[Log] You People Have a Lot of Drama, Pt.1

[brazenbronzer]

Who: Cayri, Greta, I'neph, J'tei, R'fin, R'mi, Sh'van, Soriane
When: Day 24, Month 13, Turn 442
Where: Library, Fort Weyr; Living Cavern, Fort Weyr
What: I'neph interrupts a conversation and then has several more. Bitterness, stuffiness, and mushiness ensue.
Notes: Find Pt. 2 here.

Library
     Doubling as records room and study, this inner cavern houses copies of all the records at Fort Weyr, cataloged and archived painstakingly over the turns. The catalog is kept in the series of bound volumes in a cupboard often locked, and none of the records here are allowed to leave the room unless checked out with the archivist on duty. Regardless of the time of day, there is *always* an archivist on duty here. From floor to ceiling, the walls are lined with shelves and the shelves are lined with bound volumes of hide, arranged in an archaic and confusing system that keeps archivists employed and most everyone else mystified. The fireplace here has a metal stove around it that allows for better regulation of temperature, keeping the room cool but not cold for the benefit of the hides.
     There are five tables in the room with four chairs for each, amply lit by glowbaskets. At intervals between the tables are three single-person desks. The archivists share a large desk near the front of the room, facing in, where they can see everyone coming and going.

Players:
I'neph.........6', athletic; olive skin, dark brown eyes & hair; early 20s.
Cayri..........5'6". 16 turns old. Black hair. Brown eyes. Skinny.
Sh'van.........Almost 6', lean. Pale blue eyes & scarred. Impeccably groomed.

Exits:
Inner Caverns.................[O]

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. Wearing simple fabrics in bright colors, she doesn't seem to favor any particular style. Dusty pink shirt with short sleeves and dark green khaki pants are the base of the ensemble, then highlighted by a belt of leather dyed orange with a brass buckle. It being winter, she usually has her coat - a simple cut of tanned leather with purple stitching that stands out sharply. Her mittens are bright blue and her scarf is a pattern of yellow and orange.

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 blinks exceptionally at Sh'van. "You weren't kidding about boring, were you?" Peering a few seconds longer, she then drops her eyes to the next capital-T-traditional ballad in the collection. "Do you like your job? M'vari told me you're a yes-man." She chats quite amiably with Sh'van at one of the least occupied tables in the room, the others filled with other weyrlings doing /research/.

Lots and lots of research. The records room has never been so popular thanks to J'tei. "I'm afraid not," Sh'van says with a little self-deprecating shrug. "Though as long as the work gets done I don't particularly care what people say about me. I do what I do for my own reasons; if people want to ask about them they're more than welcome." And if they don't, his silence adds, then they're welcome to think what they like. "Mnh, M'vari is hardly in a position to point fingers. I do enjoy it, yes. My duty is to the Weyrleader first, Fort second. It doesn't particularly matter who is Weyrleader."

I'neph is actually working--and quietly! Seated at the edge of a group of other equally silent boys, he has a couple of records open in front of him, but he's not even glancing at them as he instead works on covering every inch of a scrap of a hide with his writing. Still, eventually he runs out of space and leans back, eyeing the hide. Standing, he pockets it and turns to skim over the nearest shelves restlessly. It's then that he overhears Sh'van's voice, and he glances that way. Then back to his companions. Back to Sh'van and Cayri. He makes up his mind in that instant, abandoning the other weyrlings in favor of strolling casually over to the pair and sliding himself into one of the empty seats at their table. "Afternoon, sir," he offers a greeting and a quick salute.

"I think he meant it in defense of you really. That way it wasn't your fault that I was stuck for an extrahey, I'neph." She scoots her chair and the collection of hides over to provide him more space, smiling all cheer and greeting to the other weyrling. Peering none too discretely at I'neph, she asks, "Didn't even notice you were in here. How's it going?"

Sh'van ahs at the explanation-cum-defense of M'vari, the little bit of tension that had gathered easing out of his shoulders. "Yes, and I do apologize for that." But you know, yes-man. Duty. All of that." He returns I'neph's salute but doesn't stand, though an eyebrow lifts at the imposition. He waits a beat before drawling, "Join us, please."

"It's going," I'neph says in that long-suffering voice he's so good at. "Didn't mean to intrude--" suuure "--but, well. Everybody needs a break." He makes a flippant gesture toward those more diligent weyrlings. "An extra what?" he questions Cayri.

Cayri answers, "An extra none of your business." Crinkling her nose at I'neph, she concludes that line of questioning dismissively, adding a worryless smile at Sh'van's apology. "I'm not mad. Any /more/. I'neph, we were talking about enthusiasm. You sound like yours has been sapped. What's wrong?" She looks at I'neph with especially sad eyes.

Sh'van's pale eyes can't hold a candle to Cayri's when it comes to doing sad eyes, so he just looks at the other bronzerider expectantly.

I'neph smirks slightly at Cayri. "I'm never enthusiastic," he answers airily. "Takes too much effort. Besides, I'm tired. I've been enjoying my nice, big, totally empty weyr of my own. Yeah." That's his story and he's sticking to it, nevermind that smile looks a little plastered on.

Sh'van fails to look convinced. He says nothing, however, just starts gathering the hides he's been working on, setting the one he was writing on just to one side. "If you two will excuse me, I'm going to see about returning these." Doesn't wait for so much as a nod, just stands to carry the hides back to the archivist, leaving his work, pen, and ink behind.

Singsongy drawl, Cayri says, "You're mad at J'tei-ay." The tune comes right off the ballad, the page of which she turns in preparation for looking down at the next one. "Oh. Sorry if we broke your concentration, Sh'van. This probably isn't the /best/ place to sit around chatting, is it?" The other weyrlings are doing it, but at least they're not pestering the weyrsecond in the process.

"Yes, sir," I'neph tells Sh'van cheerfully. His response to Cayri is determinedly so as well: "What? Mad? Faranth, no. Why get mad about something like--that. I mean, I have my own weyr--nice, private weyr, did I mention that--and I can go to Turnover. He's stuck in the barracks permanently. Though, guess you're just thrilled about that."

Sh'van returns from his nice, boring hide-returning, stops just behind his chair. "Perhaps the two of you should go somewhere else," he suggests in a tone that is only just shy of being an actual order. "This is not the place for idle chatter."

To echo Sh'van, the archivist turns just then to give the entire room of chattering weyrlings a nice general irritated, "Shhh!"

Cayri lowers her voice, looking irritably at the archivist for choosing that exact moment. "Break over, Sh'van?" The answer she gives I'neph is an immature eye roll. To counter the librarian's call for silence, she closes the outer binding of the collection of ballads with a loud thump and stands with a clatter of the chair. "I'll just put this back and get out of your hair then."

I'neph gives the archivist a look, frowning slightly. "Yes, sir," he tells Sh'van again--the very model of politeness. "Don't worry, we'll get out of here. Won't disturb anybody." He stands as well, taking a few steps toward the door before pausing, glancing expectantly back to Cayri.

The other weyrlings shush as well -- nice, obedient weyrlings -- which appears to ease Sh'van's irritation. "It's..." he flicks fingers toward the door, frowning. "I need a break. Have you eaten?" Looks first to Cayri then, after a second, I'neph.

Cayri makes a few extra thumps putting the hides on the shelf and then pushing them in. Take that, archivist! "Nuh uh. I haven't." Look to I'neph as well, she gives him another sad-eyed half smile. "Think you can take some time away from your brand new weyr to have some lunch?"

"Not really," admits I'neph with a shrug. Then, glancing sideways at Cayri, he offers her a patronizing smirk. "For you, dear? Any time," he answers.

"Then let's go," Sh'van says with a pressing of his lips for I'neph's flippantness. He pauses at the table again to exchange a few quiet words with the archivist -- probably making sure that the remains of his work will be undisturbed. Then he's off, leaving the two to finish their flirting and follow.

Cayri answers back blandly, "That's sweet. I feel so secure." She follows Sh'van happily, letting the weyrlings who stay behind draw their own conclusions about why the weyrsecond and two not so low profile weyrlings seem friendly. (And then we're heading to the LC.)"

Living Cavern
     Huge, still mostly the natural shape of the bubble cavern that formed it though embellished with intricate columns, the living cavern is large enough to seat over two thousand people at any given time. But it has fallen into a state of disuse, for the most part. There are long gaps in the room where tables must have been at one time: Now, there are only twenty tables - each with space for twenty-five people - left in the room, where once there must have been closer to eighty tables. They are all gathered near the northeastern wall where the largest of the room's four hearths are. The rest of the space seems bare. There are a few smaller tables to seat five or six people scattered randomly throughout. Though there is easily room for twice as many, and still many bare swathes of wall that should boast tapestries, there are only three hangings in the living cavern, and all of them are small given the grand scale of the cavern: Two are Fortian brown with the black "Fort" symbol on them, and the third is a light brown field with a brownish-bronzish wing breaking out of the shell of a single white egg. Up a set of handsomely carved stone steps is the Weyr's large kitchen, wrapping around balcony-style with a view into the cavern.
     Lunch is still being served and people mill around in the cavern. It's afternoon in the winter. The fire is kept stoked and warm and a klah pot is usually kept near it for warmth.

Players:
I'neph.........6', athletic; olive skin, dark brown eyes & hair; early 20s.
Cayri..........5'6". 16 turns old. Black hair. Brown eyes. Skinny.

Exits:
Bowl..........................[W] Inner Caverns.................[S]
Kitchen.......................[E]

When Sh'van gets waylaid, I'neph continues onward, heading toward the living cavern. First stop, the serving tables, where he busies himself picking over the food, turning his nose up at half of it, and finally ending up with a decent lunch despite himself. It's then that he glances around again for Cayri; finding her, he asks, "Got a preference?" Free hand indicates the cavern.

"Yes, a table please. Be a man, pick one." Cayri leaves I'neph to make a decision and get her own lunch, far less picky than the other weyrling about what she puts on her plate though it turns out that it's all bread and vegetables.

"That's hardly manly," complains I'neph, though he does as asked. Waffling briefly, he sets out for a table and with relatively little fuss seats himself at it, dropping his plate down on it with a clatter. "So. What was all that about in there?" he asks conversationally, glancing up to Cayri while he gets comfortable.

R'mi comes up from the lower caverns.
R'mi has arrived.

R'mi
     Broad shouldered and barrel-chested, this quite dominating figure is adorned in fine though work-capable clothing. A supple hide jerkin, carefully dyed to a dark red-brown, is finely embroidered with the seal of Fort Hold in golden thread just over his left pectoral. Beneath is a tan work shirt, tucked into his trousers. Despite his formidable 6'4 stature, Blood gives him the benefit of having his dark brown pants tailored to fit him. At his waist is a wide black belt, plain and matching his boots. A knot of brown and black decorates one shoulder, marking him as a brownriding Weyrling of Fort.
     His wavy chestnut hair is partially drawn back from his neck by a plain gold clip. The whole of it tied at his shoulder blades with a leather thong three inches above where his coif is neatly trimmed. Brows of identical shade border on the thick side, above dark sepia eyes. His facial features fit with his build: heavy cheekbones, strong chin, and broad nose. His large hands have roughened with the work of dragon care though the trace of labor on him oddly suits.

Cayri uses a lot of butter on her bread, smearing it on thickly before she's happy and sets off to join I'neph's table. "What was all what about?" She sits a quarter of the way around the table from the other weyrling, chewing off a bite of bread and waiting for the explanation. The two of them have lunch plates. Sh'van got slowed down on his way through.

"You and him. What you were talking about," I'neph clarifies for Cayri. He cocks his head curiously as he studies her, and then her plate. "You didn't get any meat?" He eyes the roasted herdbeast on his plate a moment, nose wrinkling slightly. "It's not /that/ bad. You need something more than just that." How sweet of him, being all concerned.

R'mi steps into the cavern form the direction of the bowl at his customary relaxed though terribly proper postured pace. 6 months of weyrling training can't beat the Blood training out of him. His hands clasped neatly behind his back he heads for the serving table, filling a plate near on daintily before he turns to look for a seat.

With a head shake, Cayri explains, "I had an eye opening experience about meat recently. Trying to cut back." She twirls a sprig of broccoli on her fork enticingly in I'neph's field of vision. "We were just talking about stuff, mostly just about J'tei and if he's going to get in any more trouble. You think he will?" Lunch and conversation preclude notice of R'mi just yet.

"I hope so," I'neph says with unusual force, stabbing his fork into that herdbeast. "Though, Faranth only knows what else M'vari could do to him. Personally, I was hoping for skinning him alive or something--it'd serve him right." He shrugs, and goes somewhat easier on his food, sparing it from his frustrations.

R'mi lifts a brow subtly as he catches sight of I'neph attacking his food, pausing to cast another look around the cavern before he approaches. "We seem to be in bright spirits today, don't we?" Light humor shadowing his tone, "Would either of you be terribly opposed to allowing me to sit with you?" He eyes slide to Cayri and he dips his head, "And I haven't had the good manners to introduce myself to our newest Fortian either."

Cayri asks, "Why are you so mad about it? He's being punished, and you're not getting in any trouble about. What difference?" She eyes him with especial curiosity and bites the head off the broccoli to chew contemplatively. Making it an especially bad time for her to try to introduce herself to R'mi when he walks over. She points to her mouth then sticks out her hand to R'mi.

I'neph glances up at R'mi, offering a tight smirk to the other weyrling. "Oh, sure, go ahead. Make yourself at home." He rolls his eyes at Cayri's response. "Because," he explains patiently, as though she were a child, "he /did/ it. Oh, sure. We flew first, but nooo. He had to show us up. Dioscuth's /still/ sulking about it--I've been trying to beat it into his head for months now that first isn't best, and, well. He really showed us, didn't he?" Grump. "And he won't even explain why."

R'mi's mouth twitches towards a smile at Cayri's point and shake offer, taking her hand lightly, "R'mi. The brown with the habit of staring at people in the barracks is my Nwandoth." Stated with another dry flare of humor as he sets his plate down. "I must say I hadn't given J'tei enough credit. I was rather impressed that his study yeilded such effective results straight away." Adding his own two cents to the conversation as he seats himself and arranges his utensils.

Cayri swallows fast and says, "Hi, R'mi. I didn't notice the brown staring, but a lot of /people/ were staring so I was preoccupied." She grins as the conversation continues to focus on J'tei, shooting a sly look across the table at I'neph. "I'm sure he did it /just/ to steal the wind out of your sails too. All. About. You. I didn't give him enough credit either, I guess. Knowing him for all of a week or so, he seems really /dependable/, not like this."

I'neph's eyes narrow slightly at R'mi's words, and he regards the man dubiously. "You knew something about that?" he asks. "He... he said something about it, once time. I didn't figure he was really /planning/ it." He shakes his head, and once more the food suffers for his annoyance. Still, he adds to Cayri, "He told me he was just proving some point, but until he gives a better reason than that, I'll believe what I will." Which is, it's all about him.

R'mi picks up his knife and fork, proceeding to cut all of his food into small, bite sized portions, "My no. I've been spending as much time as allowable out of the barracks talking with Weyrwoman Raine. I merely heard the story shortly after it happened. J'tei is a good young man but I hadn't thought hidework suited him much. I'm quite pleased to be incorrect in this case though it doesn't change the face that it was a very unnecessary risk to take. We'll all be taught to between when M'vari deems it suits. Personally, I'd rather be spending my free time enjoying myself rather than engrossed in study." He waits until he's said his piece before taking his first bite, the stench of far too much dinning etiquette all over him.

"I'd believe that." Cayri stuffs vegetables into a fold of bread, looks like she's pleased with her solution to the potentially bland food even if it's a sharp contrast to R'mi's superb table manners. "That he was doing it to prove a point. I bet he'd tell me if there was more to it though. He thinks I'm cute." Then waving the quasi sandwich at I'neph's worry, she chatters, "I'm pretty happy about it personally. It sure takes the pressure off of /me/. Sad that it casts you into shadow, poor dear."

I'neph just stares at R'mi, blinking at him and his manners. Finally, he ventures, "Raine?" That's his only comment, however, before his attention is recaptured by Cayri. "Funny, he said I could have you. He's totally not interested in you," he tells her disdainfully. "So much for that idea. Bet you couldn't get him to tell you anything at all."

R'mi chews thoughtfully, swallowing before he starts, "Wouldn't it be more prudent for Cayri to tend to herself and her dragon as completely as she's able before trying to manipulate her into being your spy?" He attention shifting to Cayri with a light smile, "Assuming she's not smart enough to see your reasons herself. But she seems to be a perfectly intelligent girl to me." Sirking lightly as he suppresses his amusement and returns to eating.

Cayri explains precisely, "I didn't say he was /interested/, dummy. I said that he thinks I'm cute." New to the weyr, she registers no extra surprise that R'mi spends time with the weyrwoman. She smiles sweetly at R'mi. "I'neph's not manipulating me. I'm plenty curious about why a seemingly normal, stable guy goes off and pulls such a far-fetched stunt. What point's he proving? There's no question where he stands compared to I'neph so?" Crunchy carrots after that remark.

I'neph eyes R'mi flatly. "Now, see, six months you've known me and the first thing you think is I'm up to something," he snorts. "Faranth. Does nobody gimme any credit around here?" He shakes his head and takes intent interest in his meal, only cutting his eyes upward a moment at Cayri's latter words.

R'mi's mouth tightens just a bit. It's getting more difficult to not chuckle. Suffice to say, he's not regretted his seating choice. "Competetive natures need careful hedging or they tend to turn unseemly." He states in a subtly sing-song tone and takes another bite of his meal. After an appropriate number of chew-motions have be made he swallows. "Though in a more broad sense, everyone is up to something. It's merely a matter of what ends they wish to achieve and what they're willing to do to get there. I'm not judging, merely.. enjoying the show." Here he lets himself engage in a polite chuckle.

Cayri grins at the moment that I'neph looks up, kicking a wink across the table. Quickly, she turns her head toward R'mi, leaning her jaw on the butt of her palm. "Everyone is up to something?" She puts emphasis on the first word, aiming the prongs of her fork toward the brownrider. "What are /you/ up to, R'mi?"

"And stuffy brownriders need to keep their big noses out of other people's business," I'neph says saccharinely. "I'm not competitive. That's Dioscuth's thing." Silence again, though he straightens to regard first Cayri with arched brows, and then glances sideways at R'mi, smirking again slightly.

R'mi gives a quietly exaggerated sigh, "Oh, the wealth of twist and turns I lead myself on are too numerous to count." smiling openly now. He sends I'neph a patronizing little, "Oh yes, of course." before looking back at Cayri, "I am no exception to plots and plans. I am, however, more patient than many and therefore, am in no paticular hurry." A lot of words to arrive at vague, huh? One of his more irritating personality traits. "After all.. I have what.. 60 more turns of active life left in me and probably another 10 in comfortable convalescence? 70 turns is more than enough time to work and relax."

"Work toward what end?" Cayri asks, tilting her head further to the side. "Aside from pissing off I'neph over there, that is. You're really touchy today." At that, she tilts her eyes to look across the table at the bronzerider questioningly.

I'neph eyes R'mi, frowning again. Distractedly, he tells Cayri, "Yeah, well. Guess I just woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning. My nice bed in my private weyr." Again with the weyr?

"What can I say, I'neph won the raffle." Or more likely that Harper he takes particular joy in irritating is avoiding him. Ah well. R'mi eats silently for a moment, looking thoughtfully off at the wall, "Security and common good." That's all the answer Cayri's going to get on the matter. "I suppose I'll have to start widdling down the contents of my apratments. Decide on what I'll move and what I'll leave."

Cayri rolls her eyes. "We get it. You're all alone. Why don't you just move back into the barracks? You and J'tei can push your cots next to each other and make a tent out of your blankets." She suggests it with an eager, bright smile. "Or you and R'mi can, and work toward security and the common good?" Her voice emphasizes how /strange/ she finds that response. "Anyway are you rich, R'mi? You could give some stuff to I'neph so he'll quit complaining?"

"He's the heir of Fort Hold," I'neph tells Cayri, taking a particular amount of pleasure in adding, "For now. I don't need anything from him--from anyone--I'm fine. I don't want to live in the barracks. I can get everything I need from the lower caverns. I know where there's a great chair--it just needs a little tune-up and it'll be perfect for my weyr." Nod.

R'mi nods lightly, "I'm Lord Fort's only child." The biggest mistake of the hatching. Go Romian. I'neph gets an appraising if vaguely doubtful look though when he refuses for himself.. it just saves R'mi the breath. "Well that sounds like all sort of hours of intrigue, furniture hunting." He can't help but effect a softly pleased smirk though. Considering that much of the replensihed items in the lower caverns.. came from Fort Hold.

Cayri looks surprised enough at R'mi's revelation. "Unfortunate for Lord Fort then, isn't it?" She must have been out of the loop pretty hard to have missed that tidbit. "How do you get to be the heir of Fort Hold still if you're a weyrling? Isn't that like a conflict of interests?"

"Most of Pern would like to know that, actually," remarks I'neph easily, lifting his shoulders. "Don't ask me. All that high-minded political stuff, not my thing." Says the Weyrleader-wannabe.

R'mi shakes his head, "I was the heir for the first 24 turns of my life before I impressed. Nwandoth walked off the hatching sands for me." Cue an affectionate sort of light to his face that slides back as he continues, "But the matter is being resolved at Turnover Gather. And I trust it will work out for the best of everyone involved, especially the people of Fort Hold." Smiling lightly, "Not that I don't have hopes as to how it will all end.. but of all the possible outcomes, none seem terribly unpleasant inmy eyes."

Cayri leans back in her chair, pushing her plate away from her toward the middle of the table. "And I thought /I/ had big problems. I hate to say this, I'neph, but your little pseudo-drama with J'tei pretty much pales in comparison to R'mi's story. You people have a lot of drama."

I'neph grumps. "My drama is not pseudo-drama. I'll have you know it's really real drama, thank you very much," he sniffs.

R'mi chuckles, "Well this is Fort Weyr, home of exiled female riders and pariah of the Conclave. We have certain standards to uphold as far as the trouble every one present must be in." He takes a few more dainty bites of his meal, chewing and swallowing before adding, "I wonder what Soriane got herself up to. Hmm. Anyone care for something to drink since I'm on my way back to the serving table?"

Cayri says cloyingly, "If the two of you come to blows or /maybe/ knife-point over this, then I'll take your word for it, I'neph." She waves aside the offer from R'mi, asking simply, "Who's Soriane?" God, she's nosy.

"Soriane?" asks I'neph, blinking. "J'tei's girl? Where did /that/ come from?" he wonders, confused. He gives Cayri a scowl but no further words.

R'mi shakes his head, "I just hadn't talked to her since before the hatching is all. Social engagements have to be put on the back burner when there's business to attend to. No refills then?" Standing and giving them each a bob of the head before heading of to peruse the drinks. He returns with a mug of juice, sitting down and taking a less than enthusiastic sip. "I do miss wine with my meals. Ah well. Small trials."

"He really has a girl?" Cayri asks, grinning thoughtfully. "I thought you were just jerking my chain with that. Oh well. I guess it can't be helped." She exhales a long sigh, so sad, so sad.

I'neph eyes R'mi, eyes narrowing suspiciously. "Social engagements?" he wonders. Then, he eyes Cayri. His smirk turns pleased. "Oh, yeah. Wouldn't lie to you about that, kid. They're all over each other--bet she gives him what-for over not having a weyr now." His eyes glaze in pleasure at the thought.

R'fin comes in from the bowl.
R'fin has arrived.

R'fin
     The word "husky" must have been invented for just such a boy as R'fin, who straddles the border between "thickly-muscled" and "outright fat." His deep tan - in some ways more of a heavy burning - speaks of years of hard labor outdoors, a suggestion that's reinforced by the gauntlet of calluses on his hands and the sun-bleached paleness of his short blonde hair. His shoulders are broad but rounded, and his gut has already begun thickening into the paunch that will no doubt define his looks in later years. His legs, however, seem to have been squished down, sacrificing height for a kind of stubby strength, and do little to help his ultimately meager height of 5'7".
     The clothes in which he dresses himself are always plain linen, dyed in unassuming colors like brown and dulled out blue. It is his knot - that of a brown weyrling - that adds the most pizzazz to his daily outfit: tied in threads still bright and new, it shines like a beacon of self-assurance from its prominent spot on R'fin's beefy shoulder. His cheeks, round and ruddy by nature, always seem flushed with pride at this accomplishment of rank, and the fact that the resting position of his broad mouth is a permanent smile, oddly reminiscent of a frog, does nothing to contradict the impression. Only his eyes, muddy brown pools lost somewhere in the terrain between a flat nose and eyebrows so pale they seem invisible, save him from looking impossibly arrogant, for they sparkle with good-humor and have - already at R'fin's 17 turns of age - small laugh lines forming at the corners.

R'mi lifts a brow lightly, "I request that you not impune Soriane's virtue in my presence. She's a very respectable young woman and doesn't warrant anyone sullying her reputation." Such a holder, isn't he? "Then again, I have doubts as to who'd actually take your words on face value if they'd met her." He looks distant for a moment, dropping off into thought, his brow furrowing slightly. He honestly doesn't care if I'neph answers, agrees, argues or what have you.

The three weyrlings sit together, various dishes on the table between them. Cayri just gets over looking dramatically sad at I'neph with a new brightness in her eyes toward R'mi. "You seem a little protective about the virtue of somebody /else/'s girl, R'mi. You and this Soriane go back a ways or something?"

I'neph eyes R'mi, snorting. "Uh-huh, sure," he says, waving off the brownrider's concerns. "I've met her, and I know how people are. Trust me, she's--" Perhaps fortunately, whatever he was about to say is cut off at Cayri's words. "She's from Boll, same as J'tei," is his input on that subject. "They grew up together."

R'fin is quick about getting himself food once he enters the Living Cavern; with him, selecting food is especially simple because he pretty much just slaps anything on until his tray's almost too heavy to carry. Hefting the mass of food, he scans the room until he finds some familiar faces, and instantly heads over to the other weyrlings, calling out to them: "Hey, friends, how're things?" Cayri, less familiar to him, is noticed a beat after the other two, and for her sake he awkwardly broadens his smile.

R'mi shakes his head, "I'm only a peripheral player in their little dance. But it wouldn't be proper to not say my piece. Common decency and respect for self and others demands it." Which doesn't answer anything he was asked unless you have significantly more information on the matter. R'fin is given a nod as he greets them, "Splendid. How could they not be? Join us?"

"How sweet." Cayri likes the idea, or smiles sweetly like she likes the idea. The same smile extends to R'fin when he makes the fourth to the trio, a little wiggle of her fingers greeting his presence. "Hey there. We're just gossiping, I guess is the best way to put it."

I'neph glances up at the voice. "R'fin, hey," he says, gesturing the man to a seat. "Things are great, just great. Did you hear about me and Dioscuth? /Dance/?" The latter, to R'mi, as his attention is pulled that way sharply.

R'fin beams at the welcome he receives, sliding his tray into position at their table. "Don't mind if I do, thanks," he tells R'mi as he plops down. "Heard you guys went flying, if that's what you mean, I'neph? How'd that go?" And because R'fin is a chatterbox, he pauses here to lean across the table for Cayri, hand proferred for a shake. "And hey there. Know you've been around, but I'm afraid I haven't had time to come up and introduce myself proper. I'm R'fin, brown Eneyith's."

R'mi gives I'neph a slighty exasperated roll of his eyes but refrains from comment. Instead he replies to Cayri, "Merely good manners. Nothing I wouldn't expect from anyone with any sort of proprietary upbringing." Wih a small smile he continues, "And men don't gossip. They discuss world events." Smirk.

Cayri answers R'mi, "Sure. Just happens that all our world events originate from the Weyr. And /mostly/ from J'tei." She enjoys her sly smile for a few moments before she reaches across to give R'fin's hand a good shake. "I'm Cayri. Green Aydeth's, I guess? Did you hear that I'neph got his very own weyr?" Much too exuberant about the tidbit.

"I gossip," I'neph is quick to say, though whether because he really believes that to be true or because he just wants to differ from R'mi is debateable. At any rate, he repeats, "I gossip," and then continues, "Proprietary upbringing? Sounds like something my dad just wished he could have managed. Anyway." A roll of his eyes. And, beaming, he gushes at Cayri, "Oh, you /were/ listening!"

R'fin shakes Cayri's hand, then plops back into his seat and starts mowing down that giant pile of food. "Good to meet you, then, Cayri. Properly." He pops a grin, then stuffs a cut of meat into his mouth and listens for a bit while he chews. Because a lady is present, he even finishes the mouthful before speaking again. "Heard about that one, too, yeah. Y'all aren't being mean to J'tei, are you? Poor guy's having a rough time, I think, gettin' - well, grounded."

R'mi shakes his head, "I would never speak ill of J'tei. I find him to be a very meritous individual who seems to really be evolving since Impression. And personal growth should always be in the back of a man's mind." He nods to Cayri, "Or a young woman's mind."

Cayri smiles in full infatuation with I'neph. "I hang on your every word." She looks at him like he hangs the moon, bringing the expression to light too easily. Dropping it just as easily. "A rough time? Hardly. I'm impressed that anyone had the guts to try something like that, and that's exactly what I'll tell him when I see him. A slightly less flowery version of 'very meritous individual.'"

I'neph rolls his eyes at R'fin, sulking. This time, he completely ignores R'mi--there's just no dealing with a man like that, apparently. "Thank you. I'm glad somebody around here appreciates me," he tells Cayri happily. He chooses to ignore her latter words as well, and focus only on what he wants to hear.

R'fin chuckles, apparently put at ease by their comments - and if he notices that I'neph doesn't say anything on the subject, he decides to give him his space. "Well, I'm glad to hear all that. In that case, keep on 'discussing world events' - don't let me interrupt you." With a quick wink, R'fin goes back to his food-stuffing.

R'mi chuckles lightly and takes a sip of his juice, neatly finishing his meal. As for teh post meal ritual.. he arranges the utensils on his plate and sets it off to one side to be carted off later. "So, R'fin, have you made arrangements with M'vari to fly yet? I think with the bronzes out of the way he'll be more than happy to guide a round of browns."

"As much as you deserve." Cayri smiles a sunny look to I'neph. As much as one bronzerider doesn't like talking about another, so she seems a little disheartened as the talk at the table turns to flying lessons for everyone else. With a sigh, she looks outward to the bowl.

I'neph seems about as disinterested as Cayri in the flight talk--after all, once you've done it once, it's old hat. Instead, tilting his chair back on two legs, he rocks idly a couple of times and then glances sideways at the greenrider. "At least you got company now, right?" he remarks after a moment.

R'fin flashes a huge grin at that question, which in its way is answer enough. "Sure have," he announces. "He says he'll call me up when he's got time, and meanwhile En's been letting me practice. Not flying, 'course," he's quick to add, "just crawling up on his back so I don't look a complete fool when I try it in front of M'vari. How 'bout you, R'mi? You got your plans made yet?"

R'mi nods lightly, "I've contacted him. Nwandoth is rather excited about the idea. He's terribly awkward on land and so naturally looks forward to more ease of movement that the air offers. Having the chance to see things from a different view point and all." So he can get the creepy stare on from high above instead of lurking on his couch.

Without baiting I'neph for a pleasant change, Cayri replies, "For what he'll be worth. Better than being alone, but not by a lot." She diddles with her fork boredly, spinning it through her fingers until it gets loose and clatters loudly onto her plate. "More company than you have though." Weak chuckle.

"Bet it's pretty easy for you to just hop on up there without him ever having to wake up," I'neph drawls to R'fin in a flicker of interest. He smirks over at the other man a moment before giving Cayri a better grin. "Oh, sure. You say that now. At least I get to pick my own company, and I can let him guard you for a change. You'll like that--you can stare dreamily into his light eyes all hours of day and night with none of the rest of us to interrupt."

R'fin spares a smile for Cayri, belatedly aware that he's not involving her in the conversation but unable to offer more than this. "En's actually kinda geared up himself, I think, and you know how unlike him it is to get excited about anything. Dragons, right - guess they're just living to be up in the air." Then, catching I'neph's tease, he gives a hearty, thigh-slapping laugh. "Sure thing, I'neph. 'Course it'd be even easier if I weren't so short and him so big, but I got a little spring in me." He makes a bouncing motion in his seat, and grins.

R'mi shakes his head lightly, taking a final sip of his drink, "Well I seem to be running out of culinary excuses to stay seated. I'm afraid I'll have to excuse myself. It was nice to properly meet you Cayri. Good luck on the furniture hunt I'neph. And R'fin, I'm sure you'll do fine when the time comes. Good eve all." He dips his head in parting to each of them and gathers up his dishes before leaving the table.

R'mi goes home.
R'mi has left.

Cayri remarks to I'neph, "You're really starting to sound bitter, I'neph. This friendly competition getting to your head?" She's borderline baiting him again, just a little thicker than she needs to be. "I'm surprised M'vari makes brownriders go second, really. Isn't there color comeraderie?"

I'neph eyes R'mi dubiously. "Uh, thanks, yeah," he tells him as the brown weyrling leaves. And, in a decidedly light tone, he tells Cayri, "There's friendly, and then there's this. There's a line somewhere, you know? You know."

R'fin looks sidelong at I'neph, raising his brows. He hasn't been paying much attention to their conversation, but without R'mi to talk flight with, he's started to notice - bitter? "Nah, the bronzes are bigger and such, you know, so it's right they go first." This he says somewhat offhandedly, then drums his fingers on the table next to I'neph. "Something up with you, friend?" He offers a cheerful, innocent smile.

Cayri answers on I'neph's behalf, "He's feeling jealous of J'tei." She nods firmly. "Exactly when did this line get crossed, I'neph? I'm confused by the reason for this sudden /thorough/ ire. I thought you two were actually friends?"

"What, me? No," I'neph says, playing innocent, complete with surprised hand pressed to his chest. "I'm fine. Have you seen some of those greens, though? Even the blues aren't much longer than I am. Dioscuth's a good dozen feet long by now, twice their size, so of /course/ we get to go first. He's bigger than half the grown greens now." This spiel, of course, saves him from having to answer Cayri for several seconds longer, though eventually he glances over at her again, brows knitting. "Oh, never mind. We are, I'm not upset, it's all in good fun, whatever. It's not that big a deal, people--you don't understand at all." Quite a reversal of opinion.

R'fin flicks a glance at Cayri, not entirely convinced by I'neph's reversed opinion, but looking for her response to it. He decides to address the safer part of that speech, namely: "They are really little, aren't they? I don't know quite how big Eneyith is by now - I gave up trying to keep track, he grows so fast - but loosely, I figure you could stretch out two R'fins nose-to-toes and you'd have one Eneyith. Compared to that, the other colors really are /small/. Which is no slight on them, of course," he adds quickly, remembering (with a flush) that Cayri rides green.