[Log] Dead and Crazy
Who: Adria, Cayri, Geneve, Greta, I'neph, Sh'van
When: Day 12, Month 13, Turn 442
Where: Bowl, Fort Weyr; Weyrling Barracks, Fort Weyr
What: Adria and Sh'van arrive with a strange new cargo.
Bowl
This end of the bowl is not very hospitable. The ground is flat, featureless rock with loose gravel speckling the brownish-black surface. A mile long from the hatching grounds to the lakeshore and a quarter of a mile wide, most of the bowl is largely featureless - an open space ideal for dragons. The entrance to the hatching grounds, wide and tall enough for a dragon to fly through, is northeast. The lower caverns tunnels branch off along the eastern wall. All along the rock walls of the bowl are ledges and weyrs.
The bowl is nearly deserted in the darkness. A layer of snow and ice and slush clings to the ground throughout the winter.
Players:
I'neph.........6', athletic; olive skin, dark brown eyes & hair; early 20s.
Cayri..........5'6". 16 turns old. Black hair. Brown eyes. Skinny.
Adria..........19, 5'8", lanky, dark hair, hazel eyes.
Sh'van.........Almost 6', lean. Pale blue eyes & scarred. Impeccably groomed.
Dragons:
Aydeth.........Green dragon, 1.20 feet long, 12 days old.
Chiyath........Green dragon, 10 feet long, 1 turn old.
Kesianth.......Blue dragon, 17 feet long, 1 turn old.
Lanmith........Bronze dragon, 22 feet long, 18 turns old.
Exits:
Ground Weyrs..................[S] Hatching Grounds..............[NE]
Lake..........................[SW] Living Cavern.................[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.
His thick sweater has been knitted from several pastel colors, all muted and twisted together, so that while it may have been made up of the odds and ends of skeins, it looks more like a sunset than an accident in the dyeing vats. The collar folds under his chin, while the sleeves end just at his wrists. His pants are heavy brown felted wool. Black boots complete the look; wax hardened wherhide make them waterproof. On his shoulder is the knot of a wingsecond twined with a strand of bronze.
Cayri
Although pretty with blue-black hair and brown eyes, there's something scapegrace about Cayri; her thin build and animated features fall well short of a true beauty. Her complexion is luckily clear for a teenager, olive and tanned as one might expect from someone with her darkling features. Short black hair is cut to a bob just longer than chin-length with messy bangs pushed carelessly around on her forehead. There's the spark of intellect in her dark eyes though there's nothing especially refined about her voice or speech, no single accent discerned, instead just a muddy combination of inflections.
She stands about five and a half feet tall, average height given that she looks to be about 16 or 17. Her clothes are "the best of a bad situation." The cuffs of her denim pants roll up several times and the waist is bunched under her belt, the pants themselves being several sizes too large for her. Her gray and yellow flannel shirt is likewise too large, sleeves rolled up and the untucked ends draping awkwardly. She wears it unbuttoned over a closer fitting red under shirt. Her boots and belt are the only things that obviously belong to her and fit her like they should, though neither is in especially good repair these days.
Adria
Some people simply have a calming presence; one that immediately puts others at ease. Though only in her late teens, Adria has that sense about her - in easy smile, casual bearing, and lilting, melodic tone.
She's certainly lovely, though it's not immediately obvious; often quiet and unassuming, she can be easy to overlook. Thick wavy dark-brown hair falls well past her shoulders, framing a pale oval face with delicate, refined features. Her wide, rounded eyes are light amber, the spark of a keen intellect lurking in their depths, her full, bow-shaped mouth animated. Lanky and tall - about 5'8" - there's a wiry energy in the shape of her body, only graced with the slightest of curves.
Dressed warmly against the weather, she is somewhat stylish, but mainly warm. A high-necked chunky sweater of marled aqua, moss and grey gives her a bit of shape, both sleeves and wide hem rib-knit and belled. A mossy soft scarf hangs loosely about her neck, matching mittens no doubt stashed somewhere. Her long, wool skirt is dark grey with simple lines, the hem snapping about the ankles of high, polished black leather boots that provide protection against the elements; as does a matching wool coat that, if not worn, is usually nearby. She wears the simple knot of a Fortian greenrider.
Greta
Rather plain looking is this young woman, with pale hazel eyes that are ringed in ebony lashes. Her mousy brown locks are clean, but always tightly braided back from her face and out of her way. The roundness of her face and jaw line helps to offset the thin length of her nose. Lips of pale rose are full, with the upper lip being marginally thinner then the lower. Her height and weight are average for a girl of her age, her overall form is lanky and without feminine curves. Her long torso tapers into a thin hipped waist before moving onward to the length of her legs.
Greta is attired in a simple outfit of brown pants and a long-sleeved shirt in a pale green hue. On her slender feet are a pair of well made but slightly worn brown leather boots match the belt that is draped around the young woman's waist.
Rubbing at his arms in the chill of early winter, I'neph fidgets uncomfortably as he eyes the half-grown Dioscuth. It's perhaps a little late and a little cold for either of them to be outside, but here they are, while the five-month-old bronze flaps his wings experimentally. "Yeah, you'll be great," I'neph is reassuring him. "You'll be just as great inside, too."
[DTU] To you, Dioscuth images himself in the barracks, wings rolled up and still hitting the opposite walls.
Geneve hops down from Kesianth's neckridges.
Geneve has arrived.
Geneve
Not especially pretty, Geneve is noticeable, if at all, thanks to a focused passion made visible through her every move and expression. She's short and curvy, with a riotous mess of dark curls ill-tamed by a tight ponytail, which lends her a certain severity lacking in her gentle features. Her small, round face, with button nose and plump cheeks, is dominated by doe-shaped grey eyes, very pale against skin that is naturally fair. She is probably in her early 20s.
Dressed for function more than fashion, Geneve hides her curves beneath loose, simple clothing. Her skirt is ankle-length and wide, made of undyed linen, falling to her ankle to show leather boots beneath. Atop this she has a loosely-cut dark red shirt, buttoned to the neck and wrist, and fastened about the waist with a length of woven cord. She wears the knot of a weyrling bluerider at Fort Weyr.
Chiyath and Lanmith pop out of the night sky nearly in unison. The green angles immediately for the ground while Lanmith waits a few seconds longer before heading to join her. "I should have warned you about the cold," Sh'van is saying apologetically to the strange girl strapped in behind him, "Especially with the rain. We'll get you inside, quickly." Everyone does look fairly soggy, hair plastered and dripping, clothes dark with wet. There's a basket strapped to Chiyath's side as well.
Chiyath has an elegant bugle for the weyr as she lands, looking altogether pleased with both being home and being home with cargo in the form of one Aydeth. Adria looks less pleased - relieved and less tense than in the past few days, hopping down from Chiyath's back to loose the basket the smaller green is in. The greenrider is wet-haired and shivering, the droplets on her wool skirt frozen into bright crystals. She immediately looks up to spot Kesianth, already on his way.
Kesianth has improved his landings, in general, but his speed in this instance - at Geneve's insistence, if her own half-tumble to the ground is any indication - ensures that it leaves something to be desired. The bluerider herself, with feet firmly on the ground, straightens herself, looking around madly. Their arrival is mere seconds after Chiyath and Lanmith's, and Geneve storms towards the pair as soon as she's got her bearings. "I don't believe it. I just don't--" her swearing is impressively creative. Then: "Have you been sitting out in the rain or something. By the--"
Greta is slowly stalking across the bowl with Ziaith only a winglength behind, with the bugle from Chiyath the younger green gives one in return. As the pair of dragons land, the weyrling stops to watch the goings on with a rather confused look on her face as the smaller green is seen in the basket.
At once, Dioscuth abandons his exercising in favor of peering up at the arriving dragons, rumbling to Chiyath and Lanmith in turn. I'neph glances that way as well, up from fiddling with his coat to watch them. Brows knit at once, and, glancing to Dioscuth, he edges closer to the pair as Kesianth tumbles in to join them. His loitering to the side is meant to be unobtrusive, though Dioscuth's looming presence behind him, the bronze already bigger than some greens, does little to achieve that goal.
Aydeth tumbles out of the basket the moment Chiyath is safely on the ground. Gracelessly, she attempts to right herself and look around at the same time, barely on the ground herself when Cayri is trying to get the straps off. "It's not that bad," she answers blandly. Her teeth chatter as she adds, "High Reaches, after all. I think I better go check on her..."
Sh'van's face tightens at the welcoming party; it doesn't stop him, however, from reaching a hand back to first help Caryi with the straps, and then assist her down. "Bluerider," he offers chillingly, then waves I'neph over. "Where's the Weyrlingmaster?" Greta's ignored, for now.
"I've been -trying- to talk to you," Adria says to Geneve, looking a touch taken aback at the cursing - like she usually does. "They just -said- there was something wrong." A pause, then a bit tightly, with a glance for Sh'van, "-I- was the one who brought the news." Chiyath's keeping an eye on Aydeth for the moment as the green checks out her new surroundings. "And there was a storm."
When he sees the green dragon tumble out of the basket, I'neph can't help the low whistle that escapes his lips; Dioscuth brushes past him in his curiousity, snaking his long head toward the younger dragon, though even he's not brash enough to get too close at this point. I'neph doesn't step forward until Sh'van gestures for him. When he does, he can't keep eyes off Cayri, though his reply is to the bronzerider. "Ah. Not sure, sir. His weyr? The barracks? Ah, Dioscuth can ask Reith?"
Cayri rebounds from the cold and the shock quickly with a grin. She mutters to Sh'van, "... to... with... Sh'van?" Once loose, she slides to the ground and lets her preoccupation with Aydeth's well-being override her worry about being gawked at. The dragonet starts happily toward her rider but stops abruptly, almost as if struck, and snorts in Lanmith's direction.
"Weyrsecond." Geneve is cold in words, and her expression murderous - though this latter is aimed less at Sh'van than the situation, as interpreted by the bluerider herself. She comes to a complete stop, and has the grace to look at least a little embarrassed given Adria's response to her words. She nods, finally. "What happened? They're all right, though? I can't believe-- High Reaches. High bloody Reaches!" Her gaze shifts to Cayri, watching the girl expectantly.
Greta moves in closer even as Ziaith stretches out her neck to investigate the smaller dragonet. Knowing that she's being ignored doesn't stop Greta for being part of what's going one, she offers Cayri a welcoming nod but is wise enough to stay quiet for now.
[DTU] To Aydeth, Dioscuth's mental touch is definitely curious, though he's silent several seconds before he comes up with a suitable image: Aydeth and her rider, sprawled out on the ground, in plainly deceased fashion. It's definitely a question, or a request for an explanation as to why this plainly /isn't/ so--there's no question to him or his rider who this must be, only the reasons of the situation.
Sh'van continues to look less than pleased at the whole situation, but he gives I'neph a nod. "Please do." A wave delays any retreat, though, and Sh'van stands in his straps, lifting his voice over the babble. "This is Cayri and her Aydeth. As you can see, they are -not- dead, nor insane. Since we have just come from a storm through *between* into cold, they are now going inside. You can all ogle them there." Though if Van had his wish, surely all the oglers would disappear and forget they ever saw any of this.
[DTU] To Dioscuth, Aydeth seems cheerful, blithe even. << I don't understand. Explain please. >>
Adria nods to Geneve. Grimly, "I know. I couldn't -believe- it. They left the two of them -" She stops, just shaking her head. Moving to tie her scarf around her wet head in a makeshift hat, she continues to the bluerider, "There was some - rumour..." Harper Talk. "That, news to the contrary, they were very much all right. For the time being." She quiets at Sh'van's speech, looking rather pleased with the idea of inside.
Cayri checks over her dragon like a good weyrling, nodding as she straightens with a hand on the green's neck. "Are we /supposed/ to be dead or insane?" The question is echoed by a questioning warble from Aydeth, who plods along with clumsy cheer past Dioscuth toward anywhere, just happy to be out and about. "Did they tell people we died?"
"Yes," says Adria, tightly. "They had planned to all along."
"Can do, sir," I'neph replies distractedly, tearing eyes from Cayri enough to wave at Dioscuth. This, apparently, means some to the bronze, for he fixes his rider with a glance as well, whuffing. "He's telling him," I'neph translates. "And, yeah, I kind of gathered that one, sir. Inside it is." He smirks slightly, taking a step backward to begin that trip.
Geneve's grimace turns to a scowl, as her posture straightens - her whole person takes on a serious, determined bent. "That's despicable. It's-- beyond despicable. I don't even have the words, except that it isn't on, and it's not right, and - welcome to Fort, Cayri, it's not so bad here, I should know what with being in a situation a little like yours, except that at least Benden didn't /leave me to die/." She obviously heard Sh'van, because she does take a few steps towards the caverns, but... Distracted.
[DTU] To Aydeth, Dioscuth waffles unhappily, finally sighing heavily and resorting to words to explain. << You're dead. And your rider is crazy, >> he notes in a somewhat slurred voice--no wonder he sticks with images. << Why are you here now? >>
"Politics," Sh'van agrees with a strange tight little smile for the ex-Reachian. "Further," he adds, lfting his voice again, "This is to remain -quiet-. I do not want to hear one whisper of this from anywhere. I am going to report to the Weyrleader; it is /his/ privilege to decide who gets told about her arrival. Do I make myself clear, weyrlings, bluerider?" He looks around sternly at each of the weyrlings -- even Cayri -- with only the briefest stops (if stop it was) at Adria. Geneve, however, gets a look as long as I'neph.
"Brilliant. You people and your politics," Cayri answers, wide-eyed at Adria and Sh'van, amusement mingling with horror. "Wouldn't it have been easier to just say they dropped us off somewhere..." As she walks, she trickles off her words and looks at Aydeth amusedly. "Thank you for the welcome, um, bluerider? We can trade stories some time when I'm not dripping wet? It'd be ironic if I /died/ right after I got resurrected."
[DTU] To Aydeth, Chiyath, Dioscuth, Kesianth, and Ziaith, Lanmith includes all of the younger dragons as he shares an image of the bowl, zooming in on the barracks. << Here, Aydeth. Can you walk that far or do you wish to be carried? >> It's unclear if he means by Cayri or Sh'van: the image flips between the two.
Greta looks Sh'van directly in the eye, the wheels in her head already turning rapidly. "Yes Sir." is snapped out as she brushes a lock of hair off her face and tucks it behind her ear. "Welcome" is whispered to Cayri.
[DTU] To Aydeth, Chiyath, Kesianth, Lanmith, and Ziaith, Dioscuth helpfully offers an image of himself strutting to the barracks, trailed obediently by Aydeth.
"Well, you see - they want everyone to think we're defective," Adria explains, glancing to include Greta in this as well. "And dropping you off is a buit more heartless that they might've liked to seem." A pause, then wryly. "Ironic indeed. Worthy of a ballad."
I'neph's brows knit as he now observes Geneve, smirk fading to a frown as he glances back to Cayri again, dubious. "Yes, sir," he answers Sh'van in distracted fashion. For once, even I'neph is short of a smart remark.
[DTU] To Dioscuth, Aydeth projects, << I'm not dead. She's not crazy. That's why we're here maybe? I don't know. It was raining and dark and now it's just cold and dark. Did you want us to go back? >>
"Geneve," introduces the owner of that name, hastily. "My course. My apologies. I--" Scowling, she nods darkly in response to Sh'van, as his gaze rests upon her, as if she's trying desperately hard not to roll her eyes.
[DTU] To Aydeth, Dioscuth ponders this a moment, his mind envisioning the scene, offering flickering pictures that are sometimes of Aydeth and Cayri in this dark place, and sometimes confuse himself and I'neph with them instead. Finally, he offers a last picture, the inside of Fort's barracks and himself on his couch with Aydeth curled up on the one next to it. Verbally, a simple: << No. >>
[DTU] To Dioscuth, Aydeth is quite bubbly about it. << Then don't worry about it. >>
Sh'van unstraps, slips down Lanmith's side. The bronze immediately lifts off, heads for a less occupied section of the bowl. "Bluerider," Van calls, gesturing for Geneve, "I want you to go get supplies for Cayri. Blankets, clothes, whatever else she'll need overnight." That's sort of like trust, isn't it? "I'neph, you and Dioscuth go ahead of us and get any other weyrlings into the barracks. The least we can do is try to contain this." Everyone else just gets to fall into line as he takes up position on Aydeth's other side, slowing his steps for the green.
Ziaith moves along not far behind Aydeth, puzzled by the younger dragonets arrival it seems. "Easy Ziaith, she's not going to be up to your speed so don't crowd her." is called out as Greta joins the line of bodies that's moving towards the barracks.
"Yes, sir, right away, sir," I'neph answers glibly, stepping that way at once. He nudges Dioscuth ahead of him with a couple of well-placed boot-prods, the bronze reluctant to start the journey but quite eager once he's moving, running on ahead of his ambling rider to shepherd his clutchmates to the barracks.
[DTU] To Aydeth, Chiyath, Kesianth, Lanmith, and Ziaith, Dioscuth seems quite happy with this development: his picture now is of himself leading the column of everyone, boxing out the others as he becomes the first back to the barracks.
Geneve doesn't seem to see it that way. More like being shut out. But-- "Yes, Sir," she agrees, finally, casting a longing look towards the group - her agreement comes well and truly after I'neph's. That said, the moment she's issued her statement, she's moving off at a run towards the caverns. If she's going to be separated from this, well, it's darn well not going to be for long!
Cayri smirks weakly. She mutters to Sh'van, "Solitude isn't looking... bad... /are/... of... people?" Aydeth trots along, stumbling now and then in her bouncy little gait. "What, um, are you going to tell people exactly? It's pretty clear we're not dead so?"
Adria looks after Geneve, twitching her coat closed around herself. Eyeing the now-large group - and having nothing specific to do - she hangs back a touch, only watching the progression across the bowl and to the barracks.
Sh'van says, "True. The blue and his rider are Geneve and Kesianth, originally from Benden. Adria you know. I'll let the others," he pauses with a Look for Greta, "Introduce themselves." Presumably I'neph will get the same Look when they catch up.
Weyrling Barracks
Large and spacious, the barracks were originally three large caverns that are now connected. From the entrance, the first cavern is the largest and boasts five picnic-style tables capable of seating about ten people at each - presumably a place for weyrlings or weyrlingmasters to work. To the left, a smaller "storage" area contains large oil bins, smaller oil buckets, long cupboards with gear for making straps, and a large but tidy pile of fresh rushes. Although the cavern is in use now, most of sixty-some cots and presses and couches are still in disrepair, folded up along the back wall in the third cavern, out of the way. Only thirty-three of them are currently kept up and in use, arranged in neat rows down the center of the semi-cavern to the right.
Once elaborate tapestries that hang from the walls are now dusty and crumbling, or removed all together, leaving bare spaces of discolored stone. The only way in or out is through one of the two large openings from the bowl. It's nighttime in the winter. The fire burns bright, crackling with the only cheer in the room. The rugs over the entrances are fastened tight against the cold.
Players:
I'neph.........6', athletic; olive skin, dark brown eyes & hair; early 20s.
Dragons:
Dioscuth.......Bronze dragon, 10.7 feet long, 6 months old.
Oskeluth.......Brown dragon, 10.8 feet long, 6 months old.
Exits:
Lake..........................[SE]
Dioscuth, true to assignment, has gone on ahead and herded up the weyrlings he could find, ushering them all into the barracks ahead of himself. He's even still the first one there, although I'neph is certainly not about to challenge him; he keeps that slow and steady pace that allows the bronze to just edge him out for the title. "Mm, very good," is his distant congratulation as Dioscuth curles up on his couch, near the door. I'neph stops there as well, turning to peer at the line of followers expectantly.
"Didn't she get killed or something?" Cayri asks to Greta with her eyebrows raised and her tone heavily dubious. "Is there another cot? Maybe?" Brave words aside, she looks relieved to be getting in out of the cold, and Aydeth looks enamored to be inside a /real/ building!
Sh'van says "I'neph, until the Weyrlingmaster says otherwise, I'm putting you and J'tei in charge of Cayri and Aydeth. I'm sure he'll be here soon. Find a cot for them -- not," he adds wryly, "the one that belonged to Samiya if you please, and show her around the barracks. You'll also be in charge of introducing her around."
Sh'van adds, "Greta, if you will watch for Geneve, it would be appreciated."
Greta nods to Sh'van or was she nodding to Cayri or perhaps it's both as she moves back to the door to watch for the other rider.
"Wouldn't think of it," mutters I'neph darkly, glancing askance to that long-empty cot. Quickly, rubbing his chilly hands together as he adjusts to the warmer indoors, he turns to Cayri. "So, uh. Cayri, huh. I'neph, Dioscuth," he introduces himself, with a gesture for his dragon as well, now preening smugly over his victory, minor though it might be. "Er. C'mon--the ones down this way are the empty ones." He brushes past, headed for the opposite end of the barracks, where the other girls happen to be quartered as well.
Sh'van moves around the barracks, pausing at each clump of goggle-eyed weyrlings. Undoubtedly he's giving them the same introduction-cum-warning that he gave out in the bowl. Whispers of, "I thought she was supposed to be /dead/!" and, "-Another- girl?" can be heard, but never within ten feet of the Weyrsecond.
Cayri waves at I'neph when he introduces himself as she's watching orders get tossed about rapidly. "Hi, I'neph. Aydeth tells me your dragon showed her a rather disturbing image of the two of us dead. Tact not a bronze dragon thing?" she greets with a plucky determination. That determination extends to /ignoring/ any outbursts as the weyrsecond passes around the room.
His circuit (and warnings) made, Sh'van finishes up near Cayri once more. "You'll be fine now, Cayri. Weyrling. Reith is a very steady brown. I don't often have time to visit the barracks, but I will see you out and about. Do you have any other questions for me before I report to the Weyrleader?"
"Tact not a Dioscuth thing," corrects I'neph with a smirk, perching on the end of one cot--an occupied one at that. The blue weyrling gives him a frown but he's not going to make a scene over that right now. Blithely, I'neph continues, "Sorry about him--he's a little too good with the pictures sometimes." He falls silent a moment when Sh'van approaches, glancing between the girl and the man.
"Oh a lot of them, Sh'van, but they'll still be there the next time I see you." Cayri halts at the end of that statement, squinting one eye closed with a spreading grin. "A lot of them, /sir/. Thanks for..." Fill in the blank. Aydeth peeks her head up from behind the cot where I'neph is sitting, croons cheerily at Sh'van, and goes back to investigating the room eagerly. "A little too good, yep, but don't worry about it. Just a shocker after the past two weeks. This cot, huh?"
Geneve heads over from the lake.
Geneve has arrived.
Greta has disconnected.
Sh'van says "You're very welcome, weyrling. I'm just glad we could help." He drops I'neph a nod in lieu of a salute, turns on his heel, and heads out the door. Greta and Geneve both get distracted nods as well. Behind him, more murmurs, "Her dragon is so /small/!" "How is she ever gonna catch up?" "M'vari's gonna be /pissed/!"
Sh'van heads out of the barracks.
Sh'van has left.
"It'll do," I'neph remarks with a shrug, straightening from his perch on the end of the cot at the end of the barracks. He turns about to point out other notables nearby: "That's Zaeyla's, Yasia's--or, oh, wait. I forget," he says as he points out the trio of cots that belong to the female riders, though exactly which is which eludes him. He adds, pointing out another nearish one, with the largest couch, "And Breide." Pause. "The goldrider." Just in case Cayri thinks she's got another comrade-in-arms.
Cayri looks at the cots with a dry smile. "So we all get pushed in to the corner? Brilliant," she drawls, dropping down gracelessly onto the cot with a long and much needed sigh. Aydeth trots right over and crumples into her couch to stretch out and experiment. "Am I allowed to ask for your candid opinion? After two weeks with Sh'van - the implacably /polite/ - I could use a little candor."
Geneve arrives just as Sh'van leaves, squashing herself against the doorway to avoid him. Once he's gone, she straightens herself, adjusting her load of blankets and assorted other things, as she steps more confidently towards the girls' side of the barracks. "Blankets, some clothes, some other things," she offers, as she approaches. "And a promise of more things in the morning, since, obviously, we couldn't be absolutely sure what would fit and what wouldn't." Distracted by what she hears as she approaches, she adds, "Oh by Faranth, that long with Sh'van? You have my sympathies, that's for sure." Oh, yes: Hi.
"Two whole weeks?" I'neph says. "And you're not really crazy? Even a little bit?" He sounds a little dubious, perhaps even a little disappointed. Companionably, or perhaps just too familiarly, he settles onto the cot alongside Cayri as Geneve arrives. "I'm good with candid." he remarks simply. Pause. To the bluerider: "I hear you're even better."
Cayri wiggles her hand and answers, "Maybe a little bit. We played a lot of backgammon." Now she kicks off her boots, prying them off with the toe of one foot against the heel of the other. "He's all right, and I wasn't in a place to complain anyway." She sits up, eyeing I'neph with a squint of one eye, and turns toward Geneve. "Dry socks in there? My feet are soggy."
"One of the best," smirks Geneve, though her expression is not entirely lighthearted; she's obviously upset about all of this - or something else. "Yes," she adds towards Cayri, dumping her bundle down on one of the cots - whoever owns it isn't here right now, so clearly has no place to complain. She rummages through, coming up with the socks, which she hands over. "Backgammon." She shakes her head. "Ugh."
I'neph wrinkles his nose. "Backgammon. How dull. Just the sort of game he'd suggest," he notes, shaking his head. "So, tell me," begins the weyrling, after another quick glance over at Geneve, "just what's been going on here? All I've heard the past few days is about that poor green weyrling, all sick and dead and crazy. And, well. You look... decent, from where I'm sitting." He scans the girl's and her dragon's forms appraisingly, shoulders lifting slightly.
Cayri peels off her own wet socks and takes the socks with an exaggeratedly grateful smile at Geneve. "You missed an exciting rescue. There was a storm. Someone should make a ballad about it - and be sure to mention the fact that /I'm not dead/ in there somewhere," she chatters while she pulls on the dry socks, looking relieved. She answers I'neph, "It's all very 'political.'"
Geneve usurps the cot her pile of blankets are sitting on, leaning against it comfortably. "I'm sure Adria'd be up to that task. But... I imagine that song would be pretty 'political', too. And maybe not in a way that certain parties will appreciate." Her tone is scathing. "Adria tells me that the Masterharper knew, and did nothing. That lots of people did. It's /sickening/."
"Oh, I understand politics," I'neph says with an airy wave of his hand, dismissive. "I understand all about those. Can't figure, though, why the Reaches would make this big to-do about you all being dead when all we got to do is ask her, right?" He points to the green dragon, then leans closer to Cayri to murmur something to her, though he's watching Geneve more than the greenrider.
I'neph leans close to murmur, He mutters to Cayri, "... I... is... just didn't... you here on... own,... Benden... didn't... qualms about foisting... on us ,..." He leans back, gives the greenrider a look, and then adds to Geneve, mildly, "No offense, of course."
Cayri senses "I'neph leans close to murmur, "What I don't get is why they just didn't send you here on their own, right? Because Benden certainly didn't have any qualms about foisting their undesireables on us, right?" He leans back, gives the greenrider a look, and then adds to Geneve, mildly, "No offense, of course.""
Cayri leans back even farther after the murmur, giving an oh-really look to I'neph. "Did you just call us undesireables?" She turns a bright eyed eyebrow raise on Geneve for filling her in on that murmur. "Is it sickening? I just thought it was weird and kind of cruel. How many people sleep in here?" She looks beyond the two at her cot toward the peering faces.
Geneve heard just enough of that to glower at I'neph - no doubt she would have said more if Cayri hadn't spoken first. "I'neph appears to be one of those who consider us an unnecessary evil, I'm sorry to say," she declares to the weyrling, keeping her gaze on the young man. "It's sickening, yes. Because they have so little regard for us - because we dare to rock their world order. And some of us, in particular, because we chose to. You did, didn't you? Got on there, intentionally?" She turns, glancing around. "There were-- I don't remember, in this clutch. A big clutch, though. Bigger than the one I joined."
"Thirty-three. Two. Thirty-two," I'neph corrects himself, and though it's been five months since the unfortunate attempted kidnapping, his eyes still seek out Samiya's deserted cot, the only empty one in the clutster of weyrlings, who have all been gathered near the front. "And it was a figure of speech," he adds after a moment. "Sort of. Obviously, they /did/ think you were, right? Else they'd've stuck with you like we have. Don't stick words in my mouth--I got enough of them for myself." The latter, directed at Geneve, along with a smirk.
Cayri blinks to Geneve's words, quite surprised by the venomous sound of it. "I guess I hadn't thought about it like that? I did do it on purpose, yes, but not to rock anyone's world order. Just because..." She shrugs inconclusively. "People here aren't very comfortable with it either, are they? That's a bummer," she muses, looking dismally on Aydeth who finally curled up to go to sleep.
"You've got rather too many," snarks Geneve towards I'neph. "I would watch it, if I were you." To Cayri, she nods. "Just because you could. And why not? It's obvious that we can - that the dragons will choose us, when we're there, so why not? No, not really," she adds, sounding irritated. "But they're getting better. Slowly. These things take time. We're still working on the possibility of a wing for us girls alone, but that'll happen eventually, I think."
I'neph glances sideways at Cayri, frowning now. He fidgets with the hem of his shirt a moment before sighing, rolling his eyes, and noting, "Eh, some of 'em, same as anywhere else. Always those few, though, that don't think the way everybody else does--like K'yin there, or old H'ral." He points out a pair of faces, marginally friendlier (or more pitying, whichever) than most of the others staring at the trio. The gesture is deliberately flippant and vague, so as to downplay any possible helpfulness. "Everybody else, we can tolerate, right?"
Cayri asks bluntly, "Do you talk too much, I'neph? Hmm." She's a bit more intrigued by Geneve's commentary, pulling up one eyebrow speculatively. "Why put us all in our own Wing? Isn't that just sticking us out all on our own even more? I'd kind of like... to be part of the group? Hm?"
Geneve has clearly taken to ignoring I'neph, her attention entirely focused upon Cayri. "Because until they're used to us, it disrupts everything. In the meantime, we can prove that we're just as good as they are, before - slowly - we get integrated properly. At the moment, there are only three of us in the wings, and I don't think it works all that well. They're too wary of us, and too protective. Good thing there's no thread, or, I tell you, things really would get messy. 'Oh no, the little girl who can't protect herself will get hurt'." She rolls her eyes.
"Depends on who you ask," I'neph answers Cayri easily, not particularly perturbed. "'Spect Sh'van would say so, but, well. We all know how he is, right? Right." That smirk is back, lingering as he leans back slightly to regard the two women. He's made himself quite at home, apparently, on Cayri's new cot. For once, however, he bites his tongue and doesn't reply to Geneve's disgusted rant.
"Wouldn't it - " Cayri's hypothetical situation withers in the light of Geneve's much more thought out dissertation. "You've obviously spent a little while thinking about this. I, um, thought that once I got off that island everything would pretty much just work itself out." She turns to peer at I'neph, with a half questioning expression. "Not the case then?"
"I guess I've had longer to do so," agrees Geneve, though she adds, "Adria and I talk about this stuff a bit - feel free to chat with us. I think we'd like that. I always knew it'd be a fight - but" she grins, "I like a good fight. I /live/ for a good fight, something to sink my teeth into."
I'neph shrugs. "I don't think so," is his defense. Rather warily, then, he eyes Geneve, and again refrains from commenting to the bluerider. Instead, recalling some of Cayri's earlier words, he asks, "So what was that candid opinion you wanted out of me?"
Cayri shakes her head to I'neph. "No, we pretty much covered it during the course of the conversation." Good or bad for I'neph? "I'd kind of like there not to be a fight, I guess. We're all sort of the same anyways? We all Impressed, so should we just all be okay with each other?" She clearly has no idea how naive she sounds, ending with with a hopeful half-smile. Maybe?
Geneve laughs, though not unkindly. "Ah, if only the world were that simple. I'm afraid, Cayri, that people just don't like change - and we're a big change." She stands, digging her hands back into her pockets, and adds, "I should leave you to it - no rest for the wicked, and Sh'van's pretty convinced that's what I am. Welcome to Fort, Cayri, and good night." Then, as she turns, a long pause. "I'neph." If she must.
I'neph gives Cayri one of those skeptical, did-you-really-just-say-that looks after he waves off her former words. "Uh-huh, sure," he answers, stopping just short of a laugh. "Geneve," he tells the bluerider smugly, inclining his head to her in rather mocking chivalry, grin still present when he glances back up at the woman.
"Nice to meet you," Cayri returns, still rather bemused. It's been an eventful day for her. "I'm sure we'll have lots of time to talk it over. Good night." To I'neph's skeptical look, she issues a 'huh?' one and leaves it at that.
Geneve, ignoring I'neph (again), smiles at Cayri, perhaps in an attempt to look comforting, and nods. "No doubt," she agrees, as she takes her leave, leaving behind the pile of bedlinens and clothes.
Geneve heads out of the barracks.
Geneve has left.
I'neph just shakes his head in reponse to Cayri, his expression rather pitying. "Well, you'll see, I guess. It's getting late, though--morning's at six, and Dioscuth's unbearable if I don't get enough sleep." It's a good thing the bronze has already drifted off on his own couch. "But, uh. Well, Sh'van said to show you around and stuff, so if you want that tour when we get some free time, lemme know. Or J'tei, he said--he's a decent sort, in general." One hand gestures toward one of the other two bronzeriders up beside Dioscuth, while the other reflexively scuffs at his close-cropped hair.
Cayri answers without hiding the fact that she's not telling the truth, "I'll take you up on that some time. Otherwise, I can probably figure out one end of the bowl from the other. Yep." Still fully dressed, she sprawls out on the cot now that it's vacated and makes ready to sleep and sleep emphatically. "Night, nice to meet you."
I'neph smirks, seeming pleased by Cayri's lie. "Sure. Just let me know, or Dioscuth, whatever," he agrees. And just like that, he's off the hook, smirking as he stands and starts ambling back down the row of cots and couches to his. "Nighty-night," he calls back over his shoulder, as one might tell a child.