[Log] Three
Who: Amerie, I'daur, N'thei
When: Day 31, Month 2, Turn 14
Where: Lower Caverns, High Reaches Weyr
What: Casual chatter with N'thei and Amerie.
Lower Caverns, High Reaches Weyr
Heavenly scents of the afternoon meal wash in from the busy sounds of the living caverns; this large cavern is abuzz with activity as people stop work to go eat, return to work, or merely pass through on their way on any of a number of errands. The sounds of children playing rings throughout the cavern, mingled with the laughter of those who have stopped to talk, or to help out with a task. The sunlight has reached its zenith and begins the slow, gradual descent downwards as light begins to cast longer golden shadows along the cavern's floor.
Passageways lead off in many directions around the cavern, forming a nexus of sorts. An archway opens up into the bowl; a wide tunnel leads out of the weyr; a well worn set of stairs rise up to the living quarters of the Weyr staff; and sounds and smells from the south indicate the presence of the living cavern and kitchen.
Contents:
N'thei
Obvious exits:
Storeroom Corridor Living Cavern Bowl Water Cavern Kitchen Resident Quarters Tunnel out of the Weyr Infirmary
Hardly the type of place one hangs out in, the lower caverns are a real en-passant place. So N'thei is en passant, coming out of the water cavern and turning toward the tunnel to the bowl. His damp towel hangs across his shoulders, and a basket of bath stuff swings from one hand; were it not for the fact that he looks like he got the tar beat out of him sometime in the past few days, he'd appear in high spirits.
I'daur has been stopped by another older rider in the halway, engaged in a conversation for a few minutes before the other man goes on his way. The weyringmaster lingers, letting his companion get a ways ahead of him before he continues. It's the waiting that leaves him in prime position to watch N'thei come by, and I'daur eyes the other bronzerider a moment before remarking dryly, "Looking pretty."
N'thei was going to walk right by too, just lower his head politely toward the older gent and carry on his merry way, but the comment leads to a flare of his nostrils which ends with a snort. He stops, switching the basket out of his hand and into the crook of his elbow in an effort to hold the basket in any way that does not hearken to a dainty little girl; "Thank you, sir. Things got a little rough, you know how it can be. Fortunately, the girl doesn't seem much worse for the wear. --How's things?"
"Oh, I know," agrees I'daur, raising a brow slightly. "Funny how it works out like that--big guy like you against some little girl?" His shoulders lift slightly, though, and he answers, "Things're fine. Cold but s'not like I have weyrlings to deal with now. You? 'Cept for your--" He makes a gesture toward N'thei's injuries.
N'thei opens his hands to the ceiling in an attitude of helplessness; "Hit or be hit." Doesn't answer which path he took. "Things are things, sir. Fort, High Reaches, back and forth. I manage to escape the freezing cold in my weyr for the freezing cold of *between*, then back again. Is it true you're going to have Talien for your assistant? Seems a strange thing to me."
I'daur nods once to that, noting, "Least Fort's warmer. Heard it was a bad clutch?" He tilts his head slightly as he puts that question to N'thei, but moves on from it easily to the subject of his assistant. "What else am I supposed to do with her? She's done it before, and she makes a good object lesson if nothing else. Her and Svodriyth'll do fine with the next batch comes through."
"I suppose that's one way to teach." It could not be more obvious that N'thei disagrees with this methodology if he just shouted /I disagree with this methodology./ He does not do that; he smiles instead. "At least it's something for her to do. She's agreeable to it?" Pride not being among his character virtues, he answers the dig about Fort's clutch carelessly, a shrug, a hapless, "Is that what you heard?"
"She is," agrees I'daur. "Doubt I could keep her out from under my feet, anyway--she's just like that. Should've known she'd find herself some way to keep right on doing it. But." He shrugs again, vaguely, and nods to N'thei. "That's the word, anyway. Haven't seen it myself, though--don't get out much."
Lip-service; "Good for her then. Good for you too. I'll volunteer to stop in for the next clutch and explain to them how it happened? Must be some use in pariah-dom." N'thei shows his teeth with the force of his super-pleasant-unflappable smiling. "Word certainly does have a way of getting around, doesn't it? The Weyrwoman came to see the eggs not so long ago. I imagine she brought back a less than stellar review. Only three eggs."
"Sure thing," agrees I'daur, with a nod to N'thei. "Maybe I'll drag in A'son, too, get all my stooges at once. Three, huh?" That number makes him issue a low, impressed whistle. "Would've expected a /little/ better than that out of Wyaeth, with all the ego. Could always just blame that gold instead--Ciath. Met her once, that's all."
N'thei asks with his head cocked aslant, "All three stooges or-- ah. Yes. Three eggs." Big shoulders shrug uselessly, cause the basket to stir some and dislodge a washcloth that lands with a sloppy splash on the ground between his feet and I'daur's. It stays there for now. "Ego doesn't necessarily equate to prowess, I'm sorry to say. What did you think of Ciath? She's a tremendously broody queen, drives Wyaeth to distraction." Ah, mundane.
I'daur repeats, "Tremendously broody." He's not touch that wet washrag, letting it stay there on the ground between us. "She came, brought up that wine we gave you all for graduation. Wasn't really impressed with it myself. The wine. Hell, her for that matter--she was just kind of... there. Didn't do much except give over the box. Ciath, didn't really talk to her, either, but she seemed fine then."
Preceded by hoarse laughter; "That's sort of the way I feel about her, just kind of there. Sadly the least amount of chemistry I've ever felt with any woman." N'thei sighs in hopeless surrender, his eyes downcast to the washrag. There's tactical thoughts in his expression, how best to swipe that rag up off the floor. "If you ever get the chance to shake hands with her, you'll have to tell me if she's really made of ice."
"Any? Impressive--'magine you've met your share of them," agrees the old weyrlingmaster, smirking. "She's not our Weyrwoman, at any rate. Probably won't make it down Fort way, though--I don't get out much. You'll forgive me for not being there to support your three eggs," I'daur tacks on in a dry voice. "But maybe she'll come back up this way and I'll test it out."
"Fifteen." Even N'thei can't let his dragon go on undefended indefinitely, the clarification sent forth with an apologetic half-smile. The same smile issues while he steps back halfway and quickly collects the stray washrag, dumps it back into the basket, and resumes the conversation gamely. "Somehow I doubt we'll see her along our way any time soon. But you don't visit for other hatchings? I somehow thought that was expected of someone in your position." Crippled? Weyrlingmaster? Drunk and ornery? Which position?
"Fifteen," I'daur repeats the correct number dismissively, not overly worried about it. He snorts at N'thei's latter words, shaking his head. "Got enough to worry about with our own hatchings. Get to my age and they're not so interesting anymore--and you really don't give a damn about going just to look nice, either. Leave that to the real people in positions, the Weyrleaders and such. So you haven't charmed her into coming back to see you again soon?"
N'thei reiterates casually, "Chemistry. The lack thereof. Perhaps you might have more luck." His smile is facetious at best, not where he'd put his marks. "Has Zunaeth ever flown a queen?" Kind of like asking how-big-is-yours, but he's struggling conversationally.
I'daur laughs at that, not believing it a second himself. "Doubt it. Doubt I impressed her much the first time we met. There's better fish out there, as they say." To the latter question, though, he raises his brows slightly. "Once," he admits a second later. "At Monaco--dumb junior wasn't watching and he got her before she made it high at all. Clutch was worse than yours, no surprise to anybody there." He's graciously honest, at least.
"Indeed. Our own junior weyrwoman is prettier and warmer than Zahava. Perhaps not so bright though." N'thei knuckles the side of his neck in thought at the summary, an absent scrubbing across faded-to-yellow bruises. "But I saw him, Zunaeth chase at Telgar. He was damned determined the way I recall, as much as I recall anyway. Made it through to the end, didn't he?"
Amerie strolls in from the common room.
Amerie has arrived.
"Looking to Tavrie now, are you?" I'daur seems mildly surprised by that, but shrugs it off in favor of grimacing at N'thei's latter mention. He and the other bronzerider are loitering in the hall, the latter fresh from the baths to judge by the towel around his neck and the basket of bathing supplies in his hand. I'daur remarks, "And could barely move the next day for it, made himself so stiff. He's damned stupid sometimes, is what he is, but he never did have much sense where women were concerned. Not that most of 'em do."
N'thei shakes his head, a snort sent to dismiss I'daur's assumptions. "No. Not by a long shot. I think she and A'son..." He trails off, wiggles his palm back and forth, on-again-off-again. "I never met a man in my life who had good sense when it came to a woman, sir, so I'd be hard put to fault a dragon for having even less. What's lust without aches and pains the next day." He pulls his collar away from his neck, purposefully to show off the fading bruises round his neck against the spread of a smirk.
"Huh. Guess I haven't been watching," I'daur notes of Tavrie and A'son, with a briefly thoughtful expressin. "Last I knew, she was still hitting on me. Should keep up with the Weyr gossip better, I guess. Anyway." He eyes those bruises N'thei seems so proud to show off, graying brows raised. "Got a point there," he's quite happy to agree, with a smirk of his own. "Just, it's easier for some of us than others, gettin' all those aches and pains."
Amerie emerges from the storerooms at a fair clip, her long legs suited to a brisk stride - a contrast to any loitering there might be in the area. Though both her pace and the tilt of her chin don't seem to predispose her to noticing much of anything, her dark gaze flicks over to the bronzeriders as she catches bits of the conversation; slowing, her lips curve into a tiny smirk. Typical. In an arch tone, "Classy to have such conversations out in the open, really."
"Just a guess on my part." N'thei sounds confident about it nevertheless. "Tell me you don't suffer for comp--" He breaks short, a twitch at the corner of his eye shown to I'daur just before he changes the angle of his stance, a smile flaring into life when his eyes land on Amerie. "Almost as classy as eavesdropping. Always glad to be of service to your dissatisfaction, Amerie."
"For competition?" I'daur finishes at a guess for N'thei. "Naw. She's a sweet girl, not my type at all. Her and A'son'd suit each other--warm and not too bright, like you said." He lifts his shoulders, and then glances around at Amerie as she interjects into their conversation. "Got a point there," he notes, with a nod of his head toward the other man.
"I fail to see how passing through equates to eavesdropping." Amerie stops doing just that as she's addressed, folding her arms across her chest as her attention shifts I'daur's way momentarily. Back to N'thei, she gives a shrug - for some reason seeming entirely amused by the mere presence of the bronzerider. "You're the ones standing in public - where practically anyone could walk through."
N'thei watches a busy older woman bustle right through the cavern, from dormitory to kitchen with nary a glance toward the trio; "See that? Passing through. You?" He smiles toothily down at Amerie, a head-shake for completion of his thoughts. "Amerie was there as well, to see the Wyaeth's progeny. Responsible for telling people it's a bad clutch, hmn?" He tells the first part to I'daur pleasantly and asks the question of Amerie even more pleasantly.
Looking from N'thei to Amerie, I'daur ahs. "Was she," he says, studying the tall girl a moment and then nodding. "Amerie, is it? I'daur," he offers an introduction in passing. "You'll have to tell us just how the clutch looked, in that case--see if we can't get to the bottom of some nasty rumors about it."
Amerie tells N'thei, in a lofty little sing-song tone, "I saw a lot of things. The clutch wasn't the saddest of them. " Now dry, "Yes. All I talk about is you and your dragon's clutch. Clearly, if word's gotten about, it would have to be my doing. I've /no/ idea how to keep my mouth shut." Though she's being sarcastic, she's not really proving her point. Marginally more pleasant to I'daur, "Well met. It looked like three eggs, despite protests to the contrary."
N'thei looks at Amerie in a no-argument-here expression, lets her prattle go uninterrupted and uncontested. Then; "Which would explain where you got the idea it was such a sorry number, neh? There are fifteen eggs, but Ciath has some bizarre notion about keeping them buried, and Wyaeth's embarrassingly willing to go along with it. I'm at a loss." He shrugs, unfazed by by the girl's implications. "Zunaeth was the same or--?"
"Three, that's what I heard," I'daur agrees with a nod as Amerie confirms them. He glances sideways at N'thei as the man puts another question to him, and shakes his head. "Zunaeth stayed the hell out of the way," he notes. "Bad clutchsire, in the end--he just don't give a damn about eggs, even if he's fine with the weyrlings. Should be getting on my way, though--things to do. Have a nice one," he offers in parting, as he turns to limp on off down the hall.
With mild annoyance, "I heard fifteen when I was at Fort as well, you know." Amerie's expression sours a bit before she's able to retain her usual neutrality. Though less-than-satisfied, she continues, "I saw three. I imagine there might have been some buried out there, but none I could see." With a polite dip of her head for I'daur as he limps on out, her attention shifts back to N'thei. "Blame /me/ for rumours. So much for a good word."
N'thei watches I'daur go, the grin tricking the corner of his mouth as the older man limps down the hall; "Good afternoon, sir. --You think I'daur cares who starts rumors?" Back to Amerie now, he sizes her up with a doubtful-seeming squint. "You obviously haven't been taking notes about the who's-who of High Reaches Weyr. Besides, butting in with disparaging remarks about our conversation certainly wasn't going to ingratiate you, now was it?"