijana
Obvious exits:
Weyr Entrance Living Cavern Candidate Barracks INFirmary Nursery Steam Baths Corridor Weyrfolk Quarters
Brijana
Striking and tall, with the added boost of a regal carriage, Brijana reeks confidence in everything from the rich smoothness of flawless cream skin, to the large, expressive brown eyes, and the back set of her shoulders. Leaves of loose-curls frame her face, the auburn highlighted sheen of which betrays careful grooming that must take hours, and thick bangs sweep across her forehead to provide tantalizing snatches of one of her openly friendly eyes. The thick brows so heavy along her brother's forehead aren't present here, carefully managed and groomed to shapely arcs that only serve to make her eyes look larger. Thinly tapered and a bit sharp, a feature that looks rather out of place on her angular face, is her nose that hooks downward with every attempt with light powders and make up to make it more graceful.
Dressed to flatter both five foot seven frame and her coloring, a V-necked tunic, an inch wide decorative collar sewn in a shade darker than the uniform spring green that clings to her curves, than flares loosely from beneath the empire waistline to past her hips. There, more practical, but no less flattering in accentuating her better features, are a pair of earthen pants that loosen near the sturdy boots on her feet. In the hollow created by her tunic, a lavaliere of Mastersmith quality rests, hung from the thinnest strand of silver-like material.
Seated at a table, R'dur is bent over a hide, mostly covered with his small, neat script. Another couple of hides are set carefully out of the way, his work on them already finished. Pausing to eye the writing, R'dur taps his pencil on the table with a frown, before adding another line to it. He's thoroughly absorbed in writing, paying no mind to the many people filtering past.
... which only means the girl seated across from him, chin propped in her hands, could have been there for ages, or just arrived - more likely just arrived with a fluid slide into the empty seat. Bri's dark eyes hint of mischief, one hand dropping to tap an idle beat on the table and perhaps capture R'dur's attention, and should that not work, surely the husky alto will strike some chord of familiarity in the absorbed state the brownrider is in. "Reports for your wingleader? Or a letter to one of your numerous admirers?"
R'dur pauses again, rereading what he's already written. He glances quickly over at the person across from him, though not taking a good enough look to recognize her; the voice, though--that jars him from his focus. "Brijana!" he says, looking up quickly. He sets the pencil down and slides it and his hide aside, offering the woman a shy smile. "Er, hi. Um, it's--well, this was a sweeps report for Wingleader T'bay--" he gestures to one of the completed hides "--and this, well, a letter for my sister, actually. Except, well, I should probably just go visit her instead, but it's easier for me to write. I, uh... Well. I hardly have 'numerous admirers', as you put it." He touches the most recent hide, blushing.
"Well, you have at least one, possibly two, unless you haven't been the one that's dallying with Airen." Bri speculates, not at all shy about leaning to the side to check out R'dur's pants and presumably lower half. "/Faranth/," she shares a wicked grin with the brownrider, "You should hear how that girl talks about boys. Is it interesting? The letter, not the reports." Beneath the table, her own legs cross, swaying idly so every so often the tops of her boots become visible from the side of the table. "You're adorable when you're concentrating on something. I bet a woman could have a baby right next to you and you wouldn't even noti... well," Brijana shifts her gaze away awkwardly, "That's not so funny is it."
R'dur rubs at the back of his neck as Brijana leans over to check him out, mumbling, "Ah. Airen. No, certainly not. I don't dally with any--well. Um. Anyway. My letter. Ah." He skims it again, as though he's not himself sure of the contents. "It's... Well, I haven't written in a while, so I have a lot to catch up on," admits the rider wryly. "Which is probably why I'd much rather write: I can't imagine facing my sister and telling her most of this. I mean, she'd be--she wouldn't be mad at me or anything; it'd just be... awkward." A shrug. He pauses, grimacing slightly at her joke. "Er, no, not really. I'm sorry," he concedes gently. He picks up his pencil, to fidget with it rather than to write. "That, uh, that really bothers you, doesn't it?"
Brijana's quiet after her failed joke attempt, slender leg swinging idly as her fingers begin an drum beat, awkward, to fill her silence with some kind of noise. After a while, having decided to ignore his question it seems, she reaches out to finger one of the hides that's set aside, scanning it upside-down without really reading much of anything, and then queries, "Do you have parents? You've heard about ours, I s'ppose from Stav. Is she your only sister? I would think they'd be happy for you, but if they're holdbred maybe they won't understand."
R'dur watches Brijana patiently, not prompting her when she seems to want to dodge the question. "My parents are--gone. I have an older sister, a younger one, and two younger brothers, though. I'm the middle child, of seven, though there's... well, only five of us now, too." He frowns slightly, then shrugs, offering a slight smile. "St'vren's talk of his family is basically limited to 'lots of sisters'. I used to feel bad for him, not having any brothers. Anyway. How was your day, by the way?"
Sympathy floods Brijana's face and the hand that's at the hide extends the few more inches need to be an offering of comfort instead. "I'm sorry, I should have known." How, is another question, but that seems to matter little as Bri babbles on to cover her numerous mishaps of the night, "So you were writing to your older sister, right? We like to think Stav's blessed to be surrounded by us, but I can see why he's glad to be at the Weyr, and I'm glad I'm here though not with him. My mother wanted me to keep his weyr neat and have him make sure I stay out of trouble, but he's too busy most of the time and I'd like to think I can stay out of trouble myself." Her other hand drops, so her chin is left with nowhere to rest on, and she offers a tentative smile, "My day was the same old same old. I helped the seamstresses with some mending today, supervised laundry so my fingers wouldn't get wrinkled, and then sought you out. I... I had fun yesterday."
"It's been... a while. Turns," R'dur brushes Brijana's words off easily, with a rueful expression. He nods next. "Depa, yes. She's barely a turn older than me, but, well. She made sure I didn't forget it," he remarks, smiling fondly. "As for St'vren? Hmm. I'm sure he'd not like having you, er, underfoot. Not that you would be, but I mean, he might, well, think you are. I imagine his weyr could use a bit of cleaning, though; he never seemed the neat type to me. It drives me crazy, though, if things are out of place." He makes a face, amused. "You... supervised laundry. Huh. Sounds like exactly your type of job: bossing people around," he notes teasingly, a bright smile settling across his lips. "But, er. I'm--I'm glad you enjoyed it. I did, too."
"I don't want to be under St'vren's foot." Brijana shudders lightly, nose wrinkling as she pulls back into the seat. "And shells, if I lived with him I'd have to... no, ew, no. But I think ma and da think he takes care of me, and it's not like he doesn't, just from afar, which is just how it should be." A decisive nod punctuates that statement, pleased with how things have turned out. "I'm not really neat, but now that I live in the dorms, it's difficult to be messy when all you have is a cot and a press to your name. Oh, I shadowed an assistant headwoman today," she adds, grin turning sassily haughty in light of his tease, "And not all of us can get by on looks alone. Some of us, need to know how to get other people to do things for us. Nicely. Diplomatically." Under the table, the swing of her leg dies down, instead reaching across to nudge the end of her boots against R'dur's shin.
R'dur wrinkles his nose. "No, I can't imagine it would be easy or enjoyable for either of you to live together," he admits, shaking his head. "Me, I'm... Well, neat. Very neat. Things just have their place to go, and that's where I want them." A shrug. He slides his feet back as she nudges him, apparently taking that as a sign his legs are in her way. "Ah, are you hoping to become one yourself? An assistant headwoman, that is?" Pause. Quietly: "I don't think you'll have much of a problem, either on looks or charm."
Brijana's quick to add, "Or bossiness, right?" The toe is quick to follow, a gentle nudge before falling back to the ground with a clatter of heels. "I... maybe. I can't just do odd jobs and chores forever, right? You're a rider and have your... riderly things to do, and soon I'll be twenty and not having anything to do seems childish, like I haven't made up my mind on anything and it... it seems like it'd fit me, assisting the Headwoman with everything she needs to do." Solemn eyes lift up to seek out R'dur's grey-blue ones. "What do you think? It's silly, isn't it?"
"Right," agrees R'dur mildly, smiling over at Brijana. He hesitates, then notes, "Riderly things. Ha. It's not really much of a job, I don't think, but." A shrug. "I think--I think that's a good idea. I mean, if it's what you want to do, then yes, of course. I'll--I'll support you. Maybe you could even be the Headwoman herself someday, and boss the entire Weyr."
Brijana smiles slyly, hand reaching across to try and brush a short lock of hair off his forehead, "Boss you? I'd like that, someday, I think." Cause that's the important thing, of course. "I don't know how you want me to react about... you being a daddy." Bri scoots her chair around the roundness of the table, closer to the brownrider - close enough that should she wish, his shoulder would be easily accessible to lean her ruddy-hair against. "Like you should be with her, and tend to her needs, cause honey, I've seen a lot of pregnant women down here in the lower caverns, and sometimes you just need someone to be there and make sure there's a heated blanket for your lower back and someone that'll be willing to massage crusty-toes and ankles. And the women here, they have us," meaning anyone but Bri, of course, "But she's a rider."
R'dur glances up, eyes crossing as he tries to watch Brijana's hand move his hair out of his face. "You'd be very good at it, I'm sure," he remarks, actually grinning at her. Her next words, however, sober him; he frowns and studies the woodgrain of the table closely. "I--I don't know what I want you to think, either. On the one hand, I think I'd like it if you were furious with me about it, but at the same time, I hate it when people... when you're mad at me." He shrugs, eyes cutting sideways to her. He leans closer as well, expression sad. "I just don't know what to do with myself. I mean, Yselle... I get on her nerves, because I worry and I pester her and I don't know what I'm supposed to do for her. Every time I see her, seems like she gets upset. I've never--I've never done this before, even if she has, so..." He gulps. "I never thought it'd be like this, you know."
"I like you a lot, even if you knocked that greenrider up," Brijana admits, frank; her cards being set on the table to be publicly mocked or twisted. "I don't know why, you're not like any of the other guys I know, and you don't... it doesn't seem like you can be pursued. Like, I've been flirting with you since I came and you just blush and shy away, and..." A frown mars the attractive girl's features, and she pulls back slightly to study R'dur' with narrowed eyes. "I thought you might want to be with Yselle instead. She's a rider-- and Weyrsecond. And I'm just me, with a big brother that would probably smash your face in if he knew. Well, no, Stav likes you. I bet he'd hope you can calm me down. But I'm me." There seems to be more to that statement than the three words that is its makeup, but the girl hesitates, then allows a wry smile to shape. "I am absolutely furious with you. I'm just good at hiding it."
R'dur smiles wryly. "Being a rider, someone 'important', the headwoman, or just a resident--that doesn't matter. That's not what matters to me," he notes gently. "I mean, that's just a title, a position, not who you are. And you're... you, and that's--that's what matters to me." He blushes, glances down. "And the reason I--the reason I act like... like I do is because I, well. I--that's the only thing I know to do. I don't know how to react any other way. But I--I'm trying. You can tell me, you know--if you're mad at me. I'd rather know the truth, instead of worrying if you are or if you're not."
"I'm furious, you goofball," Brijana suddenly grins, expression bright, "Because you haven't kissed me yet and I'm sitting as close as I can to you, without sitting in your lap. So, kiss me, stupid." She's such an abusive girl, even if there's a lot of fondness in her words. "And we'll worry about what you should be doing later." And a devoted believer of pleasure before responsibility.
"Oh! Er. That's why--?" R'dur blushes, but now that Brijana's enlightened him, he leans over to kiss her. Already, he's improving at this--he's much less awkward and hesitant. Must be the teacher.
Definite the teacher. Or teachers, is it? Bri breaks the kiss before it gets too involved, a lifted hand that's found its way to his cheek staying put in soft caresses of fingers to cheek. "Now, that's just lovely." She smiles, thinly, attempting to inject more feeling to mask the regret in her expression. A beat later, she teases, in further attempts to distract from any other, more serious, topics. "How long, 'fore y'think Stav hears about it and punches your nose in?"
R'dur's brows knit as he studies Brijana, her hand still on his cheek. But her attempt to distract him works, at least for a moment. "Uh... A good long while, I hope," he says fervantly. "As long as he stays away from Pierron, I think I'm okay--he's, ah, well. You know how everything gets exaggerated in the retelling..." He grimaces. Then, hesitating before the question, he asks, "What--what is it? Something's wrong. Is it--I mean, it's not--me?" He glances downward, flushing.
"Just thinking." Bri replies, noncommittal, growing distant in that line of thought, though her hand remains in its idle caress, now mostly of the thumb, to R'dur's cheek. "I should get her a baby gift. It's the right thing to do, and it's not the poor child's fault."
R'dur sighs. "I'm sorry," he tells Brijana. "You don't--you don't have to get her anything. Really. I mean, it's not--that is, she's not--you don't have to get her anything." He pauses, frowning unhappily. "I mean, I don't want you to have to waste your time making something." Pause. Since it's Brijana, he amends, "Or your marks buying something. Really. It's not your responsibility to--to--you don't have to." When all else fails, R'dur just repeats what he's already said.
"But I should." It all comes back to the baby, and Bri flashes R'dur a sickly sweet smile, removing her hand from his cheek with one last reassuring pat. "It'll be fine, don't worry, I can ma... get something appropriate for the occasion." Oh, he knows her too well, and even that minor slip up deserves soft laughter. "And if you deliver it for me, she won't ever have to act awkward and clumsy, since you say it's all my fault that's why that happens. Maybe a little hat and scarf set since winter's coming soon? Have you two spoken of names?"
D'ar walks in from the living caverns.
D'ar has arrived.
D'ar
Scraping six feet tall just barely but having the appearance of being a bit taller than that due to slender, rangy form, the young man standing before you seems nearly perpetually amused. Such countenance is formed by a rather striking face, square-jawed with finely-formed angular cheekbones, hued olive but made darker by a slight tan that seems to resist fading despite the climate. Darkest brown hair bordering on black is long enough that most of it, save for a few straight wisps which rebelliously refuse containment and fall about his face, is secured back in a leather thong, the ends resting between the lean articulated musculature of his shoulder blades. The same colored hair is neatly trimmed into a thin mustache and goatee, framing the expressive mouth that frequently quirks into a smirk or charming smile that extends to a twinkle in earthy brown eyes that seem to draw attention by being a shade lighter than expected.
The simply looping twines of black and white cording interspersed with a thread of dark chestnut brown mark D'ar as a brownrider at Telgar Weyr, the knot perched jauntily upon his left shoulder and frequently gazed at as a source of pride.
"That--that would be nice," R'dur concedes with a resigned smile. "And, ah. No, actually. I mean, we've just... I mean, that would have been too--productive for us. We just argue instead." He grimaces, averting his eyes in embarrassment. After a moment, he turns back to study Brijana intently. "I don't want you to feel obligated to get something just because it's my--it's my baby, and we're--" He doesn't say what they are; by his lost expression, he doesn't know himself.
A table in one of the cave bubbles near the living caverns is occupied by Brijana and R'dur, the former retaining her overly sweet expression -- the kind that bodes ill for the one its cast on. "Friends," Bri promptly fills in for the brownrider. "And that's why I should, because we are friends. It'd be wrong of me to not give the babe something, especially when it's yours, just because the mother always seems to stumble around like she's drunk around me. Effective Weyrsecond, but the walking thing..." Mute apology that barely touches her eyes is offered R'dur. "Charming, I bet, the arguing." The false cheer is displaced by a teasing smile, "I think someone said once married couples bicker a lot."
Enter the unwitting brownrider. D'ar whistles as he strolls in from the living caverns, towel draped over his shoulder a likely indication of his intended destination. St'vren's sister and his former fellow weyrling are spotted, and the Icewind rider lifts a hand in a wave, "'lo folks, who's that that's getting married?"
"Friends," agrees R'dur, his voice lackluster. He frowns slightly as Brijana describes Yselle, but he doesn't say anything. Instead, he glances to the side, and spots D'ar. Quickly, R'dur scoots away from Brijana, blushing. "Er, good evening, D'ar," he greets the other brownrider, rather formally. "Ah. No one, that I know of. She was just--she was just commenting on how... things are when people do get married." Pause. "Er. How have you been, D'ar? I've hardly seen you since, well, weyrlinghood, I suppose. Not that that's too surprising--I, uh, don't see that many of the others, either." He shrugs.
Bri intends mischief, if the sudden sidelong glance to R'dur, and then open mouth that shuts promptly is any indication. The lackluster response from Alidaeth's rider gives the ruddy-haired girl a moment's pause, and a quick double take darts sienna eyes back to R'dur, before an affable greeting is called out towards D'ar. "Evening! I was just thinking it's a pity riders don't get married, but with flights, I suppose it'd be hard to live by marriage vows." In accordance with R'dur's own attempts to distance himself, Brijana frowns and then pulls back to her side of the table, fingers playing along a small stack of the brownrider's hides, thumbing through the corners. "Bathing? Or just hoping to escape the cold outside?"
"We've been well, actually, Kyubith's even seeming to behave himself a bit better now that he's got his own space. That living together for the longest time thing was a bit much," D'ar notes, glossing over the fact that Kyubith was probably a big part of the problem in the group, "And I'm liking Icewind, although it isn't quite as together as some of the other wings right now, I think partly because of Yselle being out on maternity..." while he had been chattering away, he sort of slows up at the mention of the Weyrsecond, momentarily eyeing R'dur, but not mentioning anything he may've heard. Instead, he swings his smile around to Brijana, "Evening it is. And marriage for riders you're advocating? Hmm. You're right, I'm sure, that it'd have to be excepting flights." A more sincere smile settles in at the mention of flights.
R'dur flushes sullenly, folding his arms across his chest. He doesn't respond to Brijana verbally, though his eyes flicker toward her, then back to D'ar quickly. Not that's any better. He stiffens when his friend brings up Yselle, managing a jerky nod. "Yes, I'm sure," he answers flatly. "And Weyrsecond V'lano, too, being away at Ista for the time. But, ah." He hesitates. "You'll... have them back soon, I think." A shrug.
Every so often, Brijana's study of D'ar is broken by a quick, reflexive glance towards R'dur, ascertaining how he is in those brief checkups. Something in the brownrider at her side's demeanor strikes the wrong chord in the statuesque girl, and with a toss of the loose auburn curls, she instead focuses intently onto D'ar, gifting him with a dazzling smile. "I don't mind the way Weyrs do it. It's less of a hassle than all the pomp that goes into marriage ceremonies, even the small ones like how Rishka did hers, and more fluid. It's fitting really. Once your wing's 'seconds are returned to you, I'm sure things will be far more normal. Icewind... /Faranth/, that must be such an honor to fly in the Weyrleader's wing."
"Is I'sai in Thunderbolt?" D'ar wonders as discussions lead to wing talk, "I can't keep it straight, couldn't even when he was my mentor...first he was down in Igen with Taralyth's clutch, now I bump into him at Ista...jays, half the time I see more Telgari at Ista than Istans." The good humor in the still standing brownrider's face is undiminished despite the quick dart of a gaze between the seated pair. And though the tension is thick enough to be cut by a knife, he seems determinedly unphased by it, "Flattery will get you everywhere in life, don't let anyone tell you different," he replies to Brijana with a smile twinkling all the way to his eyes.
R'dur frowns at Brijana's description of the process. "Too fluid," he replies after a moment, giving a shake of his head. "Some people--they change weyrmates like the rest of us change clothes. There's no /commitment/." He deliberately avoids Brijana's eyes, instead telling D'ar, "Really? I've not been to Ista in a--a while. A long while. We do seem to have people gone quite a bit, though--Weyrsecond V'lano was at High Reaches not too long ago, I believe. And no, I'sai isn't in Thunderbolt--Aerie, I believe?" He frowns thoughtfully, then nods. "I believe that's it. Ah. All the wings are honorable." The last is directed at Brijana, though R'dur still won't look at her.
Bri dimples under the effects of D'ar's twinkling smile. "So I'm told, but trust me, there's nothing to flatter about you. It's all truth, sweetheart. Commitment's such a funny word at that. I mean, there's weyrmated commitment, marriage commitment, and then there's moving away from a girl you were kissing just seconds before like she has some plague. Funny, huh?" There's nothing like the cloying words of a girl who has been hurt, and her avoidance of R'dur is fairly deliberate, regardless of the fact that the brownrider is in her line of vision to D'ar. "I don't believe we've been formally introduced. Brijana, St'vren's sister and far better looking than that lunkhead will ever be. Most people," Alidaeth's rider is finally cast a look, "Call me Bri though."
D'ar isn't really a dimglow, but he can occasionally play one in an effort to keep the conversation civil, "Aerie? That's right, now you've said it, it comes back to me. Gaw, how do you keep track?" he flashes what amounts to a sympathetic smile back at R'dur. It isn't an unlikely guess that at some point in his life, he's been in the hot seat. As a matter of fact, he turns a ponderously solemn expression back at Brijana, "Sweetheart, I swear on my sister's life that I haven't done that to a girl in turns, no matter how people talk. You just put that out of your head now, sometimes a boy's got to do what a boy's got to do, and you'll just have to forgive my trespasses, because I swear," he smiles a bit, trying to coax a genuine one out of the girl, "They were all before I met you, Bri, and you can call me D'ar, or darling, whatever you prefer." His words are so overdone that its clear he's being playful.
"And friend commitment--don't forget /friend/ commitment," R'dur retorts unhappily, lips pursing stubbornly. He adds, in a tone straining to be light, "I, well. I just try to remember, if not everyone, then at least the... best-known people. And since I know he's not in Thunderbolt, and you said he wasn't in Icewind, well. That makes it easier, anyway." He shrugs, the gesture stiffening as D'ar speaks to Brijana. Despite the fact that the other rider can't possibly be serious, R'dur's eyes narrow, that frown setting deeper. But he says nothing.
"Well, your /sister/'s life. Everyone knows sisters are sacred things to swear on." Brijana's mollified enough to flash a tiny little smile for D'ar's benefit. "That's a cute play on words. D'ar, darling. It must be a line you use on _all_ the girls, doncha? I've heard one of the queens is startin' to glow? It's the talk of the lower caverns that Mirrath's rising again and in an Interval too. It means we might have a new Weyrleader, but two of the other likely bronzes are other-Weyr bond, so does that mean K'ran has little competition? Or will you," she pauses, sliding R'dur a flat look, "Both of you, aim to be the first brownriding Weyrleader at Telgar?"
"Only on the kind of girls sharp enough to call me on it, I know how much you ladies love to be superior," D'ar teases, coughing a little, perhaps to hide a chuckle, "Couldn't quite see Kyubith weaselling his way into Mirrath's good graces, although I suppose you never know...I'm still not quite sure how he snared Ayannath. And I'll have you know I'm quite fond of my sister. I'm sure you're attached to your brother, aren't you? Now there's someone who could be a contender, what do you think, R'dur? Think Rusuth could mount a challenge?"
"I don't want to be Weyrleader," R'dur answers Brijana flatly. "Alidaeth, however..." He frowns. "Well, he's not really interested in it to be Weyrleader," concedes the man, grimacing. "I hope K'ran wins again--he's done a good job." He hesitates, shaking his head. Then, startled, he glances up at D'ar. "Rusuth? St'vren's Rusuth?" As though there's another. His eyes cut toward Brijana, and he manages an awkward shrug. "Maybe. I don't know. I haven't see--I'm kind of avoi--Ah. Maybe?"
Brijana groans, mocking a faint backwards with her hand held to her forehead. "Oh, please. If that boy became Weyrleader, Telgar's done for sure. Have you seen the ego attached to my darling, loveable brother's head? And Tarien's old enough to... well, if not his mother a very well-aging aunt." Her nose wrinkles daintily, another toss of curls keeping her attention pointedly away from R'dur. "K'ran also ages well, I think. They make a stunning couple." As if the pair needs her stamp of approval to continue being a couple. Blithely, the young woman continues, favoring Alidaeth's rider with a gaze where lashes sweep and waver in mute hurt, before a shift and a blink turns brighter cheer onto D'ar, "R'dur's avoiding St'vren cause he accidentally tripped into making out with me, and I guess he didn't really want to, and my dear brother might just get the idea to punch him in the nose. But you're not scared of Stav, are you, D'ar?"
D'ar was doing his best to skate around the subject, but Brijana apparently wants him to fall straight through the ice. The girl's words set his speechless for a second, during which he looks rather helplessly back at R'dur as if to say, "Sorry, man, I didn't did this hole for you, and I can't get you out of it," before he actually says, "If I 'accidentally' tripped and ended up making out with you, I'm sure the only person who might count it as an accident'd be you. I doubt a man could not want to kiss you who found himself in a position to do so. That said, Stav's a good man, but I'd not like to be on the receiving end of his first, and I'm a bit protective of my sister, so I can see how that might happen. But I suppose I'd count a broken nose or a black eye a small price to pay."
R'dur flushes, scowling. "I happen to value his friendship--and my nose," he replies. "And I'd really rather not jeopardize either of them. I don't want him thinking I'm--I'm taking advantage of his little sister." His frown turns sad, as he glances to Brijana again. "I just--What do you want me to do? We're--we're /friends/: I can't just go around kissing you all the time or just whenever I feel like it--St'vren would kill me, and I'd deserve every bit of it. Friends don't go around kissing each other." He nods, firm on that point at least.
"Friends don't go around kissing each other either," Bri affords R'dur a withering look, made all the more disdainful by the girl's sudden rise from her seat. The distance created initially by him pointedly stared at. "Riiight. Would you rather not be friends then? Would it make it easier somehow?" She stands still, but only for a second, and then begins to stalk away, her intentions to brush past D'ar on her way to the living caverns. "I don't have time for this. When you're not embarrassed to be sitting next to me in front of someone else, come find me."
D'ar clears his throat, and puts a hand out to stop Brijana from going although he doesn't actually try to grab her arm or anything, "Ahem..hem...um, you know, I think I might have come over to say hi at a bad moment, I'm going to...leave, you just, why don't you try just talking about this without any," not so helpful, "Assistance?"
"To kiss you?" R'dur asks, brows knitting in confusion. He gets no further before she starts to depart. "I--Brijana--no, wait," he tries to stop her, standing as well and giving D'ar a helpless look.
"Are you hungry?" Bri stops short at the out held hand, turning to favor D'ar with a sweet smile. "I'm famished, but if you were on your way to the bathing caverns, it'd be a pity to keep you from getting clean, and you can tell me more of why you think Rusuth has a shot at winning Mirrath's flight when he hasn't, oh," Tick tick tick of a few fingers in a silent count, "Won any other flight before." While there aren't any words or looks directed to R'dur, she's all still in that expectant waiting sort of way, back to the poor, stammering man.
"You want to come to the baths with me to talk?" D'ar looks helplessly confused. What about his suggestion that she and R'dur talk and work things out? Where did that go? He looks back at the other brownrider at about the same time he's being looked at, and shrugs, "I, uh, wasn't in any big hurry, really, just thought a hot bath sounded good on a cool evening...I could go get you food and bring it back here if you wanted to stay here?"
Mellora appears from the passageway leading to from the Weyr Entrance.
Mellora has arrived.
Mellora
Tall in the leg, the well tanned girl before you could be considered more striking than beautiful though she's pretty enough even with the slightly haunted look in her greenish gold eyes. Her hair is long, curls of ebony tumbling around her shoulders though tamed on top with a red kerchief tied in back. Her features are regular, even with fine lines with full lips, with a touch of sunburn on high cheekbones. Her nose is straight and proud, with the faintest of tilts upward at the end that keeps it from elegance. But her smile seems bright, and her teeth white and even.
She wears a thigh length tunic of indeterminate grey, old enough that it might have been darker once before being bleached by the sun with faded embroidery about the cuffs and squared off neckline. Her trousers are of well worn canvas as well, a few shades darker than the tunic. Brown leather sandlals wrap around her feet, her gait swinging and long. She moves with a swaying of hips, graceful and casual at once. Her hands show signs of hard work, callouses across the palms, weathering but still precise in placement and fine of bone.
R'dur doesn't know what to do, indecision rampant in his expression. He takes a half-step toward Brijana, then glances back at D'ar and bites his lip. "I, uh. Don't let me keep you," he tells Brijana's back, "if you'd--you'd rather go... with him. I, uh, I'd understand."
"Nah," Brijana's hand waves negligently towards the baths, "You go on ahead, doll, I'll be sure to catch up with you later." If the flirtation in the alto isn't enough, the accompanying look of appreciation that slides down and then back up D'ar's frame speaks volumes. R'dur's standing near a table in one of the bubble caves near the living caverns, D'ar has a towel around his neck and impeding Bri's exit. "I'm sure I'll manage well on my own at the meal table. We're a sturdy breed, Stav'n my family." Over her shoulder, the girl spares R'dur a pitying look. "Did you want to say something?"
A solitary figure wanders into the inner cavern and toward the kitchen fires, quiet and withdrawn. An unfamiliar face, to be sure, though one of the cooks seems to know her and offer a smile. "It's Mellora, right child? Ah, you caught some fish." The string of packtail are held up, handed off as the girl murmurs, "I already cleaned and gutted them for you." And whisked off to the kitchen they go, leaving the girl a little lost as she looks around.
D'ar's arm falls slack at his side, unimpeding Brijana's way, not that the slight obstacle it posed would've caused a problem for the headstrong girl. He gropes for words, and finds himself at a loss, taking a step back, away from the situation, and nearly backs into Mellora as she passes in from the living cavern. He seems grateful for the excuse to look away from the wreckage that is R'dur and Brijana's interaction, "Sorry, there," he offers the newcomer.
"Oh, no. Its my fault," the girl demurs instantly, taking a quick step back. Her gaze sweeps over him, to the knot on his shoulder, inclining her head briefly as she sees it. "But perhaps you could help? I'd wanted to go wash up, but I don't recall which way the bathing cavern was." And truth be told, Mellora does smell faintly of sun, sweat, and fish.
R'dur blushes unhappily, shooting D'ar another frown as Brijana speaks to him. Fortunately, the other brownrider doesn't seem eager to jump into the fray; R'dur is too preoccupied to notice anyone or anything else. As Brijana speaks to him, he turns to face her again, steeling himself. "I--I--Yes. Yes, I did. Do. I do. Brijana, I--I /want/ to kiss you. And I /don't/ want to be friends with you. I want to be mo--I /care/ about you, Brijana, and I'm sorry I hurt you. I'm--I'm ashamed that I--that I reacted like that. I shouldn't be... embarrassed because--" He shrugs, eyes on his feet.
"Because you're a coward." Bri pulls no punches in that last remark, and turns to nod to D'ar for his efforts, an apology transparent in her expressive eyes. The action in turn brings Mellora into view, and the faint smell of perspiration and fish wrinkle the girl's nose. "Evening," is all she volunteers, though the other girl receives a more genuine smile before Brijana completes her exit.
D'ar looks relieved to have a duty that he can handle, "Certainly," he offers Mellora in a fair more solicitous tone than he might've at another time, "I was headed that way myself..." he pauses, watching after Brijana, shaking his head, before swinging his gaze back to R'dur, "You going to be alright?" he queries, fusses with his towel.
"Because I'm a coward," R'dur agrees, not meeting Brijana's eyes. When she leaves, he sags back into the chair he vacated earlier, and sighs. "I--I'll be okay," he tells D'ar vaguely, glancing over at the other brownrider. He offers the girl near him a faint, forced smile and a nod as well. Then, he hesitates. "Should I--go after her?" he asks the pair, brows knitting.
Flushing a little at the scene she didn't quite want to witness, Mellora nods hurriedly to D'ar. "Thanks so much." And sidles a step or two away from the pair of men, lest she be guilty of more than unintentional and certainly unwanted eavesdropping, nodding shyly back as the striking woman stalks out.
D'ar is about to guide Mellora off toward the steam baths, but that's a serious question put to him, and a man isn't a man who walks away from another man's pain and suffering. But his answer isn't a quick one. His brow crinkles, creasing in thought, "Well, if she's most upset about you not being willing to show you care...what about going to talk to Stav instead? Maybe explain you're serious, so he doesn't get upset when you kiss her in front of the whole Weyr..." He looks guilty as he glances back at Mellora, "Sorry, not the best of introductions...I'm D'ar, I'm sorry..."
R'dur nods slowly to D'ar, biting his lip. "I--I don't know. Are we serious? I don't think we're serious. I don't think she even--Shards. I don't know. I'll--I'll think of something. And if something terrible happens to me, apologize to K'ran and T'bay and Yselle for me, will you? Thanks, D'ar." He offers the brownrider and the girl a small, sad smile, adding to them, "I'm, uh, I'm sorry you had to get stuck in the middle of that. Excuse me." He stands and starts off as well, in roughly the same direction as Brijana.
"I'm sorry too," Mellora mutters sheepishly, then nods back to D'ar. "I'm Mellora. Does this sort of thing happen often here? People just.. talking about their relationships right in front of everyone?" In an undertone, so as not to make it worse for the retreating brown sufferer.
D'ar looks a little more relaxed now that the pair of arguing lovers have gone, although a trace of edginess still spoils his normally laid back demeanor as he begins to escort Mellora down the hallway toward the baths, "I'm afraid it isn't a bit unusual, although that situation may perhaps be a bit worse than many...it takes some getting used to, the openness a lot of people at the Weyr have. Where're you from?"
"Ista. Sort of," the girl says slowly. "We mostly lived on a ship. You learn to be real private when you're constantly around and touching other people." She falls into step beside him, keeping pace easily enough. "Everyone knows what everyone's feeling most of the time, so you don't.. say it." Its rude, her tone suggests.
"I would guess so...I haven't really done any sailing myself, but I bet it'd make for some good stories," D'ar notes, reaching the portal that marks the entrance to the bathing caverns, "I'd like to try it sometime. I have, however, been to Ista a bit lately. Beautiful down there, but a little hot and muggy, kind of like the baths," he chuckles.
Telgar's Weyrgardens in Autumn
Here, the rocky hillside of the Telgar weyr volcano has been cleared and terraced into several cascading gardens. Stone walls have been built and the resulting shelves filled in with fertile earth from the Telgar Plains, supplemented by fertilizer from the compost heap. Waterways have been carved into the stone of the mountain to divert water to some gardens and away from others. Small orchards, full of varying colors of redfruit and pears, dot the terraced steps. Shorter days and cooler nights have turned the foliage of the gardens, and the hillside is splendid with a final burst of color: red and gold and orange. Like the leaves, some fruit has already begun to drop, and workers have taken to the slops to bring in the harvest. The nip of autumn touches all.
Contents:
PLAYERS: Brijana R'dur
So she wasn't quite as hungry as she proclaimed, and the trail to her whereabouts is fairly clear if asked - it's hard to miss Bri's striking figure as it makes its way through. It's equally difficult to miss the tears streaking down a normally jovial girl's face, and it's in the gardens that she's found solace. The fragrance of redfruits and pears, ripe for the picking, mingles with autumn's crispness, and midst the golds and reds of the season, the girl's green attire is distinctive. She's muttering to herself, the words all but inaudible in their repetitive mumblings, but it _could_ be something akin to: Stupid brownriders. Stupid riders.
R'dur's steps are slow and measured as he trails after Brijana, lagging several minutes behind the girl. His head is down, watching his feet rather than his surroundings; the only time he glances up is to ascertain which way Brijana went. Eventually, he arrives at the gardens, pausing there at the entrance and gazing solemnly inward. Finally, he tucks his hands into his pockets against the coolness of autumn and ventures forward again, cutting an aimless path across the gardens until his ears pick up a faint shuffle of steps, a jumble of indecipherable words. He turns that way, and finally finds himself facing Brijana, tear-streaked, mumbling. "Bri?" he says, softly. He takes another step toward her, then stops.
Bri isn't crying anymore, but the trailing paths tears have made offset the girl's fair complexion with a wet sheen. And all of it is all the more noticeable as when her name is spoken, dark eyes, so hurt, lift slowly. "You followed me? What do you want?" Without an audience, as she's often prone to do, all the bluster of haughtiness, or rampant flirtation have died away in favor of a colder truth.
R'dur pulls his hands from his pockets and instead tugs on the hem of his shirt, eyes there rather than on Brijana. He takes another shuffling step forward before answering. "I--I don't know," he admits. "I wanted to apologize, but that's--that doesn't make it better, does it? I wanted to make sure you're all right, but you're... not. And I wanted to tell you... I wanted to tell you how I--how I--" He frowns and doesn't finish that particular statement, instead glancing mierably up at her. "I never wanted to hurt you; I didn't know I could."
Equally miserable, Brijana stares at R'dur for long enough to ascertain he's not going to look at her, and wipes furiously at the lines that streak her cheeks. Turning so her face is tilted towards a nearby tree, her frame leans as well to prop a shoulder against the sturdy trunk. "Well you did, and you could." If that's not a conversation stopper... Nature is out to mock the fractured pair, a clear night with both moons and stars a glitter in the inky sky.
R'dur nods slowly, shifting his weight and not saying anything for a long moment. Finally, he notes, with eyes closed so he doesn't have to face Brijana, "I'm not sure what I wanted to tell you, honestly. I... I do care about you. And I--" Pause. "I'm being a coward again," he notes, half to himself. "I care about everyone--St'vren, Yselle, the rest of my weyrling class--everyone. This... isn't the same. I--I think I might love you." Pause. Gulp. "I hope you don't mind."
Color her floored, and if the tree weren't there to support her, Brijana might pull herself a Yselle and trip over absolutely nothing. As it stands, the dark eyes just fly up, lashes held wide, to stare at close-eyed R'dur. The right thing to say would be how she feels, or even more romantically gushy, a confession of her own. But Bri, after a lengthy silence of just staring blankly, makes one statement: "St'vren's going to kill you." And then bursts into tears: the inelegant, sobbing kind that could potentially end up in snotty sniffles.
"Oh, no!" R'dur wails, grimacing. "I knew--I /knew/ I shouldn't have said--I'm sorry--so sorry, Brijana. I didn't--I mean, I shouldn't--just... forget I ever said that. Any of it," he tells her, taking a step forward and cringing at the tears. "Please don't cry. I'm so sorry--I've made things worse. Again." He sighs, glancing over at her, wavering between approaching and keeping his distance.
Brijana, if R'dur allows it, somehow moves from tree to standing with her arms lifted, as if to drape her arms over his shoulders in one seamless motion that gets paused due to the rider's indecision. If he doesn't, she'll sway there forlornly. It's best to hope he does. Her nose isn't snotty yet, small wonders. "J-just h-hold me, stupid." Her stammering is caused by the sobs that attempt to die off, the insult not intended to hurt, at least not by vocal design. "Unless you don't love me anymore." Two second love.
R'dur's eyes widen, and he stares at Brijana before he reacts, moving closer to slide his arms around her as asked, pulling her close to him. "Oh, Bri. No, no--of course not," he tells her gently, his smile slow to appear. "You're not... mad at me, though? I thought--you're crying," he points out. "Please don't. It's okay--really, it is."
Brijana grimaces, the expression just visible before she tries to bury her face into R'dur's shirt to forcibly wipe the tears away. "I must look a mess. My eyes'll puff up in the morning. I always tell Eliette that brooding does nothing for anyone's looks and crying is even worse and... why?" Big eyes lift, tear-stained though not crying anymore, baffled. "You... you haven't even slept with me yet. But you sle-" For all her lofty ideals of Weyr living, the craftbred girl can't finish her sentence to include Yselle, and the effects of dragonriding on any sort of relationship. "Why?"
"I slept with Yselle," R'dur finishes, frowning himself at the reminder. "Because I was stupid, and I let myself get into a situation I couldn't handle. I didn't go see her that night with the intention of... that, but I let Alidaeth's emotions and my own... skewed judgment, well." He doesn't complete that statement himself, trailing off and biting his lip. "I--I don't have to sleep with you to--to know. Sleeping with you... That's what you do /after/ you know," he explains patiently, adding, "You look fine. Beautiful, like always."
"No," Brijana shakes her head, her protest mild, though punctuated by another sniff. "Why? Why me? It's because I'm pretty," she decides, though there's a hope that's in its baby stages behind her sienna eyes. Her query is put on hold, for an even blanker, "After?" There's more?
"No, that's not--well, I mean, you are, but that's not why," R'dur says, shaking his head. "The first time I met you, I thought you were beautiful. Then you, ah, started talking to me, and I found out who you were, and I was absolutely terrified. Especially when you'd flirt with me, because I just kept telling myself 'St'vren's little sister' over and over." He shrugs, blushing. "I guess I really just... don't know why. It's everything, really--the way you look and move, the way you always make me blush, the way you call me 'stupid'. I could--I could ask you the same thing, you know. Why... not P'trel. Or one of the others--I'm sure there were plenty of others." He frowns at that mention, lips pursing; quickly he nods and glosses over her last word with a simple, "After."
Brijana listens distantly, a small smile starting to shape on her full lips as he continues to speak. "I'm still St'vren's little sister." A quiet heave is stayed forcibly by tension in her shoulders, and the arms that wrap around R'dur's neck tighten reflexively. "That doesn't terrify you anymore, does it? Were," she confirms, though whether that's as of now, or as of weeks ago is unclear. "P'trel isn't you, and P'trel's weyrmate had other thoughts," she allows, a wider smile finally breaking past the veneer of remnant tears.
"Well, yes," agrees R'dur, wincing. "That's... hard to change. I, uh... Well, he does still terrify me, but--I can't let something like that dictate everything else I do," he decides. "Sometimes you just have to suck it up and deal with the fact that he's, well. probably going to hit me. Repeatedly. Uh, if it looks like he really is going to kill me, though, please, feel free to step in," he urges Brijana, with a slight smile. Then, pausing, he adds, "Were. I, uh. Well. I don't actually /know/ his weyrmate, but I think I should go thank her. Although I do feel kind of bad for her--she probably doesn't deserve someone who'd, ah, do that to her any more than, well, you do."
"If he even listens to me by then," Bri retorts, mild, acknowledging that, perhaps by that point, St'vren might be beyond the point of reason. "He might," she goes on to suggest, pulling back enough to catch that slight smile and returning it with one of her own, "Be happy. For you, or worried about you rather than me, you know." Predator, and one of many girl that she is. One of the arms around his neck fall, sliding down his arm to find his hand to try and capture it in hers. Love must be blind, however, given it takes two to tango in the saga of P'trel and his weyrmate, and the fact that R'dur glosses over her own part in it gives her pause, dark eyes entranced in near hero worship and gratitude. "Do... does that bother you a lot?"
R'dur notes dryly, "You're not comforting me." He shakes his head as she slides her hand in his, crooked smile brightening. "I am happy." Though, her last question, at least, pulls away his smile. He bites his lip instead. "Some," he admits, ducking his head. "I just--well. I thought it was terrible of him to... do that, and, well. He was the one with the--the obligation, the commitment, but you still..." He shrugs, not meeting her eyes. "And I guess I got... jealous, too, after a while. I mean, one... one wasn't enough for him, so he had to go after--" Again, he shrugs.
The light in Brijana's eyes fails, faltering at his reply, though the smile remains fixed in place, uncertain. "I... I'm sorry." Fingers in his curl tighter, seeking the reassurance in some physical sign that it'll be ok. "I...," for one so normally confident, Bri's confession is difficult to make out as her voice grows softer, "I was- I am jealous of Yselle. You're so sweet, so kind. You... you don't react to me the way other guys do." A flush blossoms on her cheeks, staining pale roses on the fair skin. "And you were with her and I was jealous, am jealous. And I don't want you to have a baby, but you will, and I... I'm just a silly girl. D'ar... I was just... I mean...," the explanation of her behavior just minutes ago becomes a jumble of starts that never quite makes an end, except in the appeal for understanding in her eyes.
R'dur's expression is rueful, and he gives Brijana's hand a slight squeeze of comfort. "I know," he tells her. "I--I don't want to have a baby, either, but... I am. I seem to have gotten things... backwards, somewhere along the way. I'd love to say that it was all just a flight, that it doesn't matter, but... Well. You're not silly--not at all. I mean, it's not silly to..." He trails off with a shrug and a small smile. "As for--well. I am sorry. It was stupid and mean and cowardly of me to act like that--you're right--and I'm ashamed that I did," he notes, concerning the earlier events of the night. "I won't do--I mean, if you--another chance."
"My meanie, my coward," Brijana murmurs. All the rest could matter little right then, as she leans up to try and claim his mouth and his heart with her own parted lips.
Whatever else R'dur had been about to say is quickly pushed aside, as he settles for a simple, "Yes." Willingly, he tilts his head downward to meet her lips with his.
The kiss goes on, with lips lingering against each other, pauses for breath and then an easy resumption of a gentle passion, but when she finally pulls back, breaking the moment, Brijana's damp eyes are shining for another reason: comfort with just where she is. "So...," she drawls out slowly, fingers playing idle patterns along his sleeves, "What now?"
"Er," falters R'dur, blinking. "Now? Well. We could, ah. I don't know. Did you have anything in mind? Because, I mean, I don't--I mean, if you do, that's okay. I mean, that's fine. It's, er, it's kind of cold out here, you know? So, I don't know, maybe we could--you know--get out of the cold because it's kind of cold but I don't know where you want to go and what you want to do so if you have an idea--" He's babbling, nervous.
Brijana seems to be considering a few options, the smile becoming more prominent the longer R'dur babbles. "I have a few ideas, but maybe we can wait on them. Walk me to my cot?" Dark lashes sweep downward demurely, marred only by the shiver brought by her good cry moments ago, and the chill of fall, "And we could have lunch together tomorrow if you've the time?"
R'dur nods quickly. "I--Yes, okay," he agrees, his smile turning shy; he hugs her closer as she shivers. "I'd--I'd like that," he adds. "I always have time."
"Ok, it's a date then." Brijana draws herself into that hug, nuzzling her nose against his neck. "R'dur?" It's just to see if he's still there, really. "There's no one else right now. Hasn't been for... weeks."
R'dur smiles as Brijana nuzzles against him, though her latter words leave him at a loss. He's silent for several seconds before he replies, simply, "Thanks," for that reassurance.