[Log] Family Values
Who: C'mryn, Halba (NPC), Tiriana, X'lar
When: Day 11, Month 1, Turn 17
Where: Living Cavern, Telgar Weyr
What: X'lar swings by Telgar again and runs into Tiriana and C'mryn.
Living Cavern, Telgar Weyr
This huge cavern is sufficiently roomy to hold a large portion of the Weyr's population without feeling cramped. There's always a bustle of activity here. Fragrant dishes are constantly in prepartion for mealtimes: currently for the evening meal. Drudges are always present, either cleaning under Pierron's watchful eye, or helping fetch and carry. A myriad of glowbaskets and many ever-lit hearths make the cavern warm and inviting despite its size. The scents of cooking meats, baking breads and pastries, and the pungent aroma of spices hang mouthwateringly in the air. It is little wonder that those seeking to relax nearly always find their way here to do it. Branches of evergreens and glistening winter berries are ornaments of the season.
A short tunnel jaunts northward out to the bowl and the merry sounds of cooking, chores, and laughter echo from the kitchen at the southeast end of the cavern near the easterly passage to the rest of the lower caverns. Within the lower caverns is an entrance to the infirmary weyr to care for injured dragons and riders.
Contents:
C'mryn
Telgar Serving Tables
Obvious exits:
Inner Caverns Kitchen Bowl
With a mug of cider, Tiriana has curled up by the hearths on a blizzardy evening. At such a late hour, most of the cavern is clearing out, residents and riders hurrying to their rooms before they get snowed in; between that and the snowfall itself, the volume of the room is muffled. About the only other person near Tiriana is an old auntie knitting and mumbling to herself. The weyrling herself is content to watch the fire with an unusually pensive expression.
Oh so similiar to a night many long months ago, in walks C'mryn. This time, however, he is not dripping mud in his wake. Snow, perhapes, but no mud. There's a stop at the doorway, a vigorous shake of his shoulders and stomp of his feet, and off he goes. Klah, cookies, and then he's on the way to the hearth. There's the briefest hesitation when he spies Tiriana, but the lure of the fire seems too much for the assistant weyrlingmaster, and he sinks into a chair nearby. "Good evening, Tiriana." Smile.
"Hey," says Tiriana distractedly; she delays a few more seconds before glancing back at C'mryn and recognizing him. She frowns herself, but a beat later turns back to the fire herself, slinking further down in her chair and holding her mug up to her chin. Then: "Yeah? What do you want?" she asks, brows furrowing as she cuts her eyes over at C'mryn again.
C'mryn offers a bit of a shrug and a tight little smile. "A nice little sit down by the fire before I attempt to get home," is his reply, cheeky grin given for good measure. His plate of cookies is balanced on the arm of his chair, and the mug is held with one hand on the other. Settled. "What do *you* want?" he asks back.
Tiriana snorts, glancing at C'mryn and then the little old woman who's still mumbling indecipherable things while she knits. "You're the one that came over here to me," she points out. "While I was just minding my own business. Which means I don't want anything from you." Beat. "I want a cookie," she amends after watching him balance those on his chair arm.
"Wrong," says C'mryn with a grin. "I did not come over here to *you*, I came over here to the comfy chair and the nice warm fire. Simple coincidence that you happen to be sitting here as well." He shrugs. "Sorry I was polite and said good evening. Next time, would you prefer I ignored you completely?" He grins again, and after a little hesitation, picks up his plate and holds it out. "You can have one. Since you have been *so* generous in letting me sit here. Least I could do, yes."
X'lar walks in from the bowl.
X'lar has arrived.
Because he's generous and offers her one cookie, Tiriana reaches to take two--one for each hand, her cider set between her legs for the moment. Nibbling the first slowly, she shrugs then. "Maybe. Faranth, you don't have to get so up in arms about it. All I said was I didn't want anything from you." She sniffs at that, leaning back in her chair again. The caverns are quiet tonight, both due to latening hours and the heavy snowstorm outside; both Tiriana and C'mryn (and one little old woman knitting) have holed up by the hearth.
One? Two? Cam doesn't seem to mind. The plate is once more balanced on the arm of his chair, and he finally takes one for himself. He chuckles a little, and grins. "Up in arms, hm? Didn't realize it was such a crime to sit by the fire, enjoy a bit of klah and some cookies while it snowed. And if you remeber, I was prefectly nice to you. You're the one who was rude. But I forgive you." Smile.
"I think Tiriana likes people being up in arms about things, especially herself," X'lar calls out as he hears the conversation walking into the foreign living cavern. The Istan bronzerider walks past the threshold and toward the serving tables, quickly grabbing a meatroll, and then another... and then another. He turns about again before offering a crisp salute to the pair of the Telgari, offering a quiet: "Ista's Duties, Telgar." A glance is given to Tiriana in amusement before he begins munching on his first meatroll.
"Dear Faranth, what happened to those Reaches you love so much--or better yet, your /own/ Weyr?" Tiriana demands in a long-suffering voice. "Must you /always/ come pester us here now?" She glowers at X'lar, then pointedly tries to ignore him, lifting her chair, straightening up from her slouch, and eyeing C'mryn instead. "I don't need your forgiveness," she sniffs, with a frustrated bite of cookie.
"Guess so," C'mryn answers X'lar, grinning. He shrugs, and takes a chunk out of his cookie, ignoring the crumbs that cling to his chin. "Suppose not," he tells Tiriana around his mouthful. Manners? What manners? "But you got it anyways. So might as well deal with it." He picks up his mug, takes a hearty swallow, and sighs. "Could be he likes the snow?" muses the bronzerider aloud. "Bet that sun and warmth get tiring after a while. Couldn't be your pleasant company."
X'lar laughs aloud as he listens to Tiriana's demanding voice, asking her: "What, and miss out on your lovely grating voice, Tiriana?" He gives C'mryn a brief grin nodding to him in response. "I actually happen to love Ista in winter, but there's only so much sunshine, beautiful sea water and colorful drinks I can handle," he offers. "Coming here always seems to energize me." He wrinkles his nose and admits, "I'm avoiding High Reaches for the time being." His fluid gait takes him toward Tiriana and C'mryn, eating another bite of his first meatroll. A few crumbs are unfortunately tossed in the bustle.
"There's snow at High Reaches. Fort. Benden. Ierne," Tiriana ticks places off on her fingers. Of course, a half-second later, she retracts one, making a face. "Okay, not Ierne, this time of turn. Whatever," she brushes off the slip. Nibbling on her cookie again, she sets the second one on the armrest of her chair, then lifts her mug for a drink. "Girly drinks," is her mutter on that front, before she questions, curiosity roused by X'lar's latter comment, "What for?"
"Girly drinks," agrees C'mryn with a snort. "Never had a head for those sweet drinks." Klah with cookies? Not girly at all. He stiffles a bit of a yawn with the back of his cookie-holding hand, and says, "Because High Reaches is even colder, and more desolate than Telgar?" offers the assistant weyrlingmaster helpfully. "Though I dunno. Haven't been for a while. Could be comfortable today."
"Not that I like them, they're just in demand, Tiriana," X'lar comments. "Besides, I'm more of an ale-and-wine guy myself." He grins briefly at Tiriana's next question, answering her: "Telgar makes Mal happy. He says he likes the feel of the cold on his hide after erupting from between. And when Mal's happy, I'm happy." There's a brief thoughtful pause before the Istan teen adds in earnest, "Well, that, and I can't help but enjoy the company of Telgari like yourself, Tiriana." He grins briefly at C'mryn, telling the other rider, "Funny, Reachians always say Telgar is colder and more desolate."
"He could get that anywhere," Tiriana insists, with a sniff as she takes another gulp of her own drink. "He just like Iovniath, or something. The way you're always after me these days." With a sharp nod--her mind's made up about /that/--she moves on again. "Telgar's colder all right. Think it's 'cause of the water--they got the ocean closer, or something like that." She's not too concerned about the reasons, at least, though she seems proud of the fact still. Probably happy to beat the Reaches however she can. Then, delayed, "Ew, wine." She makes another face.
"Nah. High Reaches is colder. Must be, with that name. 'High Reaches'. Just sounds cold." So C'mryn's logic is flawed. "Telgar doesn't sound as cold. It's just flat. And windy." He crunches on another cookie, working through his plate swiftly. "Best be careful," he tells the Istan, "Or you'll get snowed in. Blizzard might pick up a bit. Hope not. Don't fancing bunking down in the Living Cavern. Again."
X'lar gives Tiriana another grin, nodding at the weyrling easily, "Oh, that much is obvious. Not that Malsaeth would show it the normal way, of course. Besides, she's still young." He cants his head to the side some while finishing off his first meatroll and starting his second. "What, you don't like wine, Tiriana?" X'lar asks the weyrling curiously. "I'm sure you just haven't drunk the right wine, Tiriana." He grins to Tiriana and then back to C'mryn, "I don't know, I kind of like the idea of being snowed in." He looks over to the meatrolls on the serving tables, as if calculating how many he would need if he were actually snowed in with the weyrling and bronzerider.
Tiriana eyes. "How would he show it, then?" she wonders, frowning at X'lar. But it's a brief, if intense, interest before she moves on to roll her eyes at the pair. "Oh, please. There's the dorms, if nothing else. Or the private rooms, if you know which ones are empty and still furnished. Which /I/ do." Pause. "Or did, anyway," she amends with a faint lift of her shoulders.
"Trust me," Cam tells X'lar, with a grimace, "It's no fun." That said, he gulps the rest of his klah and stands. "Here," and he sets the plate of cookies beside Tiriana's chair, whether or not she wants them. Hers now! "I think I'd better retreat while I still can. Even a private room is a poor substitute for the warmth of a weyrmate." He grins. "Good luck," he tells X'lar as he slips past, headed for the Bowl.
X'lar looks to Tiriana, grinning as he admits, "Mal doesn't normally flirt with the ladies. He's more thoughtful, introspective. Except when he's telling his stories, then usually he's right in the now." The Istan teen takes another abashed look at the weyrling again before looking to C'mryn. "I wouldn't know about weyrmates, but I get the appeal of a warm body," Xie tells the other bronzer. He blinks once at the departure of the other rider, watching him curiously before glancing to Tiriana again. "And why did you know which rooms were empty and still furnished?" X'lar asks. "Happen to get snowed in a lot, Tiriana?"
Cookies! Tiriana's eyes light up, and she's quick to move the plate to her lap, lest anyone get any thoughts about taking it back. She's even polite enough to offer C'mryn, "Thanks." Although it's not without a sulky look after him for his parting comment, as she sulls up somewhat and sinks down in her chair. "Jerk," she mutters to herself, before letting X'lar draw her attention back up. "Sometimes. Or if I just didn't want to go home. Back when I was staying with R'dur and Bri. You just figure things out, if you hang out in the caverns long enough."
C'mryn walks down the short tunnel and out into the bowl.
C'mryn has left.
X'lar watches Tiriana with the cookies, grinning briefly. He looks to C'mryn's departure once more before finding himself a chair near Tiriana. "You callin' me a jerk, or yourself, Tiriana?" X'lar asks her, grinning wider at this. He nods once more, listening to the weyrling curiously. "R'dur and Bri?" the teenager asks her. "Who are they?" He finishes off his second meatroll. Instead of starting his third meatroll, he just sets it on his lap for now.
"Him," and Tiriana jerks a thumb after C'mryn while she continues to hoard her cookies. Breaking off pieces from one and eating those, she glances sideways at X'lar and frowns. "R'dur, my uncle--he's my daddy's brother. Used to be Weyrsecond here--" her chest puffs up with pride "--and Bri's his weyrmate. Daddy sent me up here to stay with them for a while. Me and Cyrra--my sister--both."
"So he's a jerk because he gave you cookies?" X'lar asks her. "Or do you just not know nicer words to call people?" The Istan grins once more at the weyrling before reclining in his chair, seemingly relaxing. "Ah, Uncle and his weyrmate. Makes sense." He looks to Tiriana curiously at her last though, commenting, "Didn't know you had a sister. She older or younger?"
"He's rubbing it in," Tiriana says stubbornly, with a sulk after C'mryn just for a few seconds more. Then, irritability carrying over to X'lar (or perhaps just being spurred by his own comments), she notes, "Told you, she named the stupid firelizard. Fish. Three turns older. And she's only my /half/-sister, anyway, from my momma's first weyrmate."
"Ah, yes, you did tell me about her," X'lar comments. "Just not her name." He cants his head to the left as he listens to the rest of the comments from the weyrling. "Your momma?" X'lar asks, grinning. "I usually call my mom... my mom." There's a pause there as he studies Tiriana again, frowning faintly at something. "Interesting," he finally ends up saying.
"Cyrra," Tiriana repeats, just in case X'lar didn't get it the first time. Then: "Yes, my momma! My momma and my daddy--you got a problem with that or something?" she snaps, glaring further at him. She breaks a cookie more forcefully this time, getting crumbs scattered everywhere though she doesn't eat what she break this time. Instead, she demands, "What? What's interesting?"
"Cyrra," X'lar repeats back to Tiriana. But, at the snapping remarks from the weyrling, X'lar can't help but laugh. "No, I don't have a problem with that at all, Tiriana," the Istan finally replies back. "I just think it's cute." There's a pause, almost looking horrified at his own comment for once. "... /anyways/... " X'lar looks to the crumbs getting scattered by Tiriana instead of Tiriana herself, staring at them for a brief moment before finally looking up at the weyrling. "I didn't realize you were such a family person," he admits to what he thought was interesting.
It's probably a good thing Tiriana has her hands full with cookies and her rapidly cooling mug of cider. As it is, all she can do is glare and sniff and try to look lofty instead of cute. "It is not. It's just what I call then," she notes, quite ruffled. "And why wouldn't I be a family person? You said yourself all I talk about's my daddy."
"I thought it was for the sake of talking about your father," Xie admits. "... rather than because you had those strong family values." He gives the weyrling another look, his bluish gray eyes studying Tiriana for a couple of beats. "Unfortunately, when you -try- not to be cute, it makes you look that much cuter," X'lar offers finally. There might be a teasing undertone it, but it sounds remarkably earnest. "Would you want kids yourself?" the Istan asks.
In full sulk mode, Tiriana glares at the fire instead of X'lar. "Yeah, well, he's my daddy. I talk about all my family, though. You already quizzed me on my gran, too," she answers, and tries very hard to ignore his latter remark on being cute, though it takes visible efforts and has her stiffening. His last remark, though, is apparently the last straw. "Oh, dear Faranth," she exclaims, straightening up abruptly and moving to set her dishes on the end table by her chair. "I have to get Halba back to her room before she falls asleep here," she latches onto the mumbling old woman nearby. Awfully charitable of Tiriana, isn't it?
X'lar laughs aloud, suddenly as he watches Tiriana begin sulking, and then she begins straightening up and moving to help the mumbling old woman. "Shells, it's not like I'm asking anything that huge, Tiriana. Faranth knows I don't want any right now. Kids I mean. Although I could definitely go for my last meatroll." And with that, his right hand snags his last remaining meatroll and begins munching at it. "You do talk about family a lot," Xie offers to Tiriana. "It's admirable."
Halba is not the most cooperative old auntie; she seems pretty out of it with her knitting and mumbling and not getting up even when Tiriana tries tugging at her arm. So Tiriana perches for the moment on the woman's armrest, folding her own arms over her chest disagreeably. "Admirable. Yeah, sure," she scoffs. She ignores the preceding remark with more effort, though it looks like the restraint continues to wear on her. "It's none of your concern anyway, so. You can just keep your nose out of me and Rev's business." Even if he didn't mention the bronzerider himself.
"Is that whose business it is?" X'lar asks her, grinning again. "But I suppose it's no business of mine anyways." The Timor wingrider takes a look at the fire before looking back to Tiriana, then past her to Halba. X'lar can't help but grin once more at the un-cooperative woman and Tiriana's attempts to get her off the chair. "It is admirable though," Xie adds. "You don't find many people like that these days."
"Yes," Tiriana retorts stiffly, shoulders tense as everything as she fixes X'lar with her coldest look. "It's ours. Not yours. --And don't you start, either, you old crone," the girl tacks on sharply when the ancient Halba mumbles something else at her. It might be unintelligible, but Tiriana seems to think she knows exactly what's being said about her. As for X'lar? "It's not that big a deal. I don't know what your problem is--if you think you can get on my good side, you're wrong. I don't have one."
"Funny, I thought your bad side was your good side," Xie tells her. "The physicality of the need to punch people, wanting to get things done, the family values." He shakes his head and offers: "You might use those things and make yourself think that it's your 'bad' side', but I think that's your good side." He looks from Halba to Tiriana curiously, reclining against his chair. "And I really don't have a problem," X'lar remarks.
"I meant," grates Tiriana, "that I don't like you. You're on my bad side." She huffs out a breath, rolls her eyes, and then pushes up to her feet again. "We're going," she tells X'lar flatly, and this time doesn't stop until she's got Halba tottering to her feet, too. And when the woman is too slow putting away her knitting stuff, Tiriana bends to do it herself, shoving it all into the basket and then carrying it herself. "We're going," the girl repeats one more time for good measure. And so they start to go, veeeeery sloooowly. Halba doesn't move too good at all. Tiriana only looks more frustrated at her less-than-imposing exit.
X'lar gives Halba a wink before glancing back to Tiriana, asking her: "So if your bad side is your good side, does that mean I'm on your good side?" The bronze rider laughs softly at this before going on to finish eating his third and last meatroll. "And it's fine that you don't like me," Xie comments. "I can like you just fine without you liking me back."
Taking a couple of really deep breaths, Tiriana gives X'lar her best withering look and doesn't dignify his questions with further answers. Instead, she moves to lead the old woman off, striking up an animated (if one-sided) conversation with Halba about 'stupid people she doesn't like that just won't leave her alone.'
X'lar seems to grin right back at the withering look. Nothing seems to phase him, let alone withering glances from weyrlings, no matter who their father might be. He gives Tiriana a light wave before going on to say, "Be seeing you, Tiriana!" And with that, he looks toward the exit and then back to the fire. For the moment, it appears as though the Istan teen is staying right where he is, happily watching the fire.
When: Day 11, Month 1, Turn 17
Where: Living Cavern, Telgar Weyr
What: X'lar swings by Telgar again and runs into Tiriana and C'mryn.
Living Cavern, Telgar Weyr
This huge cavern is sufficiently roomy to hold a large portion of the Weyr's population without feeling cramped. There's always a bustle of activity here. Fragrant dishes are constantly in prepartion for mealtimes: currently for the evening meal. Drudges are always present, either cleaning under Pierron's watchful eye, or helping fetch and carry. A myriad of glowbaskets and many ever-lit hearths make the cavern warm and inviting despite its size. The scents of cooking meats, baking breads and pastries, and the pungent aroma of spices hang mouthwateringly in the air. It is little wonder that those seeking to relax nearly always find their way here to do it. Branches of evergreens and glistening winter berries are ornaments of the season.
A short tunnel jaunts northward out to the bowl and the merry sounds of cooking, chores, and laughter echo from the kitchen at the southeast end of the cavern near the easterly passage to the rest of the lower caverns. Within the lower caverns is an entrance to the infirmary weyr to care for injured dragons and riders.
Contents:
C'mryn
Telgar Serving Tables
Obvious exits:
Inner Caverns Kitchen Bowl
With a mug of cider, Tiriana has curled up by the hearths on a blizzardy evening. At such a late hour, most of the cavern is clearing out, residents and riders hurrying to their rooms before they get snowed in; between that and the snowfall itself, the volume of the room is muffled. About the only other person near Tiriana is an old auntie knitting and mumbling to herself. The weyrling herself is content to watch the fire with an unusually pensive expression.
Oh so similiar to a night many long months ago, in walks C'mryn. This time, however, he is not dripping mud in his wake. Snow, perhapes, but no mud. There's a stop at the doorway, a vigorous shake of his shoulders and stomp of his feet, and off he goes. Klah, cookies, and then he's on the way to the hearth. There's the briefest hesitation when he spies Tiriana, but the lure of the fire seems too much for the assistant weyrlingmaster, and he sinks into a chair nearby. "Good evening, Tiriana." Smile.
"Hey," says Tiriana distractedly; she delays a few more seconds before glancing back at C'mryn and recognizing him. She frowns herself, but a beat later turns back to the fire herself, slinking further down in her chair and holding her mug up to her chin. Then: "Yeah? What do you want?" she asks, brows furrowing as she cuts her eyes over at C'mryn again.
C'mryn offers a bit of a shrug and a tight little smile. "A nice little sit down by the fire before I attempt to get home," is his reply, cheeky grin given for good measure. His plate of cookies is balanced on the arm of his chair, and the mug is held with one hand on the other. Settled. "What do *you* want?" he asks back.
Tiriana snorts, glancing at C'mryn and then the little old woman who's still mumbling indecipherable things while she knits. "You're the one that came over here to me," she points out. "While I was just minding my own business. Which means I don't want anything from you." Beat. "I want a cookie," she amends after watching him balance those on his chair arm.
"Wrong," says C'mryn with a grin. "I did not come over here to *you*, I came over here to the comfy chair and the nice warm fire. Simple coincidence that you happen to be sitting here as well." He shrugs. "Sorry I was polite and said good evening. Next time, would you prefer I ignored you completely?" He grins again, and after a little hesitation, picks up his plate and holds it out. "You can have one. Since you have been *so* generous in letting me sit here. Least I could do, yes."
X'lar walks in from the bowl.
X'lar has arrived.
Because he's generous and offers her one cookie, Tiriana reaches to take two--one for each hand, her cider set between her legs for the moment. Nibbling the first slowly, she shrugs then. "Maybe. Faranth, you don't have to get so up in arms about it. All I said was I didn't want anything from you." She sniffs at that, leaning back in her chair again. The caverns are quiet tonight, both due to latening hours and the heavy snowstorm outside; both Tiriana and C'mryn (and one little old woman knitting) have holed up by the hearth.
One? Two? Cam doesn't seem to mind. The plate is once more balanced on the arm of his chair, and he finally takes one for himself. He chuckles a little, and grins. "Up in arms, hm? Didn't realize it was such a crime to sit by the fire, enjoy a bit of klah and some cookies while it snowed. And if you remeber, I was prefectly nice to you. You're the one who was rude. But I forgive you." Smile.
"I think Tiriana likes people being up in arms about things, especially herself," X'lar calls out as he hears the conversation walking into the foreign living cavern. The Istan bronzerider walks past the threshold and toward the serving tables, quickly grabbing a meatroll, and then another... and then another. He turns about again before offering a crisp salute to the pair of the Telgari, offering a quiet: "Ista's Duties, Telgar." A glance is given to Tiriana in amusement before he begins munching on his first meatroll.
"Dear Faranth, what happened to those Reaches you love so much--or better yet, your /own/ Weyr?" Tiriana demands in a long-suffering voice. "Must you /always/ come pester us here now?" She glowers at X'lar, then pointedly tries to ignore him, lifting her chair, straightening up from her slouch, and eyeing C'mryn instead. "I don't need your forgiveness," she sniffs, with a frustrated bite of cookie.
"Guess so," C'mryn answers X'lar, grinning. He shrugs, and takes a chunk out of his cookie, ignoring the crumbs that cling to his chin. "Suppose not," he tells Tiriana around his mouthful. Manners? What manners? "But you got it anyways. So might as well deal with it." He picks up his mug, takes a hearty swallow, and sighs. "Could be he likes the snow?" muses the bronzerider aloud. "Bet that sun and warmth get tiring after a while. Couldn't be your pleasant company."
X'lar laughs aloud as he listens to Tiriana's demanding voice, asking her: "What, and miss out on your lovely grating voice, Tiriana?" He gives C'mryn a brief grin nodding to him in response. "I actually happen to love Ista in winter, but there's only so much sunshine, beautiful sea water and colorful drinks I can handle," he offers. "Coming here always seems to energize me." He wrinkles his nose and admits, "I'm avoiding High Reaches for the time being." His fluid gait takes him toward Tiriana and C'mryn, eating another bite of his first meatroll. A few crumbs are unfortunately tossed in the bustle.
"There's snow at High Reaches. Fort. Benden. Ierne," Tiriana ticks places off on her fingers. Of course, a half-second later, she retracts one, making a face. "Okay, not Ierne, this time of turn. Whatever," she brushes off the slip. Nibbling on her cookie again, she sets the second one on the armrest of her chair, then lifts her mug for a drink. "Girly drinks," is her mutter on that front, before she questions, curiosity roused by X'lar's latter comment, "What for?"
"Girly drinks," agrees C'mryn with a snort. "Never had a head for those sweet drinks." Klah with cookies? Not girly at all. He stiffles a bit of a yawn with the back of his cookie-holding hand, and says, "Because High Reaches is even colder, and more desolate than Telgar?" offers the assistant weyrlingmaster helpfully. "Though I dunno. Haven't been for a while. Could be comfortable today."
"Not that I like them, they're just in demand, Tiriana," X'lar comments. "Besides, I'm more of an ale-and-wine guy myself." He grins briefly at Tiriana's next question, answering her: "Telgar makes Mal happy. He says he likes the feel of the cold on his hide after erupting from between. And when Mal's happy, I'm happy." There's a brief thoughtful pause before the Istan teen adds in earnest, "Well, that, and I can't help but enjoy the company of Telgari like yourself, Tiriana." He grins briefly at C'mryn, telling the other rider, "Funny, Reachians always say Telgar is colder and more desolate."
"He could get that anywhere," Tiriana insists, with a sniff as she takes another gulp of her own drink. "He just like Iovniath, or something. The way you're always after me these days." With a sharp nod--her mind's made up about /that/--she moves on again. "Telgar's colder all right. Think it's 'cause of the water--they got the ocean closer, or something like that." She's not too concerned about the reasons, at least, though she seems proud of the fact still. Probably happy to beat the Reaches however she can. Then, delayed, "Ew, wine." She makes another face.
"Nah. High Reaches is colder. Must be, with that name. 'High Reaches'. Just sounds cold." So C'mryn's logic is flawed. "Telgar doesn't sound as cold. It's just flat. And windy." He crunches on another cookie, working through his plate swiftly. "Best be careful," he tells the Istan, "Or you'll get snowed in. Blizzard might pick up a bit. Hope not. Don't fancing bunking down in the Living Cavern. Again."
X'lar gives Tiriana another grin, nodding at the weyrling easily, "Oh, that much is obvious. Not that Malsaeth would show it the normal way, of course. Besides, she's still young." He cants his head to the side some while finishing off his first meatroll and starting his second. "What, you don't like wine, Tiriana?" X'lar asks the weyrling curiously. "I'm sure you just haven't drunk the right wine, Tiriana." He grins to Tiriana and then back to C'mryn, "I don't know, I kind of like the idea of being snowed in." He looks over to the meatrolls on the serving tables, as if calculating how many he would need if he were actually snowed in with the weyrling and bronzerider.
Tiriana eyes. "How would he show it, then?" she wonders, frowning at X'lar. But it's a brief, if intense, interest before she moves on to roll her eyes at the pair. "Oh, please. There's the dorms, if nothing else. Or the private rooms, if you know which ones are empty and still furnished. Which /I/ do." Pause. "Or did, anyway," she amends with a faint lift of her shoulders.
"Trust me," Cam tells X'lar, with a grimace, "It's no fun." That said, he gulps the rest of his klah and stands. "Here," and he sets the plate of cookies beside Tiriana's chair, whether or not she wants them. Hers now! "I think I'd better retreat while I still can. Even a private room is a poor substitute for the warmth of a weyrmate." He grins. "Good luck," he tells X'lar as he slips past, headed for the Bowl.
X'lar looks to Tiriana, grinning as he admits, "Mal doesn't normally flirt with the ladies. He's more thoughtful, introspective. Except when he's telling his stories, then usually he's right in the now." The Istan teen takes another abashed look at the weyrling again before looking to C'mryn. "I wouldn't know about weyrmates, but I get the appeal of a warm body," Xie tells the other bronzer. He blinks once at the departure of the other rider, watching him curiously before glancing to Tiriana again. "And why did you know which rooms were empty and still furnished?" X'lar asks. "Happen to get snowed in a lot, Tiriana?"
Cookies! Tiriana's eyes light up, and she's quick to move the plate to her lap, lest anyone get any thoughts about taking it back. She's even polite enough to offer C'mryn, "Thanks." Although it's not without a sulky look after him for his parting comment, as she sulls up somewhat and sinks down in her chair. "Jerk," she mutters to herself, before letting X'lar draw her attention back up. "Sometimes. Or if I just didn't want to go home. Back when I was staying with R'dur and Bri. You just figure things out, if you hang out in the caverns long enough."
C'mryn walks down the short tunnel and out into the bowl.
C'mryn has left.
X'lar watches Tiriana with the cookies, grinning briefly. He looks to C'mryn's departure once more before finding himself a chair near Tiriana. "You callin' me a jerk, or yourself, Tiriana?" X'lar asks her, grinning wider at this. He nods once more, listening to the weyrling curiously. "R'dur and Bri?" the teenager asks her. "Who are they?" He finishes off his second meatroll. Instead of starting his third meatroll, he just sets it on his lap for now.
"Him," and Tiriana jerks a thumb after C'mryn while she continues to hoard her cookies. Breaking off pieces from one and eating those, she glances sideways at X'lar and frowns. "R'dur, my uncle--he's my daddy's brother. Used to be Weyrsecond here--" her chest puffs up with pride "--and Bri's his weyrmate. Daddy sent me up here to stay with them for a while. Me and Cyrra--my sister--both."
"So he's a jerk because he gave you cookies?" X'lar asks her. "Or do you just not know nicer words to call people?" The Istan grins once more at the weyrling before reclining in his chair, seemingly relaxing. "Ah, Uncle and his weyrmate. Makes sense." He looks to Tiriana curiously at her last though, commenting, "Didn't know you had a sister. She older or younger?"
"He's rubbing it in," Tiriana says stubbornly, with a sulk after C'mryn just for a few seconds more. Then, irritability carrying over to X'lar (or perhaps just being spurred by his own comments), she notes, "Told you, she named the stupid firelizard. Fish. Three turns older. And she's only my /half/-sister, anyway, from my momma's first weyrmate."
"Ah, yes, you did tell me about her," X'lar comments. "Just not her name." He cants his head to the left as he listens to the rest of the comments from the weyrling. "Your momma?" X'lar asks, grinning. "I usually call my mom... my mom." There's a pause there as he studies Tiriana again, frowning faintly at something. "Interesting," he finally ends up saying.
"Cyrra," Tiriana repeats, just in case X'lar didn't get it the first time. Then: "Yes, my momma! My momma and my daddy--you got a problem with that or something?" she snaps, glaring further at him. She breaks a cookie more forcefully this time, getting crumbs scattered everywhere though she doesn't eat what she break this time. Instead, she demands, "What? What's interesting?"
"Cyrra," X'lar repeats back to Tiriana. But, at the snapping remarks from the weyrling, X'lar can't help but laugh. "No, I don't have a problem with that at all, Tiriana," the Istan finally replies back. "I just think it's cute." There's a pause, almost looking horrified at his own comment for once. "... /anyways/... " X'lar looks to the crumbs getting scattered by Tiriana instead of Tiriana herself, staring at them for a brief moment before finally looking up at the weyrling. "I didn't realize you were such a family person," he admits to what he thought was interesting.
It's probably a good thing Tiriana has her hands full with cookies and her rapidly cooling mug of cider. As it is, all she can do is glare and sniff and try to look lofty instead of cute. "It is not. It's just what I call then," she notes, quite ruffled. "And why wouldn't I be a family person? You said yourself all I talk about's my daddy."
"I thought it was for the sake of talking about your father," Xie admits. "... rather than because you had those strong family values." He gives the weyrling another look, his bluish gray eyes studying Tiriana for a couple of beats. "Unfortunately, when you -try- not to be cute, it makes you look that much cuter," X'lar offers finally. There might be a teasing undertone it, but it sounds remarkably earnest. "Would you want kids yourself?" the Istan asks.
In full sulk mode, Tiriana glares at the fire instead of X'lar. "Yeah, well, he's my daddy. I talk about all my family, though. You already quizzed me on my gran, too," she answers, and tries very hard to ignore his latter remark on being cute, though it takes visible efforts and has her stiffening. His last remark, though, is apparently the last straw. "Oh, dear Faranth," she exclaims, straightening up abruptly and moving to set her dishes on the end table by her chair. "I have to get Halba back to her room before she falls asleep here," she latches onto the mumbling old woman nearby. Awfully charitable of Tiriana, isn't it?
X'lar laughs aloud, suddenly as he watches Tiriana begin sulking, and then she begins straightening up and moving to help the mumbling old woman. "Shells, it's not like I'm asking anything that huge, Tiriana. Faranth knows I don't want any right now. Kids I mean. Although I could definitely go for my last meatroll." And with that, his right hand snags his last remaining meatroll and begins munching at it. "You do talk about family a lot," Xie offers to Tiriana. "It's admirable."
Halba is not the most cooperative old auntie; she seems pretty out of it with her knitting and mumbling and not getting up even when Tiriana tries tugging at her arm. So Tiriana perches for the moment on the woman's armrest, folding her own arms over her chest disagreeably. "Admirable. Yeah, sure," she scoffs. She ignores the preceding remark with more effort, though it looks like the restraint continues to wear on her. "It's none of your concern anyway, so. You can just keep your nose out of me and Rev's business." Even if he didn't mention the bronzerider himself.
"Is that whose business it is?" X'lar asks her, grinning again. "But I suppose it's no business of mine anyways." The Timor wingrider takes a look at the fire before looking back to Tiriana, then past her to Halba. X'lar can't help but grin once more at the un-cooperative woman and Tiriana's attempts to get her off the chair. "It is admirable though," Xie adds. "You don't find many people like that these days."
"Yes," Tiriana retorts stiffly, shoulders tense as everything as she fixes X'lar with her coldest look. "It's ours. Not yours. --And don't you start, either, you old crone," the girl tacks on sharply when the ancient Halba mumbles something else at her. It might be unintelligible, but Tiriana seems to think she knows exactly what's being said about her. As for X'lar? "It's not that big a deal. I don't know what your problem is--if you think you can get on my good side, you're wrong. I don't have one."
"Funny, I thought your bad side was your good side," Xie tells her. "The physicality of the need to punch people, wanting to get things done, the family values." He shakes his head and offers: "You might use those things and make yourself think that it's your 'bad' side', but I think that's your good side." He looks from Halba to Tiriana curiously, reclining against his chair. "And I really don't have a problem," X'lar remarks.
"I meant," grates Tiriana, "that I don't like you. You're on my bad side." She huffs out a breath, rolls her eyes, and then pushes up to her feet again. "We're going," she tells X'lar flatly, and this time doesn't stop until she's got Halba tottering to her feet, too. And when the woman is too slow putting away her knitting stuff, Tiriana bends to do it herself, shoving it all into the basket and then carrying it herself. "We're going," the girl repeats one more time for good measure. And so they start to go, veeeeery sloooowly. Halba doesn't move too good at all. Tiriana only looks more frustrated at her less-than-imposing exit.
X'lar gives Halba a wink before glancing back to Tiriana, asking her: "So if your bad side is your good side, does that mean I'm on your good side?" The bronze rider laughs softly at this before going on to finish eating his third and last meatroll. "And it's fine that you don't like me," Xie comments. "I can like you just fine without you liking me back."
Taking a couple of really deep breaths, Tiriana gives X'lar her best withering look and doesn't dignify his questions with further answers. Instead, she moves to lead the old woman off, striking up an animated (if one-sided) conversation with Halba about 'stupid people she doesn't like that just won't leave her alone.'
X'lar seems to grin right back at the withering look. Nothing seems to phase him, let alone withering glances from weyrlings, no matter who their father might be. He gives Tiriana a light wave before going on to say, "Be seeing you, Tiriana!" And with that, he looks toward the exit and then back to the fire. For the moment, it appears as though the Istan teen is staying right where he is, happily watching the fire.