[Log] Little, Cute, and Crying
Who: A'son, B'tal, Persie, Tiriana, Z'yi
When: Day 13, Month 13, Turn 19
Where: Living Cavern, High Reaches Weyr
What: Weyrlings get emo.
Living Cavern, High Reaches Weyr
Stalactites hang high above this enormous cavern like a jagged chandelier or an inversion of the Spires themselves, but shadows cling to them instead of light. Below lie great tables arranged in rows, each large enough to serve a fighting wing, while in the nooks and alcoves around the cavern's edge sit more sensibly-sized tables, from six- and eight-seaters down to intimate spots for just a couple of diners. The only really open space is around the kitchen entrance, smelling of food and rarely quiet, and by the nearby serving tables with their long buffet of the day's offerings.
Tapestries on the smooth walls -- some faded and others newly woven -- only slightly mute the sea of sound when a meal is in full swing, but they add cheerfulness augmented by the glowlight from wall sconces and the centerpieces of each table. Still, shadows always creep along the ceiling and into the mouths of the exits -- the myriad small hallways at one end of the cavern and, at the other, the twisting tunnel to the bowl near an array of coathooks and and hatracks -- and late at night, when the glows are allowed to dim, the chamber can seem very dark indeed.
Contents:
A'son
Z'yi
B'tal
Obvious exits:
Inner Caverns Kitchen Bowl
Another tear and B'tal looks like he might start flat out crying. His voice even wavers to that end when he shoots back, "Because I /like/ you, Z'yi!" B'tal finally looks up at the bluerider and there's something accusatory there. "I really like you. I always have. Why can't you just leave things alone, damn you!" B'tal steps back and looks down again after his brief spurt of ... whatever that was.
Er--mgh. Er--agh. Open mouth, insert foot. And Z'yi didn't even say anything! Really. The big ol' blueling just stands there, looking like a fish the way his mouth keeps opening to say something and closing. Is he supposed to say something? He's probably supposed to say something. Instead? He flounders. Nonverbal flail. Or should that be, nonverbal /fail/? Eventually, he just rocks back on his heels. "Oh." Pause. "You do?" A'son hasn't been spotted. (In other words, he doesn't know Just How Much Trouble he's in, just yet.)
A'son is staring between both of them with utter disbelief. "I'm not sure what's going on here, but he's /crying/." The older man announces, finally coming over and pointing at B'tal. Which must make the already upset kid feel that much better. "Z'yi, I don't know what you did. But apologize to him right now and... fix it. Otherwise I'm going to hear from Persie about how upset this poor kid is and I want to go to sleep like a normal person tonight."
In search of dinner companionship, Tiriana has been scanning the caverns for a couple of moments when she spots a pair of weyrlings and one... A'son, whatever he is. She heads that way, for a few seconds more blissfully unaware of just what sort of teenage hormones she's about to barge in. She stops a couple of yards away, food in hand and brows going up, while she peers from B'tal to Z'yi and back, then to A'son like he can interpret this for her--nevermind he just arrived, too.
B'tal really hates crying, especially in front of other people. Probably even more especially in front of his just-until-recently-secret crush. "He doesn't need to apologize," B'tal manages between hitching breaths and he lifts one hand to rub at his eyes with his sleeve. A glance sideways finds Tiriana nearby, too, and the green weyrling colors a noticeable shade of pink. "He can't do anything to fix anything," he adds but he very pointedly does not look at Z'yi. "I'm fine." Sniffle.
Z'yi just feels like a giant-- piece of male anatomy that isn't complimentary. Yeah. Making B'tal cry is like kicking a cocker spaniel puppy. Then shaving it bald. Horrible *and* mortifying. "B'tal, I..." suck at this. That's written in giant neon letters across his forehead. "I'm sorry. I didn't-- I just-- I didn't understand wh--" and now is /Z'yi/ hyperventilating? Possibly. Because that's Tiriana over there and he'd like to keep his family jewels, thankyouverymuch. But hey. At least it's amusing. Don't see Z'yi involuntarily at a loss for words often.
A'son is pointing his finger at the sniffling weyrling again. "No. You're crying. He did something to make you upset. He should be a man and apologize for it immediately." Then he's pointing his finger at Z'yi, as if just doing that is going to ellicit an 'I'm sorry' from the much bigger and younger man. Which is evidentally necessary as the blue weyrling is doing it all on his own anyway. Why is he hyperventilating? Tiriana is someplace out of his line of vision, so as of yet he hasn't noticed the Weyrwoman. And so doesn't know that this whole thing is being witnessed. Of course with the way Z'yi is behavinv it eventually prompts him to look over his shoulder. He exhales and finger pointing at the floor begins. "Remember how to breathe, Z'yi. She's not going to exile you."
"Why not?" Tiriana says, frowning at A'son. She steps over close enough to set her plate down, but does not set herself. Instead, she declares, "If he's making my weyrling cry--." Nevermind that Z'yi is technically probably also one of her weyrlings: B'tal is little and crying and cute, whereas Z'yi is big, and not, and... not.
Hey now. I think at least two people in the room would challenge that last part.
I think we know who said that.
Persie comes in just in time to see A'son pointing and make his declarations about the situation, which has the greenrider's face going from it's usual empty-headed sweetness to wide-eyed alert. Her eyes dart from face to face: A'son, B'tal, Z'yi, Tiriana, random onlookers. Her mittens are still on when she hurries forward. "A'son, what is going on?" she asks with breathless concern. But she hasn't gone to A'son, she's gone to B'tal, a fluffy pink hand reaching for his shoulder. "Just breathe," she murmurs quietly, probably too quietly for anyone else to hear.
It would probably be easier to stop crying if there weren't so many people paying attention to them now, but B'tal is having some trouble ceasing his hitching breaths. And he's totally mortified. He's staring at the floor now but he looks up quickly at Tiriana again at the thought that she could exile Z'yi. "No! You can't... do that!" he says, voice pitched a little high from the crying and the anxiety of that thought, no matter how unlikely it might be. He jumps slightly when Persie touches his shoulder and his gaze shifts to her, lip trembling while he tries to just breathe.
Dragon> There's a touch of concern in Iovniath's snow-dotted mind, flickers of silver and cold through the crystal white when she reaches for Secath much as Persie goes right to B'tal. << Mine asks yours, >> and she inflects her voice wryly, despite her own feelings, << to 'fix him.' >> (Iovniath to Secath)
Dragon> Wordless, Iovniath reaches out, cool white fur to curl maternal around the green. (Iovniath to Jeibeth)
Z'yi takes an impromptu step back, gathering himself up in one movement. Persie's here! It's perhaps ridiculous, the completely gratuitous amount of relief that the perky blonde's presence interjects into Z'yi's face. Persie's here. Persie can fix /anything/. Even B'tal crying. Which seems to be the Number One Goal right now. He draws himself up to his full height, settles his nerves, and turns to A'son. "Permission to return to the barracks, sir." He carefully avoids looking at Tiriana. Or Bety. Or even Persie. A'son's a safe enough pick. Or so he thinks. "I think it'd be best if I leave. Sir."
Cue finger pointing at Z'yi. "Look at that face, are you going to exile him? He's afraid of you. And besides, he's one of /your/ weyrlings too." A'son is looking like he thinks Tiriana kicking him out of the weyr is way out of the realm of possibilities. "No one is getting exiled. What is wrong with you kids? It was just a turn of speech. It's the Weyrwoman not a monster. She doesn't just go around destorying people's lives for fun. No matter how scary she acts." He points at himself, "She hates me most of the time. I still live he-" Permission to leave? Is that a good idea? This is the first time the bronzerider has ever done this job so he looks to the only person here who actually knows what they're doing. Persie. "Can he leave?"
Dragon> To Iovniath, Secath projects, << Snow meets the quiet dance of confetti or leaves on a similar tense breeze. << She intends to. >> There's something in there that would be paired with rolling eyes, as if Secath is intoning that she couldn't stop Persie if she wanted to. << I'll check in on the young ones. >> At least she doesn't sound too put upon about it. >>
"I don't /hate/ you," Tiriana points out, though she gives A'son a look like she just might. If Z'yi weren't there to distract her--not that that's probably a good thing for the bluerider in question. Tiriana eyes him, too. "That's right, make him cry and then run away," she says, snorting. "I guess your work here is done, huh?"
Dragon> Not just comfort for Jeibeth, Iovniath turns her attention toward Isforaith, too, though with a hint of distance in her glass-white voice. << Isforaith, >> she says, and even the present stresses can't quite keep her maternal pride and concern away in the end. << Isforaith, how is yours? >> (Iovniath to Isforaith)
Dragon> To Secath, Iovniath, pleased, perhaps even relieved, answers, with a swirl of snow that whirls amongst Secath's confetti tones. << Thank you. Yours is much appreciated. >>
Dragon> To Iovniath, Isforaith doesn't know this thing called 'distance', especially as it concerns his mother. Ash falls as rain, but upside down, rising from the ground like zombie snowflakes. << Mom. >> Yes, he calls her mom. What? Don't look at him like that. He's not that crazy. Just a little addled in the head. << He's-- he's worried. >> But damn if he doesn't have pride, and he'll hold onto that, and his lifemate's pride, to anyone-- up to and including his mother. << But he's good. Hell's Bells! He's ridiculously wary of your lifemate. She scares him, why do you think? Just a little thing. Couldn't hurt a bug. >> Don't say chivalry is dead. Raith is defending *Tiriana*. << Worried about Jeibeth's. Happy that Secath's is there to make everything better. >>
Dragon> Her son's good humor cheers Iovniath, though those upside-down zombie flakes earn the focus of her mind for a moment. Is he right in the head? His words probably don't help that question. << I am sure he has his reasons, >> Iovniath answers after a moment, amused. << Perhaps you should ask him. --She is good for that, no? >> And for the last, the idea of Persie flickers across the matte white of her mind: all bright colors and blonde hair, making everything cheerier. (Iovniath to Isforaith)
Dragon> To Secath and Iovniath, Jeibeth speaks in cooler, more stale tones than usual but either from the touches or some understanding or just acceptance of what's happening, she announces, << I am well. >>
Dragon> For the record, no, he's not right in the head. He's Cadejoth's son. Did she really think otherwise? << Secath's will fix it. >> Even Raith is convinced of this, and his zombie snowflakes begin to turn colors, ash flashing into bright flashes of individual explosions. << She always does. >> (Isforaith to Iovniath)
Persie has B'tal's attention, and so she goes to take both his shoulders, to keep his focus on her face. "Everything will be fine. Just breathe." But there's more. "Think about Jeibeth. Is she okay? You have to be calm for her, all right? Just breathe." And then, well, A'son is asking for direction and Persie turns to look between him and Z'yi while she gets reports from elsewhere. "Um.. No. Just..." She looks to Tiriana, not wary but considering. "Just... I don't know." She waves a quick mittened hand to leave Z'yi to A'son and Tiriana for now. "Give me a moment." She looks to B'tal again and breathes deeply. Example.
While everyone else talks and with B'tal's escape route blocked by Persie, the green weyrling is somewhat forced to listen to her. He closes her eyes, which doesn't exactly keep his focus on her face, but when he opens them again, he says, "Jeibeth is fine. I'm fine. Can I just... " he glances toward Z'yi, then Tiriana, then back to Persie, voice dropping into a whisper, "Can I just go? It's not all his fault. I'm sorry."
Dragon> It's uncomfortable, this sort of attention, and Iovniath recognizes it. Her cool touch withdraws, pulling away slightly rather than smother Jeibeth; but she lingers near, just the faintest flake of snow remaining to show that she's still, more subtly, watching. (Iovniath to Secath and Jeibeth)
Dragon> The explosions, that these are good things, only seems to mystify Iovniath, who glasses that over quickly. << So she does, >> she agrees of Persie instead. (Iovniath to Isforaith)
Z'yi turns to face Tiriana, and his eyes narrow. "Ma'am?" he states, his tone even. "I'm sorry. I think I misheard you." Hey. From Tiri, it may be a compliment. Think about it. Making people cry is totally her schtick, isn't it? Z'yi stays drawn up at full height, back tense with his overly-correct posture. He's going down for this one way or the other. Might as well be spectacular. Amazing how quickly someone goes from afraid to stubborn in a few short seconds. Musta been something she said. Or maybe something his lifemate said He does his best to ignore B'tal and Persie, though he can't help from shifting to look every so often. Mortified? Yeah. The emotion is still there. The cocker spaniel analogy still applies.
"Sometimes you do." A'son says anyway with a roll of his eyes. The situation seems like it's going to just all blow over. Then there's this freaking Z'yi again. "Okay, yes. You're dismissed. Go back to the barracks, immediately. In fact, I'm coming with you. We're going to have a long, long talk." About how not to do things on purpose that might incite Tiriana's unholy wrath.
Tiriana's brows go up at A'son's reply to Z'yi, but it /does/ effectively cut her off. And so, finally, she pulls out a chair and seats herself, as though to go on with her dinner now like nothing at all's happened. "You heard me," is her parting shot, such as it is, to Z'yi, while she pokes a food in her food and then looks again to Persie and B'tal. To the latter greenrider, as though this will cheer him up: "We ran him off. You're okay, now."
Persie lifts a fluffy hand, still with cold bits of melting snow, to B'tal's pink cheek. "Okay. Everything is fine." She looks over her shoulder at A'son and Z'yi and the apparent plans for them to return to the barracks right away. "Why don't we sit a bit? Let them get a head start at least, huh?" she tells B'tal with an apologetic smile. "Here, sit with Tiriana for a minute, okay?" She gives the younger greenrider's shoulder a quick squeeze and turns away from him, toward Z'yi. It seems she has things to say before A'son drags him off.
B'tal casts a sidelong look in Z'yi's direction at Tiriana's words, but the look doesn't linger and B'tal does as suggests and sits down with the Weyrwoman. He doesn't look at her, rather the table somewhere in front of him and he mumbles, "I've really screwed this up. I didn't mean to." He might not be talking /to/ Tiriana. He lifts a hand to rub at his eyes, still clutching his journal close to him like some insanely awkward security blanket.
Z'yi totally got his way. Just for the record. For half a second, at least. "Thank you, sir." Z'yi gets halfway turned around to go to the barracks and then there's /Persie/. And if he was mortified before, he just wants to crawl into the ground and *die*, now. Thanks. "Miss Persie." His already gravelly voice is a bit husky to boot. This sucks. He keeps his gaze downcast, ignores A'son and ThatEvilTiriWoman and even Bety. And Persie, too. Where's W'chek when you *need* him? Whit's about the only one who would grant Isz' execution request. Or maybe Flashythighs, too. "Ma'am," he corrects himself, daring a look upwards to the blonde-- afraid of seeing disappointment? Well, of course.
"Don't thank me. You owe me dinner." A'son replies a little roughly as he turns about, prepared to lead the way off to the barracks. But then, he's not with him? He stops and looks over his shoulder, noticing that he's been waylaid by Persie this time. Rubbing his forehead tiredly, he turns around and stares at the greenrider, then at the weyrling and then at the other two sitting down at the table.
Tiriana is not Persie, at all, but she means well. At least toward B'tal. She hesitates, watching him while the weyrlingmasters handle their errant pupil. "Er. There, there," she tries out, reaching over to pat B'tal on the back, as though /that/ awkward display of her sympathies will help anyway. "What happened, anyway? I can beat the shit out of him for you. Not like I don't have a good excuse anyway, what with self-defense and all." She means to be helpful. Really!
There is no one safe from the calm understanding on Persie's face. Not even Z'yi. She approaches the bluerider with her eyes still big and round. "Hey. I don't know what happened, but this will blow over, okay? Everyone is tired and stressed out." She even puts on a little quirk of a smile. And she gives him a little punch in the chest, like she might want to hit him harder but not really. "Be nice," she nearly chuckles. "Now go with A'son." She flicks a look at the bronzerider, somewhere between a warning and an eyeroll.
B'tal seems a little confused by Tiriana's attempts at consoling him, but definitely appreciative. A smile pulls at his lips for her and he shakes his head. "You don't need to beat him up. Not for that, at least. He didn't mean to. It's my fault. I should've just left," even if an abundance of that is what got them here in the first place. "He thought I didn't like him," he explains. But that's where he stops. Maybe that's all there is to it.
Somehow, it's all Z'yi's fault. The blueling will likely blame it on himself anyhow, if he's not already. So. That understanding look from Persie? Oh yeah. Goes right to the gut. Like a /blow/. He winces from her punch. "Yes ma'am," he replies, tone subdued, and turns to follow after A'son, a lamb to the slaughter. Some internal prodding (Isforaith can be good, at times, honestly!)-- raises his head to directly look at the other part of this mishap, and he calls out, "See ya tomorrow, Bety. Or whenever they let me out of latrine duty." There's a wry smirk, there. And a certain glint in dark eyes. And then? Oh yeah. Punishments probably will ensue soon, so-- he returns to following Ace, wherever the heck they're going. The barracks. The executioner's block. Whatever.
With arms crossed over his chest, he watches the exchange between Persie and the blue weyrling. Where as her look is something mixed, he's definitely rolling his eyes. A'son is mouthing over at the greenrider. A trained observer could tell that it's 'I'm /hungry/'. When Z'yi begins to come back towards him he shoots one more look at the crowd and is shaking his head again. Then he's tromping off out of the living cavern and looking particularly grumpy now. "A man can't even have a pleasent dinner anymore... What was I thinking?"
"And you... oh. /Oh/." Tiriana is not completely emotionally retarded, apparently, and she catches on to B'tal just in time to shoot an incredulous look after Z'yi. Complete with pointing. "Him? /Him? Faranth, kid. You could do so much better than /him/."
The response she gets from A'son has Persie chuckling and shaking her head at him. It's possible a person could take that as 'tough luck, buddy. I enjoy your pain', but if they know Persie then it would certainly have a warm, fluffy slant. Meanwhile, she's pulling her mittens off and stuffing them in her jacket pockets - the wrong one in each pocket which will surely vex her later. She turns back to take the seat beside B'tal. "Tiriana," she balks a bit at the pointing. "You're going to embarass him." Like saying that isn't embarassing at all. "Besides, have you seen him? With those arms?" She just shakes her head in disbelief. "He's sorry, you're sorry. Everyone's sorry. And everyone cracks once in a while," she tells the weyrling, reaching to rub his arm.
B'tal glances up to look at Z'yi as he departs with A'son and he tries to offer a smile that just looks really awkward. Especially since he's starting to blush at what Tiriana is saying. He looks at her instead and shakes his head quickly, "I don't think so. I mean, I don't do... that." 'That' isn't exactly specified. To Persie, "It's hard to avoid people when you're forced to live with them." Oh, drama. "When do we get our own weyrs again?"
Z'yi departs after A'son. There's really nothing else to be said. Well, other than the obligatory, "I'll make sure you get dinner. Sir. If I have to cook it myself. I just hope you like steak."
"That /hair/," Tiriana says, wrinkling her nose up as Persie tries to expound on Z'yi's virtues. She just shakes her head and finally gets down to this eating business. "Don't do... what? --Not for another, what, four or five months? I guess you need to start working on him now if you really want him to come home with you," she offers consideringly. And a look for Persie, as she insists, "I'm not embarassing him. Not really. He's weyrbred." As though that makes all the difference when it's your love life on display.
A'son goes home.
A'son has left.
Z'yi goes home.
Z'yi has left.
"It's a long while," Persie says, twisting her mouth sympathetically to one side. "Anyway, you don't have to have the couch next to him. There's space if you want to move, though that might... I don't know. Make someting out of nothing. Or you might regret it if you do it right away," she warns B'tal. "Do you want something to eat or drink or something?" Her eyes flick to tht book-like thing he's been clutching, but she makes no remark on it.
"I don't mind it," B'tal says, looking uncomfortable about discussing this at all with Tiriana of all people. But he still does because it's not like he can't unless he leaves and that's probably not going to happen either. He rubs at his eyes again, saying, "I don't... take people home. And I don't think he's like that so it doesn't matter anyway." He sets the journal down in his lap and leans forward to rest his head on crossed arms. "He says that Isforaith is, like, obsessed with Jeibeth. I won't move. Things can't really be any worse than they were before. He'll probably just avoid me now, too." Which works out, really. "No, thanks, I'm fine," he says and tries to smile at Persie.
"Well, if he bothers you anymore, you just come tell me. Or Persie. Persie's good too," decides Tiriana, with a quick nod, and an attempt at an encouraging sort of smile. Except-- "Why not? You're just not that kind of guy? I mean, it's not exactly workable right now, but eventually... You could take somebody home. Somebody nicer than him, who wouldn't make you cry, of course."
"Oh, even the nice ones make you cry," Persie says with a humorless laugh and another roll of her eyes. "Just fret about it, Bety. I mean he feels badly and so really... that's a good thing, right? I though you thought he didn't like you. And obviously he... well, kinda does. Maybe not in the same way you like him but it's not like he outright thinks you're no good or something." Of course, all of that falters a bit toward the end as she realizes that maybe she doesn't know quite as much about B'tal's relationship with Z'yi to know if any of that is true or not.
B'tal shrugs at the 'why not.' "I dunno. Like you say, it doesn't really matter right now anyway. If it matters when it can, then I'll think about it, then." Persie's words seem to help, sort of. For a little while. "That doesn't matter either. I just need to stop acting so... stupid around him." He sighs and sits up again. Lets talk about something else, "So, I was kind of wondering if you would do any extra stuff with the self defense." To Tiriana, obviously. "I want to learn more." See, not a coward.
"Mine's nice and he doesn't make /me/ cry," Tiriana declares staunchly. A nod accompanies it, but before she can start that debate with Persie, B'tal is questioning her. Tiriana blinks at him. "Well. I mean, mostly we're working on the basic hand-to-hand stuff--riders /shouldn't/ need more than that, what with the really big flaming dragons at their back. But... I /could/. I know some other stuff, if you want to keep on with it after everybody else. Faranth knows I don't get to really use it enough on people."
"Oh, well... that's probably true," Persie mumbles back to Tiriana's declaration. "But you aren't the sort of person who cries anyway." She looks to B'tal. It's pretty established now what sort of person he might be. "You don't act stupid," she assures the weyrling. And then she's popping out of her seat to get that cup of klah she initially came in for.
"I do," B'tal agrees to Tiriana readily. "I think it would be good. For me. Maybe." He hesitates, "Maybe good for you, too." He glances at Persie when she speaks and he smiles. He has a hard time not smiling around the other greenrider. When she gets up to get herself some klah, B'tal says to Tiriana, "I should go make sure Jeibeth is as well as she says she is. Is that okay?"
"I do--" and then Tiriana realizes that this is probably not something she wants to own up to. "Not," is tacked on instead. "Right. Nothing quite like beating the shit out of people to make you feel better. Takes the edginess away. So we'll do that, okay. I'll see you then; go on now," and she waves him on off. "Goodnight, B'tal."
"Of course, sweetheart. It just didn't make sense for you guys to walking back together when you both would rather hide from one another. Maybe he'll be all tucked in and pretending to sleep when you get back, hm?" Persie answers as she comes back to the table. "Goodnight, B'tal. Let me know if you need anything. Secath's down in the bowl by the barracks." And then, settling back into her seat with her klah in her hands, Persie looks to Tiriana with her brows high. She lets out a chuckle, "Well that was different. I haven't had that before."
B'tal eyes Tiriana for a moment, then nods his head, picks up his journal and rises. "Goodnight, Tiriana. Thank you." To Persie, he says, "I understand. Goodnight, Persie. Thank you, too." And with that, the young greenrider moves to head out for the bowl and beyond to the barracks. Where he probably won't sleep at all.
B'tal goes home.
B'tal has left.
"The crying, the confessions of true love in the middle of the bowl?" Tiriana asks, head tilting as Persie rejoins her. "Thought all weyrlings did that at least once. Think we had a couple of them in our class, anyway. Idiots." She shrugs, continues her dinner finally. "Wouldn't expect anything less, packing that many kids in a barracks together. I don't know how you do it."
"It's just early on, you know? And B'tal isn't some girl. It's usually the girls. And then the boys get angry and want to hit things." Persie realizes what she's just said as soon as it leaves her mouth, but unfortunately, it's already out. She tries to pretend she didn't say it, hiding her mouth behind her cup, but her eyes are wide anyway. "I just feel bad for them," she goes on, more cover-up. "It's so hard to try to figure everything out when you don't even have time to sleep and eat and think about things. Only you think about things all the time and can't do anything. I guess that's why we don't fit in with holders after impressing." That makes her giggle, wrinkle her nose.
"Well, he's a greenrider," Tiriana points out. "You don't see most men crying in the middle of dinner, y'know. But he is pretty good at self-defense," which apparently evens it all out in her mind. A pause; then, "Did we fit in with the holders /before/ impressing? Because I sure as hell didn't."
"Do we fit in now?" Persie giggles again. "With each other?" This notion seems to tickle immensely. She has to bite her lip to keep from smiling too hard. "Maybe weyrlinghood makes everyone a little funny. In all different directions. Some people get stronger and braver and tougher and other people get confused about the guy in the next cot over. Or maybe stronger and braver and confused too. -I'm- still confused."
"Well, you /are/ easily confused," Tiriana points out, not unkindly. "/I/ was plenty tough before, but..." She trails off, and in the end just shrugs. "I don't guess it's weyrlinghood so much as just the dragons," she admits after a while. "The weyrlingmasters, the rest of the weyrlings--they could just go screw themselves, as far as I was concerned. But Iovniath--"
"Well yeah. I don't really know that we do... It's not about teaching so much. I mean it is. We teach and stuff and it's important. But mostly I feel like my job is help them hold it together while everything gets all turned upside down," Persie muses quietly, a quirk of a smile held on her mouth. "Like, one minute you think you know what you're going to do with your life and then the next minute it's all different and you can't even think about it the same way because there's a dragon and they need you and they see it all differently and... Yeah."
"Exactly," says Tiriana, with a nod. She finishes up her food then, pushes the plate away. "I mean, it's... big. Dragons. They can--they can show you lots you didn't know, about yourself and all." Deep thoughts. And that's all of them Tiriana can apparently take, because she stands up then, clearing up her dinner. "Should get home; R'uen'll be in soon," she says. "Good luck with those weyrlings."
"Yeah, like that," Persie agrees whole-heartedly with Tiriana's deep statements. But while the goldrider gets up to leave, the greenrider settles back in her chair and rests her knees against the table's edge. "Good night, Tiriana. And thanks for... you know, helping." She says it with a straight face, even. Or a straight smile, really.
Even egotistical Tiriana can't really believe that. She snorts. "Yeah, well. I didn't do much, really," she says, shaking her head. "Night, Persie." And then, with a wave, she's heading off, toward the snowy bowl.
When: Day 13, Month 13, Turn 19
Where: Living Cavern, High Reaches Weyr
What: Weyrlings get emo.
Living Cavern, High Reaches Weyr
Stalactites hang high above this enormous cavern like a jagged chandelier or an inversion of the Spires themselves, but shadows cling to them instead of light. Below lie great tables arranged in rows, each large enough to serve a fighting wing, while in the nooks and alcoves around the cavern's edge sit more sensibly-sized tables, from six- and eight-seaters down to intimate spots for just a couple of diners. The only really open space is around the kitchen entrance, smelling of food and rarely quiet, and by the nearby serving tables with their long buffet of the day's offerings.
Tapestries on the smooth walls -- some faded and others newly woven -- only slightly mute the sea of sound when a meal is in full swing, but they add cheerfulness augmented by the glowlight from wall sconces and the centerpieces of each table. Still, shadows always creep along the ceiling and into the mouths of the exits -- the myriad small hallways at one end of the cavern and, at the other, the twisting tunnel to the bowl near an array of coathooks and and hatracks -- and late at night, when the glows are allowed to dim, the chamber can seem very dark indeed.
Contents:
A'son
Z'yi
B'tal
Obvious exits:
Inner Caverns Kitchen Bowl
Another tear and B'tal looks like he might start flat out crying. His voice even wavers to that end when he shoots back, "Because I /like/ you, Z'yi!" B'tal finally looks up at the bluerider and there's something accusatory there. "I really like you. I always have. Why can't you just leave things alone, damn you!" B'tal steps back and looks down again after his brief spurt of ... whatever that was.
Er--mgh. Er--agh. Open mouth, insert foot. And Z'yi didn't even say anything! Really. The big ol' blueling just stands there, looking like a fish the way his mouth keeps opening to say something and closing. Is he supposed to say something? He's probably supposed to say something. Instead? He flounders. Nonverbal flail. Or should that be, nonverbal /fail/? Eventually, he just rocks back on his heels. "Oh." Pause. "You do?" A'son hasn't been spotted. (In other words, he doesn't know Just How Much Trouble he's in, just yet.)
A'son is staring between both of them with utter disbelief. "I'm not sure what's going on here, but he's /crying/." The older man announces, finally coming over and pointing at B'tal. Which must make the already upset kid feel that much better. "Z'yi, I don't know what you did. But apologize to him right now and... fix it. Otherwise I'm going to hear from Persie about how upset this poor kid is and I want to go to sleep like a normal person tonight."
In search of dinner companionship, Tiriana has been scanning the caverns for a couple of moments when she spots a pair of weyrlings and one... A'son, whatever he is. She heads that way, for a few seconds more blissfully unaware of just what sort of teenage hormones she's about to barge in. She stops a couple of yards away, food in hand and brows going up, while she peers from B'tal to Z'yi and back, then to A'son like he can interpret this for her--nevermind he just arrived, too.
B'tal really hates crying, especially in front of other people. Probably even more especially in front of his just-until-recently-secret crush. "He doesn't need to apologize," B'tal manages between hitching breaths and he lifts one hand to rub at his eyes with his sleeve. A glance sideways finds Tiriana nearby, too, and the green weyrling colors a noticeable shade of pink. "He can't do anything to fix anything," he adds but he very pointedly does not look at Z'yi. "I'm fine." Sniffle.
Z'yi just feels like a giant-- piece of male anatomy that isn't complimentary. Yeah. Making B'tal cry is like kicking a cocker spaniel puppy. Then shaving it bald. Horrible *and* mortifying. "B'tal, I..." suck at this. That's written in giant neon letters across his forehead. "I'm sorry. I didn't-- I just-- I didn't understand wh--" and now is /Z'yi/ hyperventilating? Possibly. Because that's Tiriana over there and he'd like to keep his family jewels, thankyouverymuch. But hey. At least it's amusing. Don't see Z'yi involuntarily at a loss for words often.
A'son is pointing his finger at the sniffling weyrling again. "No. You're crying. He did something to make you upset. He should be a man and apologize for it immediately." Then he's pointing his finger at Z'yi, as if just doing that is going to ellicit an 'I'm sorry' from the much bigger and younger man. Which is evidentally necessary as the blue weyrling is doing it all on his own anyway. Why is he hyperventilating? Tiriana is someplace out of his line of vision, so as of yet he hasn't noticed the Weyrwoman. And so doesn't know that this whole thing is being witnessed. Of course with the way Z'yi is behavinv it eventually prompts him to look over his shoulder. He exhales and finger pointing at the floor begins. "Remember how to breathe, Z'yi. She's not going to exile you."
"Why not?" Tiriana says, frowning at A'son. She steps over close enough to set her plate down, but does not set herself. Instead, she declares, "If he's making my weyrling cry--." Nevermind that Z'yi is technically probably also one of her weyrlings: B'tal is little and crying and cute, whereas Z'yi is big, and not, and... not.
Hey now. I think at least two people in the room would challenge that last part.
I think we know who said that.
Persie comes in just in time to see A'son pointing and make his declarations about the situation, which has the greenrider's face going from it's usual empty-headed sweetness to wide-eyed alert. Her eyes dart from face to face: A'son, B'tal, Z'yi, Tiriana, random onlookers. Her mittens are still on when she hurries forward. "A'son, what is going on?" she asks with breathless concern. But she hasn't gone to A'son, she's gone to B'tal, a fluffy pink hand reaching for his shoulder. "Just breathe," she murmurs quietly, probably too quietly for anyone else to hear.
It would probably be easier to stop crying if there weren't so many people paying attention to them now, but B'tal is having some trouble ceasing his hitching breaths. And he's totally mortified. He's staring at the floor now but he looks up quickly at Tiriana again at the thought that she could exile Z'yi. "No! You can't... do that!" he says, voice pitched a little high from the crying and the anxiety of that thought, no matter how unlikely it might be. He jumps slightly when Persie touches his shoulder and his gaze shifts to her, lip trembling while he tries to just breathe.
Dragon> There's a touch of concern in Iovniath's snow-dotted mind, flickers of silver and cold through the crystal white when she reaches for Secath much as Persie goes right to B'tal. << Mine asks yours, >> and she inflects her voice wryly, despite her own feelings, << to 'fix him.' >> (Iovniath to Secath)
Dragon> Wordless, Iovniath reaches out, cool white fur to curl maternal around the green. (Iovniath to Jeibeth)
Z'yi takes an impromptu step back, gathering himself up in one movement. Persie's here! It's perhaps ridiculous, the completely gratuitous amount of relief that the perky blonde's presence interjects into Z'yi's face. Persie's here. Persie can fix /anything/. Even B'tal crying. Which seems to be the Number One Goal right now. He draws himself up to his full height, settles his nerves, and turns to A'son. "Permission to return to the barracks, sir." He carefully avoids looking at Tiriana. Or Bety. Or even Persie. A'son's a safe enough pick. Or so he thinks. "I think it'd be best if I leave. Sir."
Cue finger pointing at Z'yi. "Look at that face, are you going to exile him? He's afraid of you. And besides, he's one of /your/ weyrlings too." A'son is looking like he thinks Tiriana kicking him out of the weyr is way out of the realm of possibilities. "No one is getting exiled. What is wrong with you kids? It was just a turn of speech. It's the Weyrwoman not a monster. She doesn't just go around destorying people's lives for fun. No matter how scary she acts." He points at himself, "She hates me most of the time. I still live he-" Permission to leave? Is that a good idea? This is the first time the bronzerider has ever done this job so he looks to the only person here who actually knows what they're doing. Persie. "Can he leave?"
Dragon> To Iovniath, Secath projects, << Snow meets the quiet dance of confetti or leaves on a similar tense breeze. << She intends to. >> There's something in there that would be paired with rolling eyes, as if Secath is intoning that she couldn't stop Persie if she wanted to. << I'll check in on the young ones. >> At least she doesn't sound too put upon about it. >>
"I don't /hate/ you," Tiriana points out, though she gives A'son a look like she just might. If Z'yi weren't there to distract her--not that that's probably a good thing for the bluerider in question. Tiriana eyes him, too. "That's right, make him cry and then run away," she says, snorting. "I guess your work here is done, huh?"
Dragon> Not just comfort for Jeibeth, Iovniath turns her attention toward Isforaith, too, though with a hint of distance in her glass-white voice. << Isforaith, >> she says, and even the present stresses can't quite keep her maternal pride and concern away in the end. << Isforaith, how is yours? >> (Iovniath to Isforaith)
Dragon> To Secath, Iovniath, pleased, perhaps even relieved, answers, with a swirl of snow that whirls amongst Secath's confetti tones. << Thank you. Yours is much appreciated. >>
Dragon> To Iovniath, Isforaith doesn't know this thing called 'distance', especially as it concerns his mother. Ash falls as rain, but upside down, rising from the ground like zombie snowflakes. << Mom. >> Yes, he calls her mom. What? Don't look at him like that. He's not that crazy. Just a little addled in the head. << He's-- he's worried. >> But damn if he doesn't have pride, and he'll hold onto that, and his lifemate's pride, to anyone-- up to and including his mother. << But he's good. Hell's Bells! He's ridiculously wary of your lifemate. She scares him, why do you think? Just a little thing. Couldn't hurt a bug. >> Don't say chivalry is dead. Raith is defending *Tiriana*. << Worried about Jeibeth's. Happy that Secath's is there to make everything better. >>
Dragon> Her son's good humor cheers Iovniath, though those upside-down zombie flakes earn the focus of her mind for a moment. Is he right in the head? His words probably don't help that question. << I am sure he has his reasons, >> Iovniath answers after a moment, amused. << Perhaps you should ask him. --She is good for that, no? >> And for the last, the idea of Persie flickers across the matte white of her mind: all bright colors and blonde hair, making everything cheerier. (Iovniath to Isforaith)
Dragon> To Secath and Iovniath, Jeibeth speaks in cooler, more stale tones than usual but either from the touches or some understanding or just acceptance of what's happening, she announces, << I am well. >>
Dragon> For the record, no, he's not right in the head. He's Cadejoth's son. Did she really think otherwise? << Secath's will fix it. >> Even Raith is convinced of this, and his zombie snowflakes begin to turn colors, ash flashing into bright flashes of individual explosions. << She always does. >> (Isforaith to Iovniath)
Persie has B'tal's attention, and so she goes to take both his shoulders, to keep his focus on her face. "Everything will be fine. Just breathe." But there's more. "Think about Jeibeth. Is she okay? You have to be calm for her, all right? Just breathe." And then, well, A'son is asking for direction and Persie turns to look between him and Z'yi while she gets reports from elsewhere. "Um.. No. Just..." She looks to Tiriana, not wary but considering. "Just... I don't know." She waves a quick mittened hand to leave Z'yi to A'son and Tiriana for now. "Give me a moment." She looks to B'tal again and breathes deeply. Example.
While everyone else talks and with B'tal's escape route blocked by Persie, the green weyrling is somewhat forced to listen to her. He closes her eyes, which doesn't exactly keep his focus on her face, but when he opens them again, he says, "Jeibeth is fine. I'm fine. Can I just... " he glances toward Z'yi, then Tiriana, then back to Persie, voice dropping into a whisper, "Can I just go? It's not all his fault. I'm sorry."
Dragon> It's uncomfortable, this sort of attention, and Iovniath recognizes it. Her cool touch withdraws, pulling away slightly rather than smother Jeibeth; but she lingers near, just the faintest flake of snow remaining to show that she's still, more subtly, watching. (Iovniath to Secath and Jeibeth)
Dragon> The explosions, that these are good things, only seems to mystify Iovniath, who glasses that over quickly. << So she does, >> she agrees of Persie instead. (Iovniath to Isforaith)
Z'yi turns to face Tiriana, and his eyes narrow. "Ma'am?" he states, his tone even. "I'm sorry. I think I misheard you." Hey. From Tiri, it may be a compliment. Think about it. Making people cry is totally her schtick, isn't it? Z'yi stays drawn up at full height, back tense with his overly-correct posture. He's going down for this one way or the other. Might as well be spectacular. Amazing how quickly someone goes from afraid to stubborn in a few short seconds. Musta been something she said. Or maybe something his lifemate said He does his best to ignore B'tal and Persie, though he can't help from shifting to look every so often. Mortified? Yeah. The emotion is still there. The cocker spaniel analogy still applies.
"Sometimes you do." A'son says anyway with a roll of his eyes. The situation seems like it's going to just all blow over. Then there's this freaking Z'yi again. "Okay, yes. You're dismissed. Go back to the barracks, immediately. In fact, I'm coming with you. We're going to have a long, long talk." About how not to do things on purpose that might incite Tiriana's unholy wrath.
Tiriana's brows go up at A'son's reply to Z'yi, but it /does/ effectively cut her off. And so, finally, she pulls out a chair and seats herself, as though to go on with her dinner now like nothing at all's happened. "You heard me," is her parting shot, such as it is, to Z'yi, while she pokes a food in her food and then looks again to Persie and B'tal. To the latter greenrider, as though this will cheer him up: "We ran him off. You're okay, now."
Persie lifts a fluffy hand, still with cold bits of melting snow, to B'tal's pink cheek. "Okay. Everything is fine." She looks over her shoulder at A'son and Z'yi and the apparent plans for them to return to the barracks right away. "Why don't we sit a bit? Let them get a head start at least, huh?" she tells B'tal with an apologetic smile. "Here, sit with Tiriana for a minute, okay?" She gives the younger greenrider's shoulder a quick squeeze and turns away from him, toward Z'yi. It seems she has things to say before A'son drags him off.
B'tal casts a sidelong look in Z'yi's direction at Tiriana's words, but the look doesn't linger and B'tal does as suggests and sits down with the Weyrwoman. He doesn't look at her, rather the table somewhere in front of him and he mumbles, "I've really screwed this up. I didn't mean to." He might not be talking /to/ Tiriana. He lifts a hand to rub at his eyes, still clutching his journal close to him like some insanely awkward security blanket.
Z'yi totally got his way. Just for the record. For half a second, at least. "Thank you, sir." Z'yi gets halfway turned around to go to the barracks and then there's /Persie/. And if he was mortified before, he just wants to crawl into the ground and *die*, now. Thanks. "Miss Persie." His already gravelly voice is a bit husky to boot. This sucks. He keeps his gaze downcast, ignores A'son and ThatEvilTiriWoman and even Bety. And Persie, too. Where's W'chek when you *need* him? Whit's about the only one who would grant Isz' execution request. Or maybe Flashythighs, too. "Ma'am," he corrects himself, daring a look upwards to the blonde-- afraid of seeing disappointment? Well, of course.
"Don't thank me. You owe me dinner." A'son replies a little roughly as he turns about, prepared to lead the way off to the barracks. But then, he's not with him? He stops and looks over his shoulder, noticing that he's been waylaid by Persie this time. Rubbing his forehead tiredly, he turns around and stares at the greenrider, then at the weyrling and then at the other two sitting down at the table.
Tiriana is not Persie, at all, but she means well. At least toward B'tal. She hesitates, watching him while the weyrlingmasters handle their errant pupil. "Er. There, there," she tries out, reaching over to pat B'tal on the back, as though /that/ awkward display of her sympathies will help anyway. "What happened, anyway? I can beat the shit out of him for you. Not like I don't have a good excuse anyway, what with self-defense and all." She means to be helpful. Really!
There is no one safe from the calm understanding on Persie's face. Not even Z'yi. She approaches the bluerider with her eyes still big and round. "Hey. I don't know what happened, but this will blow over, okay? Everyone is tired and stressed out." She even puts on a little quirk of a smile. And she gives him a little punch in the chest, like she might want to hit him harder but not really. "Be nice," she nearly chuckles. "Now go with A'son." She flicks a look at the bronzerider, somewhere between a warning and an eyeroll.
B'tal seems a little confused by Tiriana's attempts at consoling him, but definitely appreciative. A smile pulls at his lips for her and he shakes his head. "You don't need to beat him up. Not for that, at least. He didn't mean to. It's my fault. I should've just left," even if an abundance of that is what got them here in the first place. "He thought I didn't like him," he explains. But that's where he stops. Maybe that's all there is to it.
Somehow, it's all Z'yi's fault. The blueling will likely blame it on himself anyhow, if he's not already. So. That understanding look from Persie? Oh yeah. Goes right to the gut. Like a /blow/. He winces from her punch. "Yes ma'am," he replies, tone subdued, and turns to follow after A'son, a lamb to the slaughter. Some internal prodding (Isforaith can be good, at times, honestly!)-- raises his head to directly look at the other part of this mishap, and he calls out, "See ya tomorrow, Bety. Or whenever they let me out of latrine duty." There's a wry smirk, there. And a certain glint in dark eyes. And then? Oh yeah. Punishments probably will ensue soon, so-- he returns to following Ace, wherever the heck they're going. The barracks. The executioner's block. Whatever.
With arms crossed over his chest, he watches the exchange between Persie and the blue weyrling. Where as her look is something mixed, he's definitely rolling his eyes. A'son is mouthing over at the greenrider. A trained observer could tell that it's 'I'm /hungry/'. When Z'yi begins to come back towards him he shoots one more look at the crowd and is shaking his head again. Then he's tromping off out of the living cavern and looking particularly grumpy now. "A man can't even have a pleasent dinner anymore... What was I thinking?"
"And you... oh. /Oh/." Tiriana is not completely emotionally retarded, apparently, and she catches on to B'tal just in time to shoot an incredulous look after Z'yi. Complete with pointing. "Him? /Him? Faranth, kid. You could do so much better than /him/."
The response she gets from A'son has Persie chuckling and shaking her head at him. It's possible a person could take that as 'tough luck, buddy. I enjoy your pain', but if they know Persie then it would certainly have a warm, fluffy slant. Meanwhile, she's pulling her mittens off and stuffing them in her jacket pockets - the wrong one in each pocket which will surely vex her later. She turns back to take the seat beside B'tal. "Tiriana," she balks a bit at the pointing. "You're going to embarass him." Like saying that isn't embarassing at all. "Besides, have you seen him? With those arms?" She just shakes her head in disbelief. "He's sorry, you're sorry. Everyone's sorry. And everyone cracks once in a while," she tells the weyrling, reaching to rub his arm.
B'tal glances up to look at Z'yi as he departs with A'son and he tries to offer a smile that just looks really awkward. Especially since he's starting to blush at what Tiriana is saying. He looks at her instead and shakes his head quickly, "I don't think so. I mean, I don't do... that." 'That' isn't exactly specified. To Persie, "It's hard to avoid people when you're forced to live with them." Oh, drama. "When do we get our own weyrs again?"
Z'yi departs after A'son. There's really nothing else to be said. Well, other than the obligatory, "I'll make sure you get dinner. Sir. If I have to cook it myself. I just hope you like steak."
"That /hair/," Tiriana says, wrinkling her nose up as Persie tries to expound on Z'yi's virtues. She just shakes her head and finally gets down to this eating business. "Don't do... what? --Not for another, what, four or five months? I guess you need to start working on him now if you really want him to come home with you," she offers consideringly. And a look for Persie, as she insists, "I'm not embarassing him. Not really. He's weyrbred." As though that makes all the difference when it's your love life on display.
A'son goes home.
A'son has left.
Z'yi goes home.
Z'yi has left.
"It's a long while," Persie says, twisting her mouth sympathetically to one side. "Anyway, you don't have to have the couch next to him. There's space if you want to move, though that might... I don't know. Make someting out of nothing. Or you might regret it if you do it right away," she warns B'tal. "Do you want something to eat or drink or something?" Her eyes flick to tht book-like thing he's been clutching, but she makes no remark on it.
"I don't mind it," B'tal says, looking uncomfortable about discussing this at all with Tiriana of all people. But he still does because it's not like he can't unless he leaves and that's probably not going to happen either. He rubs at his eyes again, saying, "I don't... take people home. And I don't think he's like that so it doesn't matter anyway." He sets the journal down in his lap and leans forward to rest his head on crossed arms. "He says that Isforaith is, like, obsessed with Jeibeth. I won't move. Things can't really be any worse than they were before. He'll probably just avoid me now, too." Which works out, really. "No, thanks, I'm fine," he says and tries to smile at Persie.
"Well, if he bothers you anymore, you just come tell me. Or Persie. Persie's good too," decides Tiriana, with a quick nod, and an attempt at an encouraging sort of smile. Except-- "Why not? You're just not that kind of guy? I mean, it's not exactly workable right now, but eventually... You could take somebody home. Somebody nicer than him, who wouldn't make you cry, of course."
"Oh, even the nice ones make you cry," Persie says with a humorless laugh and another roll of her eyes. "Just fret about it, Bety. I mean he feels badly and so really... that's a good thing, right? I though you thought he didn't like you. And obviously he... well, kinda does. Maybe not in the same way you like him but it's not like he outright thinks you're no good or something." Of course, all of that falters a bit toward the end as she realizes that maybe she doesn't know quite as much about B'tal's relationship with Z'yi to know if any of that is true or not.
B'tal shrugs at the 'why not.' "I dunno. Like you say, it doesn't really matter right now anyway. If it matters when it can, then I'll think about it, then." Persie's words seem to help, sort of. For a little while. "That doesn't matter either. I just need to stop acting so... stupid around him." He sighs and sits up again. Lets talk about something else, "So, I was kind of wondering if you would do any extra stuff with the self defense." To Tiriana, obviously. "I want to learn more." See, not a coward.
"Mine's nice and he doesn't make /me/ cry," Tiriana declares staunchly. A nod accompanies it, but before she can start that debate with Persie, B'tal is questioning her. Tiriana blinks at him. "Well. I mean, mostly we're working on the basic hand-to-hand stuff--riders /shouldn't/ need more than that, what with the really big flaming dragons at their back. But... I /could/. I know some other stuff, if you want to keep on with it after everybody else. Faranth knows I don't get to really use it enough on people."
"Oh, well... that's probably true," Persie mumbles back to Tiriana's declaration. "But you aren't the sort of person who cries anyway." She looks to B'tal. It's pretty established now what sort of person he might be. "You don't act stupid," she assures the weyrling. And then she's popping out of her seat to get that cup of klah she initially came in for.
"I do," B'tal agrees to Tiriana readily. "I think it would be good. For me. Maybe." He hesitates, "Maybe good for you, too." He glances at Persie when she speaks and he smiles. He has a hard time not smiling around the other greenrider. When she gets up to get herself some klah, B'tal says to Tiriana, "I should go make sure Jeibeth is as well as she says she is. Is that okay?"
"I do--" and then Tiriana realizes that this is probably not something she wants to own up to. "Not," is tacked on instead. "Right. Nothing quite like beating the shit out of people to make you feel better. Takes the edginess away. So we'll do that, okay. I'll see you then; go on now," and she waves him on off. "Goodnight, B'tal."
"Of course, sweetheart. It just didn't make sense for you guys to walking back together when you both would rather hide from one another. Maybe he'll be all tucked in and pretending to sleep when you get back, hm?" Persie answers as she comes back to the table. "Goodnight, B'tal. Let me know if you need anything. Secath's down in the bowl by the barracks." And then, settling back into her seat with her klah in her hands, Persie looks to Tiriana with her brows high. She lets out a chuckle, "Well that was different. I haven't had that before."
B'tal eyes Tiriana for a moment, then nods his head, picks up his journal and rises. "Goodnight, Tiriana. Thank you." To Persie, he says, "I understand. Goodnight, Persie. Thank you, too." And with that, the young greenrider moves to head out for the bowl and beyond to the barracks. Where he probably won't sleep at all.
B'tal goes home.
B'tal has left.
"The crying, the confessions of true love in the middle of the bowl?" Tiriana asks, head tilting as Persie rejoins her. "Thought all weyrlings did that at least once. Think we had a couple of them in our class, anyway. Idiots." She shrugs, continues her dinner finally. "Wouldn't expect anything less, packing that many kids in a barracks together. I don't know how you do it."
"It's just early on, you know? And B'tal isn't some girl. It's usually the girls. And then the boys get angry and want to hit things." Persie realizes what she's just said as soon as it leaves her mouth, but unfortunately, it's already out. She tries to pretend she didn't say it, hiding her mouth behind her cup, but her eyes are wide anyway. "I just feel bad for them," she goes on, more cover-up. "It's so hard to try to figure everything out when you don't even have time to sleep and eat and think about things. Only you think about things all the time and can't do anything. I guess that's why we don't fit in with holders after impressing." That makes her giggle, wrinkle her nose.
"Well, he's a greenrider," Tiriana points out. "You don't see most men crying in the middle of dinner, y'know. But he is pretty good at self-defense," which apparently evens it all out in her mind. A pause; then, "Did we fit in with the holders /before/ impressing? Because I sure as hell didn't."
"Do we fit in now?" Persie giggles again. "With each other?" This notion seems to tickle immensely. She has to bite her lip to keep from smiling too hard. "Maybe weyrlinghood makes everyone a little funny. In all different directions. Some people get stronger and braver and tougher and other people get confused about the guy in the next cot over. Or maybe stronger and braver and confused too. -I'm- still confused."
"Well, you /are/ easily confused," Tiriana points out, not unkindly. "/I/ was plenty tough before, but..." She trails off, and in the end just shrugs. "I don't guess it's weyrlinghood so much as just the dragons," she admits after a while. "The weyrlingmasters, the rest of the weyrlings--they could just go screw themselves, as far as I was concerned. But Iovniath--"
"Well yeah. I don't really know that we do... It's not about teaching so much. I mean it is. We teach and stuff and it's important. But mostly I feel like my job is help them hold it together while everything gets all turned upside down," Persie muses quietly, a quirk of a smile held on her mouth. "Like, one minute you think you know what you're going to do with your life and then the next minute it's all different and you can't even think about it the same way because there's a dragon and they need you and they see it all differently and... Yeah."
"Exactly," says Tiriana, with a nod. She finishes up her food then, pushes the plate away. "I mean, it's... big. Dragons. They can--they can show you lots you didn't know, about yourself and all." Deep thoughts. And that's all of them Tiriana can apparently take, because she stands up then, clearing up her dinner. "Should get home; R'uen'll be in soon," she says. "Good luck with those weyrlings."
"Yeah, like that," Persie agrees whole-heartedly with Tiriana's deep statements. But while the goldrider gets up to leave, the greenrider settles back in her chair and rests her knees against the table's edge. "Good night, Tiriana. And thanks for... you know, helping." She says it with a straight face, even. Or a straight smile, really.
Even egotistical Tiriana can't really believe that. She snorts. "Yeah, well. I didn't do much, really," she says, shaking her head. "Night, Persie." And then, with a wave, she's heading off, toward the snowy bowl.