[Log] You'd Paint Stuff Like... /That/?

[brazenbronzer]

Who: Breena, Josilina, R'don, R'dur, Satiet, Sria, St'vren
When: Unknown
Where: Central Bowl, Telgar Weyr; Western Bowl, High Reaches Weyr; Living Cavern, High Reaches Weyr
What: Breena takes St'vren and R'dur to High Reaches with her on an errand.

Dragon> Alidaeth and Rusuth sense that Sonaith, strangely not so ever-present in the minds of weyrling dragons as she was at the start, sends out a quiet tendril of inquiry. << We have messages to deliver to High Reaches, young ones. >> For some reason, one of them--Breena, probably--is unhappy but resigned about this. << You may come with us, if you wish. >>

Dragon> Sonaith and Alidaeth sense that Rusuth whispers, water's trickle transmuted to the rustle of falling snow for the sake of 'Reaches--but no less delighted at the thought. << We will come. Meet you in the southern Bowl? >>

Alidaeth> Sonaith and Rusuth sense that Alidaeth's mind churns immediately awake, bubbling back to consciousness and filling with its usual mishmash of ideas. << My rider and I will come, >> he decides. << I will warn him now, and he will meet yours. >>

Dragon> Alidaeth and Rusuth sense that Sonaith projects the familiar image of the bowl just outside the barracks. << We will wait here. Mine says to be sure to remind your riders to dress warmly. >>

Central Bowl
     A stony field is the center of this great caldera, the size of which is unmatched at any other Weyr--for the whole complement of all the wings at Telgar could rest comfortably within its towering cliffs. Shaped in a perfect oval, the rock walls seem ideal for keeping the usual chill winds stirring about. The ground is mostly made of pebbles and rocks, some hued the milky shades of old quartz, though there are patches where softer dirt and even trees sprout up from the ground. To the south, the bowl opens onto the living caverns and the Weyrleaders' quarters; the immense entrance to the Hatching Grounds lies to the northwest. Heading southwest will lead one back out into the rocky mountain ranges around Telgar's protective walls. Dragons may be seen, relaxing or fresh from feeding, to the north, as well as the soft lapping sounds of Telgar's lake touching the sandy shore. The Weyrling Barracks, always aflutter with activity, are to the direct west. If you're looking for the 'dutypair' to take you to an outweyr destination, they can be found here. The training grounds and the meadow are both covered with a blanket of pure white snow, though it is trodden down in dragon-wide paths where the dragons move.

Contents:
DRAGONS: Sonaith Alidaeth Rusuth
PLAYERS: Breena St'vren R'dur

Obvious Exits:
Weyrling Barracks Southern Bowl Lake Shore Hatching Cavern Feeding Grounds Runner Pasture Weyr Entrance

Breena is the unhappy one, oh yes--she's muttering quietly to herself as she makes one last check of Sonaith's straps, occasionally shooting a glare at a small messenger bag attached to her belt. Once the weyrlings appear, she works to smooth her expression, and even attempts something approaching a smile. "Ready to go to 'Reaches? I'll have Sonaith share the image of where we're headed."

Rusuth is--for once--not half-somnolent and disgruntled at venturing out into the cold. He precedes St'vren, who's buttoning his battered long black coat with one hand and tugging on his gloves with the other. "No, I'm coming. I /am/. Because it's cold here, and cold at High Reaches, and colder than both of them /between/, so I have to wear extra clothes so my limbs don't freeze off, that's why. Nudge me and die." Rusuth does not nudge, he merely whuffs his rider's short hair and stands impatiently as the young man finishes clothes-straightening and strap-tightening. "Ready when you are, ma'am. Thank you for letting us come along."

Exiting the barracks, R'dur is still pulling his jacket on with one hand, the other dragging his riding straps. Alidaeth is already waiting impatient on him, and R'dur hurries to buckle the straps and test them. Then, he takes the time to button his own heavy jacket against the chill, and nods to Breena. "Yes, ma'am," he answers her, delving into a pocket and retrieving his gloves. Donning them, he notes to his brown, "I'm not sure why we--oh. You didn't tell me you /volunteered/ us." He frowns slightly, then sighs and shrugs.

Biting back laughter, Breena looks between Rusuth and St'vren, then smiles apologetically at R'dur. "I didn't mean for her to pull you away from anything important. I wasn't sure if you'd been to 'Reaches yet, and besides, this is good visualization practice. Remember, even though I'm the only one on official business here, you're to be on your best behavior--and if the threat of me being unhappy with you isn't enough, I could get the Weyrwoman to lecture you on etiquette. So, whenever you're ready, mount up, and we'll be off."

Breena climbs up onto Sonaith's neckridges.
Breena has left.

St'vren makes his way onto Rusuth's neck.
St'vren has left.

You make your way onto Alidaeth's neck.

Off of Alidaeth, From Rusuth's neck, St'vren's laughter as he clambers up Rusuth's foreleg is breathless. "No, please, not the etiquette lecture!" he calls across empty space and dragon neckridges. "We'll be good!"

R'dur's eyes widen slightly, and he hastens to note, "Oh, she didn't! I wasn't doing anything important, and anyway, Alidaeth wants to come, so, well, I have to, too. And--yes, ma'am." As if there was any question of R'dur behaving. Quickly, he mounts as well, meticulously checking the straps as he fastens them.

Dragon> Alidaeth and Rusuth sense that Sonaith sends a picture--the Seven Spindles of High Reaches, occasional glimpses of landscape between them, detailed enough to provide a guide for the jump between, but devoid of any transient features. << Once we are high enough, we will go here. Have your lifemates remember this. >>

Off of Alidaeth, Sonaith shifts, tensing in anticipation of flight, while Breena buckles herself in, laughing. "Yes, I thought that'd be a good enough threat. Glad to hear I didn't interrupt, R'dur--and if you're ready..." With that, she gives the signal to take off.

Off of Alidaeth, Sonaith takes flight, using the thermals rising from the bowl to carry her aloft.

You spring into the air and catch the thermals rising from the bowl floor to carry you aloft.

Sky above the Western Bowl, High Reaches Weyr
     You fly just a few dragonlengths above the bowl floor. As the daylight nears its end, the bowl below you begins to come alive with the activities of the evening. The dim light from the glows suffuses the bowl, but few details are visible. Above you, the stars begin to peek out: the brighter stars twinkle slightly.
     A slight wind from the southwest almost seems to carry with it the scent of the apple orchards from Nabol, though perhaps it's just your imagination. Far below you, however, you can see rush about the weyr: people, looking more like trundlebugs from this height, scurry to and fro with their chores.
     In the waning light, you can make out the lone form of the watchrider on the Star Stones, to the east.

Contents:
Sonaith

Obvious exits:
Hatching Grounds Guest Weyr East Down Up

Off of Alidaeth, Above you, Rusuth spirals down through the calm air, as serene as the day is long. Ignore the whoops coming from his rider. /Betweening/ hasn't gotten old yet.

Off of Alidaeth, Above you, Rusuth dives in the bowl, towards the western wall.

Western Bowl, High Reaches Weyr
     Standing on the western side of the bowl, the high crownlike spires of the Seven Spindles on the north wall tower magestically above the roughly ovoid bowl floor. Near you, a large boulder stands, placed almost exactly in the center of the bowl. This side of the bowl is busy with the constant flow of residents and visitors around the entrance to the living cavern to the southwest and the lower caverns to the west. To the north, the large opening on the upper wall leading into the hatching grounds catches your eye. Directly below it, the ground entrance to the same area seems almost tiny. Northwest, the weyrs belonging to the junior queens of High Reaches are accessible from a short set of stairs and a path of carefully laid black marble leads from them to the entrance to the living cavern. To the south, a few ground weyrs remain unoccupied, in case any visiting or injured dragons need them.
     The evening is clear, not a cloud to be seen, giving you a perfect view of the stars. while Timor sleeps in darkness though the smaller Belior closes its eye to dream. There seems to be a light breeze and the fall air is pleasantly warm.

Contents:
St'vren
Breena
Rusuth
Alidaeth
Sonaith
Sruth
Lhiannonth
Oenoneth

Obvious exits:
LIving Cavern Lower Caverns Hatching Grounds Ground Level Guest Weyrs Eastern Bowl Floor

St'vren salutes the gold that's present, starting the whole best-behavior thing. Rusuth is also courteous in his own inimitable style; he cranes his neck around to study each of the High Reaches dragons in turn, then rumbles to all of them before hunkering down in a heat-conserving bronze lump.

Breena slips down from Sonaith's neckridges, leaning up against the green briefly before her expression schools and she straightens, turning to the weyrlings. "All present and accounted for--good, glad to see that. Neither of you have any other duties tonight, that I'm aware of, so feel free to take your time and head back whenever you're ready." Pause. "Just remember we're up early tomorrow for drills." Scowling once more at that messenger bag, she starts toward the living cavern.

Sruth eyes the Telgari dragons, the brown's stature indicative of one not long arrived, himself, if from a much nearer ledge. A rumble escapes, polite if dark, and with it comes his greeting.

R'dur slides down Alidaeth's neck into the unfamiliar High Reaches bowl, head turning this way and that as he gawks like any tourist. Alidaeth is doing likewise, swiveling his muzzle all around to take in every detail of this new place. "Yes, ma'am," R'dur tells Breena, pausing in his sightseeing long enough to glance at her. Then, he directs his eyes toward St'vren curiously. "Where--where do we go now? In? I don't know where any of these places lead," he remarks, scanning the openings in the bowl wall.

St'vren shrugs, patting Rusuth and reminding the bronze in an undertone, "You're not little and cute any more. No tail-pouncing." Mimicking R'dur, he looks around at the options before deciding "When in doubt, find the living cavern. It'll be warm in there, and likely there'll be klah." He follows Breena. Only not, you know, /following/ her.

Lhiannonth lifts her head as the Telgaris land from where she's laying on the bowl's floor. Her greeting - a light warble - comes close on the heels of Sruth's before she drops her head again, watching the visitors with half-slitted eyes.

Breena strolls into the tunnel to the living cavern.
Breena has left.

Dragon> With private greetings out of the way, the evidence in the smooth segue of a tighter band to one that's cast for a wider audience, Teonath's soft, whisper-like voice lifts in the way that somehow can be heard regardless. Well, that and it is mental voices. << Welcome to High Reaches, >> the weyrlings included in this greeting, as well as a tacit flutter of amber against desert sky blue in respect for the weyrlingmaster's dragon.

R'dur shrugs and follows St'vren--really follows. Alidaeth watches the two weyrlings depart, then turns his attention to what he came for: schmoozing with the Reaches dragons. He sidles a bit closer to them then, rumbling a greeting.

Living Cavern, High Reaches Weyr
     The impressive living cavern is seemingly as large as the bowl that cradles the hatching sands. Rivers of polished wood tables and benches arrow towards a raised platform crowned with a compact version of their sturdy design. Neatly crafted pegs, some fancifully carved, are tapped into holes in the wall and support clothing dangling like lazy sleepers. Woven baskets, both useful and decorative, hang along another wall. Bundles of autumn foliage in brilliant reds and oranges mixed with sprigs of crimson berries have been thrust into the baskets on the wall. Pickling spices and the tang of smoking meat fill the air. Banners worked with the designs of Holds and Halls beholden to the weyr cascade down the walls high above, interspersed with several brilliantly colored tapestries. The clink of cutlery harmonizes with the flowing river of talk and gossip as the weyrfolk gather for a hearty evening meal.

Contents:
St'vren
Breena
Sria
Josilina
Satiet
Jemah
Large Ale Cask
Tray of Bubblies
Firelizard Perch

Obvious exits:
Kitchen Bowl Lower Caverns

"Hardly anything at all, really," Sria replies to Jos, and pauses ever so briefly before continuing, "Seeking some conversation I've not had the chance to take advantage of, lately. How are you?" to Satiet, and then the shift to include Josilina as she sits. The brownrider looks about to add something just as the visitors enter, and then it's: "High Reaches' duties to Telgar!" Aside to her once-mentee, "How much time?"

R'don wanders in from the tunnel to the bowl.
R'don has arrived.

Josilina chuckles at the story and task, leaning forward a bit to get a better look at the socks. "Well I think they look great!" She declares, sitting back again. She would. "I bet they'll love 'em." As outside visitors land, Jos spares a distracted glance for the bowl entrance, looking back again when the visitors actually enter. "'Reaches duties to Telgar and her queens!" She calls, close after Sria. Then to the Weyrsecond she wonders abruptly, "Have you ever seen the inside of R'don's weyr?"

St'vren is saluting everyone right and left as he comes inside, having had the fact drummed into his head that everyone and everything, possibly including the fire-lizards, outranks a weyrling. "Telgar's duties to High Reaches," he answers right back, "and thank you for having us. I'm going to raid your klah, if that's all right." Which he moves to do, with aplomb, not daring yet to ask for any clarifications about socks or why R'don's weyr is a sight to see.

"Telgar's duties to High Reaches and her queens," Breena greets as she comes into the living cavern, and unslings a bag from her shoulder. "I hope you don't mind the invasion--I had some messages to bring, and thought I should bring some of our weyrlings along, as well."

Trailing lostly after St'vren, R'dur falters as he enters the spacious living cavern. However, he quickly gathers himself and heads further inside, sticking close to his bronzeriding friend. He's murmuring "Telgar's duties" left and right, much like the other weyrling. Unlike St'vren, however, R'dur doesn't move to take any of their food or drink, only lingers awkwardly by while the other does. Meanwhile, he shoots a few curious glances at the women of High Reaches, as though they're some strange new species he's not encountered. R'dur doesn't get out much.

For Josilina, she laughs, "You would, ma'am, you would." Satiet lowers her sock after displaying it for all those near to see. Some of the passing riders openly gawk at the mix of horribly bright colors, others just rub their temples as if pained. Her quiet, "Busy?" is for Sria, the slide of her gaze indicative as such, followed by, "About a month or so. I've been knitting in meetings when I can here, as long as its not with anyone... important." Which draws her to the entrance and the sudden rush of arriving visitors. Dutifully, reigning in her typically chilly intonation, she offers, "Reaches duties," and then smiles in faint bemusement at Breena. "Greenrider," is said evenly for the Telgari Weyrlingmaster.

On cue, a firelizard flits past St'vren's head, head tilted this way and that in curiosity, expectantly too, before rising up to wink *between*.

Sria lifts an eyebrow for Jos, "Can't say I've had the pleasure. Dare I ask why?" She returns salutes with a tolerant sort of smile, and merely extends a hand toward the tables for St'vren's query, "Help yourself." To Satiet, she confirms, "Mm. Among other things." She follows the goldrider's next to nod at the speaker, "We're quite used to invasions of the sort. You must be Breena?"

Josilina sits a little straighter in her chair - 'slouched over apple juice' is not a particularly professional looking pose - and shakes her head at Breena's words. "Not at all Weyrlingmaster, you all're welcome here. Help yourself to," she waves vaguely towards the serving table, settling for the vague descriptor of: "stuff." So much for professional. "I would, wouldn't I?" If anything she sounds pleased at that judgement of Satiet's. To Sria she has a quick, concise answer: "Murals."

R'don comes in apparently on the tail of the arriving Telgari weyrlings and their Weyrlingmaster, and adds his own quiet, "'Reaches duties to Telgar and her queens." Slipping to the left and around the halted R'dur, he too makes his way over to the serving table. "Is the klah hot?" he asks conversationally, with a glance toward tall weyrling St'vren.

Long practice keeps Breena's expression even, and she meets Satiet's nod with one of her own, along with a soft, polite, "Weyrwoman." Then, a distracted smile and a nod of confirmation for Sria. "That'd be me, yes. And St'vren, Rusuth's rider there, the klah drinker. And the quiet one is R'dur, Alidaeth's rider. Thank you, Weyrwoman," she adds, this time for Josilina. "Evening," for R'don, then she eyes R'dur, offers an encouraging smile. "You okay over there?"

St'vren tips a salute to the passing fire-lizard with two fingers and half a smile. Better safe than sorry, after all. "There's steam, sir, so I think we can be assured of heat," he says cheerfully to R'don. He passes the bluerider a mug, but hoards the klah for a moment or two longer. Preciousssss. "You have murals in your weyr?" he asks, having overheard some conversation fragments. "That's impressive. All my weyr has so far is me, Rusuth, and a very determined family of spinners that think they can run us out."

As R'don moves past him, R'dur scoots back out of the way with his usual apology: "Oh, I'm sorry, sir." Rubbing at the back of his neck, he tries to keep out of the middle of the aisle. When Breena speaks to him, he seems to take it as an invitation, for he heads over toward her. "Yes, ma'am," he assures her with a small smile of his own, though he's fighting against a blush already and doesn't look like he's doing too well. He shifts his weight and then offers to Josilina, Satiet, and Sria, "Telgar's duties to you, ma'ams."

Not that Satiet is much better than Josilina in terms of pose, but she too straightens reflexively in response to the senior's movement, and takes in a rather pathetic sigh, that's exhaled into movement that has her perching at the edge of her seat, putting way the various balls of yarn and her needles. "What of R'don's weyr? Murals?" She has ears, and not eavesdropping when the opportunity was right before her was never one of her gifts. But apparently not eyes to recognize the rider in question at the klah tables. "It reminds me though, ma'am," and she's so very sneaky about inserting that whenever she can, "That I have something for you in my weyr. Perhaps I'll drop it by in the morning before our staff meeting?" For the Telgari contingent, she doesn't quite have words yet, taking her time in sizing each of the two weyrlings up, though every so often her gaze drifts to pause at Breena.

R'don's eyes brim with amusement as he gives the weyrling a nod. "Oh yes, murals. Lots of them, the walls are covered in murals. Oil paint ones, I believe. I was telling Josilina earlier that I believe it'd take a flamethrower or better to get them off the walls." As he is passed the mug, he blows cool air over the hot liquid for a brief moment before murming, "Thanks. I'm R'don, Gederoth's rider."

Sria smiles faintly at Josilina. "Murals?" She pauses. "And did they meet with your approval, or - oh," as if she now has a guess. "Did he take the one with -those- murals?" She doesn't see R'don as she returns her attention to the Telgari Weyrlingmaster, and the indicated weyrlings each get a glance, a nod: "Sria," she offers, for herself. "Satiet," though she seems to realize that particular introduction is likely unnecessary, "and Josilina." That one too, for that matter. "Welcome, again." She's polite enough to divert her glance from blushing R'dur, despite the second glance earned, in time to hear Satiet's deliberate ma'aming.

"You're welcome Weyrlingmaster. Breena, was it?" Josilina waves in vague indication of the tables nearby, "You and your group are welcome to join us, if you're not in a rush, with your messages and whatnot." She invites, glancing at the klah-hoarding St'vren and the blushing R'dur. "I'm Josilina, by the way. Which I prefer over titles and all." A look extends that remark to Satiet as well, eyebrows lifting just slightly. "Murals." She repeats, with a brief glance over at R'don. "Yes, -those- murals." She confirms at Sria's words. "Very inappropriate. But really well painted."

Josilina also nods to Satiet somewhere in there, saying, "Before the staff meeting would be fine. Just have Teonath let Lhiannonth know you're coming. I get up early, so I'm free most of the morning."

Breena's smile for R'dur is still that same encouraging, reassuring one. "We'll be here for a little while, come sit with me?" She sits, close enough for conversation with those already present, but at a separate table, and since she's not addressed by Satiet, she doesn't bother trying to engage the weyrwoman in any further conversation. "That's about all I have in my weyr, too--a family of determined spinners, that is. And rugs for the floor, but that's about it. Well met," she adds, nodding acknowledgement of Sria's introductions. Then, a smile for Josilina, as she neatly skirts around titles and names and such by not offering any. "Breena, yes. I'll have to get back soon enough, but my weyrlings, they've worked hard today, I thought they could use a bit of a break."

Despite himself, this conversation intrigues R'dur, and as soon as he's back to his normal color, he commences glancing between the High Reaches riders curiously. "Why would someone want to get rid of--oh. Ma'am." Josilina's clarification on the nature of certain murals brings back that blush of earlier, and he shoots another look over at St'vren, surprise evident there. He murmurs over to the other Telgari, "Why would someone paint something like that?" He's trying to whisper, even leaning closer to the bronzerider, but his incredulousness makes his voice louder than he intends. Quickly, he slides into a seat near Breena. "Thank you, ma'am."

St'vren shoots Breena a grateful glance. "And we really, really appreciate it," he assures his Weyrlingmaster. He's not /completely/ immune to all the sidelong glances and emphases on "*those* murals", but he plays it cool (ish) and sips his own klah with complete unconcern for the heat. It's not a proper drink unless it takes off the roof of your mouth, one way or another. "It's almost enough to make me wish I had artistic talent," he says to R'don and R'dur, though his voice probably carries. It does that sometimes. "Though any murals, even yours, won't do me much good for another few months."

"Murals?" There's an echo in here, Satiet's brow hitching up her forehead, before the tiniest sliver of understanding penetrates her rather prim exterior. "Oh," in a way that says she -thinks- she understands. It's the 'inappropriate' part that puts her over the edge. "Ooh. Anyway," and with her soft self-imposed change of subject, the slender girl gets to her feet, careful to nudge the basket out of the way. "It's been turns, hasn't it?" Outstretched arms, as well as the clipped, distinct gait take her a few paces closer towards Breena. R'dur at the greenrider's side, is cast a demure, assessing look and nod. "Did you want anything to drink, Sria?" A beat, "Josilina?"

Sria adds, "If you need any help with those messages, Weyrlingmaster, let us know. We were lucky," she says for both Breena and R'dur, "when our group moved out of the barracks - one of our clutchmates moved into a ledge with so much extra furniture, his dragon barely fit." - "Inappropriate," she chuckles at Jos, "but at least marginally tasteful, as I recall? They're - well," she pauses, telling Satiet, "I'd go so far as to guess that you wouldn't approve, at least." And lo, a change of subject; she declines, "Thank you, Satiet, I'm fine." Perhaps an overheard comment prompts her grin, then, though there's no indication of which one.

R'don waves a hand dismissively as he takes a sip from his mug, then grimaces. "Where's the sweetener?.. Ah!" He picks up the bowl and puts four or five heaping spoonfuls into his klah. After stirring it well enough that the spoon is no longer inclined to stand on it's own, he lifts it again to take a sip. "Much better.. I didn't paint them. Besides, the weyr was really nicely decorated, and it's huge. Nice heavy wood furniture, with lovely carvings. It was hard to pass up. Anyway you really can't even tell what the murals are of until you get pretty close."

Josilina smiles faintly at R'dur's too-loud whisper and shrugs. "People have all sorts of odd tastes. I'm just curious about -what- it was that was used. What kind of paint. Because it refuses to be scrubbed off, according to R'don." She says, with a little nod towards the bluerider. "Hm? Oh, no thanks Satiet. I've still got juice." She taps the side of her half-full glass. "No, not so tasteful." She shakes her head at Sria. "Not as tasteful as most people would like, anyway. I don't think."

R'dur's brows knit as he regards St'vren. "You'd paint stuff like... /that/?" he asks, frowning dubiously. He shakes his head slightly, and shoots Satiet a rather grateful look as she slides the subject to something else. "My weyr was... plain," he decides after a moment, shrugging. "Very little to the way of it, even spinners. The company might have been nice." His tone is a bit forlorn at that, but he braves another small smile for the gathered company, some of his initial shyness fading.

"Not something either of you have to worry about for a little while longer," Breena mutters on the subject of murals, eyeing the weyrlings. "Oh! Er. Help delivering the messages might be good, but she said just to give them to the headwoman, that should be enough. It's not anything urgent." Then, a sidelong smile for R'dur. "Weyr's a bit quiet after the barracks, is it? You get used to it...eventually."

St'vren manages not to snort his klah. "No. Not like that," he assures his friend. "And did I mention the having of no artistic talent? But if they'd been there when I moved in, like they were for R'don, I might have taken it as a sign or something." Since so many ladies are present, not to mention Breena (who still has the authority to make him suffer), he lets that topic lapse.

"Well-painted," the younger goldrider snorts. And Sria, obviously, does not help with her helpful explanation, Satiet's hand lifting to forestall the coming thoughts on what inappropriate actually entails. Anticipating the needs of others, though it's with sharper eyes that flit over the empty tables, the dark-haired girl moves towards the serving tables, offering R'don a cordial, if cool nod in the process. One of the trays used for serving whole wings is snagged, a bowl of fruit and basket of bread placed there, as well as a filched platter of cookies. Two pitchers: klah and juice are included as well, and brought back ever so carefully. Just being the helpful sort she can be if she wants - which is apparently now, and then into the seat next to R'dur she sits. "Eat! Please." Cause if people are eating, obviously they can't talk about distasteful sorts of murals.

R'don nods agreeably at St'vren, "Exactly, you take the best you can get when it comes to weyrs, right?" He moves aside to make room for Satiet and her hospitality tray, though he does reach out to snag a piece of bread from the tray. Giving her a polite nod and a smile, and carries his mug and snack over to sit down near Josilina.

R'dur continues to shoot St'vren wary sidelong glances, as though not quite trusting his friend after that. "Yes, ma'am," he instead tells Breena. "Anything would be quiet after the barracks, and, well. Having never had a room to myself doesn't make the transition any easier, ma'am. But it's fine, ma'am," he continues with a slight shrug. Then, glancing in bewilderment over at Satiet, he attempts a protest. "Oh, no, ma'am. I sho--" His eyes cut toward Breena again, and finally he offers the goldrider beside him a small, resigned smile. "Yes, ma'am." He takes a single cookie at her demands, nibbling on it half-heartedly. Though, he does note, "These are very good, ma'am. My, er, compliments to your cooks? Ma'am."

"Ah," Sria says, and grins at the bluerider, belatedly murmurring, "Have a little klah with your sweetener, R'don," in the tone of voice that doubts he's not heard it before - in fact, a tone that assumes repetition. "If you ever find out what kind of paint, I'd hate to see the next thing you decide needs a permanent redecoration," she tells Josilina. To R'dur, now, though she spares a glance for Satiet upon all that ma'aming, "Mine had - has - eternal company," quickly clarifying: "Chatty neighbors." St'vren's remark prompts a low chuckle, "Or something."

"Headwoman. I can drop them by her office if you'd like." Josilina offers to Breena. "I'm headed down that way after this anyway." She scoots her chair over to make room for R'don, watching Satiet out of the corner of her eye all the while, before she's distracted by Sria anyway. "Very funny. If I'd intended to paint the caverns green I would have already." She retorts, all serenity. "But I decided it would be a waste of paint."

"You could always," Satiet begins, a touch of acidity to her inflection that is quickly curbed as she overhears Josilina once more. "You could always just repaint it. Have a repainting party to try to paint something more tasteful over it. Like clouds. Skies. One uniform color." Anything but what it is now. There's a moment of looking startled at R'dur, before a pleased, very delighted smile emerges, dimpling her right cheek in response to the ma'am. She's unaware of Sria's eyes on her, her attention drifting to the slight change in subject. "I never had my own place until we moved into our weyrs. It's quiet, a relief really."

St'vren quietly sneaks a cookie--okay, two--as discussion of weyrs and their flaws swirls around him. "Spinners can be dealt with," he says with a laugh. "Rusuth just sneezes and blows them away. I pity a couple of our classmates, really. M'hran and Colibreth can barely fit into their nook of a weyr, and she's the tiniest green I know. And Sh'lan had a rockslide yesterday and now there's a hole in his ceiling and rocks all over Leanth's couch." Something in his tone implies--nay, outright suggests that he's not that broken up about Sh'lan's hardships.

Breena bobs her head in yet another polite nod for Satiet, given as how the goldrider's now at the same table, and she murmurs something quiet to R'dur, then grins. "Mine was cold, damp, and horrid. And pebbles everywhere. The one I got after graduation was nicer--though I've yet to see any that were painted. There'll be more room for you then." Brows lift at St'vren's comment, and lips purse. "Hm. Someone should've mentioned that. Oh! Thank you," she says to Josilina, again skirting the use of name or title, getting to her feet to pass over the rather small stack of hides carried in that messenger bag. "I appreciate it. Chatty neighbors. I'd be happy if mine were *just* chatty. Though they do seem to...agree with one another an awful lot." Perhaps not the most appropriate of subjects, since she's rejoining the table with the weyrlings--*her* weyrlings, no less--but what's said is said.

R'don smirks at Sria, having indeed heard this a few times. "I thought I might." To Satiet's suggestion, he asks honestly "Why would I do that? It's a great conversation piece. I'd be happy to give you all a tour, if you're curious. It's really not *that* bad..." he considers for a moment and then shakes his head, "Well, it is, but it's worth seeing at least once. If you're mature enough to handle it, of course."

R'dur plainly doesn't know how to react to Satiet, especially once she starts smiling, for he edges just a bit closer to Breena on his other side. He offers Satiet a nervous-seeming smile in return as he continues nibbling at the edges of his cookie, glancing over at the weyrlingmaster when she murmurs to him. "Yes, ma'am. Poor Sh'lan," he tells first Breena, then sympathesizes with the other weyrling's fate, despite St'vren's lack of concern. "Has he got it cleaned up yet?" He pauses a moment, then adds, "It seems nice--the quiet, that is--but after a while there's just too much of it. If I go all the way to the back of mine, it hardly seems like Alidaeth is even there, let alone any neighbors, ma'am." The last is said with a glance for Sria. "I wouldn't want them to think I was eavesdropping on their private conversations because I could overhear them, ma'am."

St'vren unobtrusively shifts to help protect R'dur from the Grinning Weyrwoman. "He's got it mostly cleaned up. What he couldn't move, Leanth nudged out." Still not too full of weyrling solidarity. Ah, rivalry. He snags a few more cookies and just listens to the conversations, enjoying being out and in the world again.

Josilina's eyes widen a little at St'vren's descriptions. "Faranth. That's... unpleasent." She half-rises out of her seat to reach over and take the hides from Breena with a nod. "No problem. - I guess I was lucky with my weyr. It was clean, dry and had no falling rocks. I've seen some real fixer-uppers giving weyr tours though, to the weyrlings. Most are fine, but some are... a little weird. One was all orange." And she has the slightest of flinches for the memory.

"But would clouds, skies, one uniform color be half as interesting?" Sria asks, half rhetorical and half for Satiet, then flashes a smile at Josilina. "Shame," she murmurs sympathetically. "Rockslide," she repeats, seemingly regardless of St'vren's tone, "That's poor luck." A grin, now, for Breena: "Agree with one another. There is that. - I don't listen to the details much, myself," she responds to the ma'am-ma'am-ma'amer. "Sruth shares what's worthy, if I'm lucky."

"No thanks," Satiet tilts her head to R'don, voice tepid for the bluerider's kind invitation. "I think some things are best left un-... unintiated into." As if this were some ghastly hazing ritual. This, in turn, is punctuated by a toss of her head, the raven locks resettling back a bit messier than before. "I'll take your word for it in any case. And ma'am's. Josilina's, I mean. At least it wasn't gray," she curves a sweet smile Weyrwoman-ward. "Teonath knows what I'd prefer not to hear about, though every so often she finds it fascinating as to how such and such green is on such and such blue's ledge for the fiftieth time in the same sevenday. People need to come up for air more often," she notes, suddenly a bit dour.

R'don takes a bite out of his bread, sighing regretfully. "Another time, then. I better get going, or I'll be in trouble with Elie. Night all.. enjoy your stay and safe flight home," he directs that at the Telgari contigent as he gets up and heads for the door, stil carrying both the mug and remnant of his roll.

R'don strolls outside to the bowl.
R'don has left.

R'dur nods to St'vren. "That's good," he decides. "Perhaps we should have offered to help him, though, instead of just leaving him to do it all himself." That line of thought, though, trails off as he glances toward Sria again. "Alidaeth would probably love being able to hear all that, ma'am," he notes, frowning slightly. "Not so much for gossip as just to know. He's... nosy." Even after a brief search for a nice word to describe his brown, the best R'dur can come up with is 'nosy'. He ducks his head and then cuts eyes toward Satiet, befuddled by her sudden change in demeanor. R'don, the last stronghold of manliness after St'vren's departure, is peered at; then, R'dur is left all alone in the clutches of the women.

Breena grins at Sria, nodding. "Yes. Often. And a lot. It's hard to miss that part. There are reasons why I volunteer to stay in the barracks a lot. But really, R'dur, once you're tapped, it'll be better. And if Sh'lan needs help cleaning up, make sure he says something. I ought to pay a visit anyway, to make sure it's not unsafe or anything..." Which gets her up and out of her chair, smiling at the 'Reachian hosts. "I suppose I should take care of that before I forget. Thanks for your hospitality--R'dur, St'vren, stay as long as you like, just remember the rules."

Josilina grimaces - it's not clear whether it's for the ma'am or the gray until she mutters, "Don't even suggest it." Her 'brows lift at Satiet's last and she looks faintly amused, though offers no comment. "One uniform color is never as interesting." She adds belatedly in Sria's general direction, before it's time to wave as some of the group begin to trickle out. "Thanks for stopping by. And good luck with those... unstable ceilings and things."

Sria laughs, glancing at her former mentee. She doesn't say it, but her countenance reads clear amusement - and ever-so-slight puzzlement - at Satiet's discomfort. "I'm sure you've seen worse things, ma'am," with no light tread on the formality. "Though I'll not disagree that -some- people require more air than they're always getting." - "'Night, R'don," she calls after, and to R'dur, "Sruth's neighbors are the nosy ones, and he gets the aftereffects of it. I try not to think about how much he reciprocates, information-wise. Good meeting you, Breena," though there's a measure of abandoned curiosity for the greenrider's first.

Breena strides outside to the bowl.
Breena has left.

For Sria to use the title causes Satiet's eyes to fly open, cheeks flushing a bit. Silent, there no semblance of a smile on her lips now that the ranking member of their visitors is gone, and pale eyes swing to study St'vren and then R'dur. No polite words to R'don or Breena. "You don't have to say that to me," she finally pronounces for the brownriding Weyrsecond. "I'm luckier, I suppose, even when the Weyrwoman had the weyr just below mine. And a uniform color could be interesting. If you chose the right color. Doesn't seem like he wants to change his weyr much anyway. Look at how we were all talking about it all night."

"Yes, ma'am," R'dur agrees with Breena, forcing a small smile back in place. That, of course, dwindles as she stands to take care of her own business; the weyrling's eyes drift around the circle of Reaches women in whose company he remains. "Alidaeth... talks a lot, too, but I don't think I have anything too, well, you know--stuff that he just absolutely mustn't tell, ma'am," he tells Sria slowly. And without Breena beside him now, R'dur is edging toward an empty seat when he creeps away from Satiet this time. Though he first does get another cookie, now that he's finally nibbled his first into crumbs, which he brushes meticulously from the table.

Josilina shoots Sria a sidelong, sharply curious glance at her use of Satiet's title. "A uniform color is never as interesting as more than one color could be." She reiterates, though altering her words a tad. "Nah, he said he'd grown attached to it. The only problem is that he and Elie have kids." - "If you're lucky, when you do have things he shouldn't tell, he'll still stick to not-too-private subjects with others. Some non-gossipy dragons exist, despite how much everyone likes to complain about the gossipy ones." She remarks to R'dur, butting into that thread of conversation with no preamble.

"I know," Sria replies lightly, easily. "And true. But I don't recall the idea to change it as being his, anyway." Before R'dur edges too far away, Sria replies in the same tone, "Advantage for you, then, for now -" nodding to Josilina's addition, and ignoring that first glance.

Satiet just eyes Sria all funny like a moment. Then the food at the center of the table gains her attention and she reaches out for slice of bread, tearing off pieces strip by strip. "I suppose it wasn't his idea." More like hers, not that she's taking score or anything. "And I can't imagine children growing up around... whatever those murals look like." A little ball of bread is rolled up between her fingers. "What kind of rules do you have for weyrlinghood at Telgar?" If she notices R'dur inching away, she doesn't comment except for a look of askance for the brown weyrling.

R'dur nods to Josilina's words, agreeing, "Yes, ma'am. I /think/ Alidaeth is that sort: he likes knowing everything about every thing and every one, but he doesn't seem to share that sort of thing with the other dragons, ma'am." Pause. "/Children/?" As soon as the word's out of his mouth, R'dur blushes, but that doesn't erase the shock from his face. Even Satiet's agreement doesn't reassure him. He glances downward and takes an unusual amount of interest in his cookie at this time, before replying. "Well, they're just... the usual rules, I suppose, ma'am. I mean, High Reaches probably has some of the same ones in use--no drinking, show everyone proper respect, no relationships..." He blushes again and shrugs, not looking at his three companions. "I expect those are pretty much the universal weyrling rules, ma'am?"

Josilina shakes her head, "R'don gave me the impression that the kids don't spend much time up there. More time in the children's cavern and all. And the younger one is six - too young to really understand." - "That's lucky." She remarks at R'dur's explaination.

Sria seems immune to all these glances coming her way, and she eyes R'dur as if afraid the weyrling might suddenly go into heart failure. "Worth valuing," in addition to Josilina's 'lucky' - "I'm actually rather pleased with Sruth's ability to remain discreet, though perhaps not with how often he chooses to employ it." - "Those are three of the standards." Wryly, glancing at Satiet, "Well-loved as they all are."

"That's lucky," Satiet repeats Josilina, though the reference is clearly in regard to the children who aren't subjected to the murals. It's the younger goldrider's turn to not notice looks cast her way, finding R'dur just as interesting as Sria does, though a suddenly sly look is cast sidelong to Josilina and the Weyrsecond. "And which of those rules do you seem to have the most problem regarding?" Innocent, really.

R'dur's smile steadies and even brightens in response to Sria's and Josilina's kind words. "Thank you, ma'am. Ma'ams?" He seems unsure of the latter word, but shrugs it off. His expression turns wry at the brownrider's last remark. "Well-loved is... not how most weyrlings--at least most of the ones I know--see them," he notes, shaking his head. Then: "Problem?" Surprise colors R'dur's voice at Satiet's question. He blushes and launches into a rambling explanation, "Oh, well. I don't know, really. I mean, I don't drink or... stuff, anyway, and I try to always be respectful, ma'am--but that's the one Weyrsecond Yselle seems to catch me on the most. Everyone else tells me /not/ to call them 'ma'am' or 'sir' all the time, but it seems like the only one I ever forget to do it to is her--and she's the one that wants it, of course. She's, well, kind of--nevermind, ma'am." Abruptly, he realizes what he's doing and stops himself, flushing again. He stuffs more cookie in his mouth to keep himself silent for a few moments.

"Sruth doesn't tell much at all, if Lhia's to be believed." Josilina puts in, pausing to add, "Though, with Lhia, she stands by the idea that if she keeps my secrets from others, she'll keep their secrets from me. So Sruth might tell her everything and I just don't know." Vote of confidence, there. Satiet's question provokes a sly look of her own, entirely for the Weyrsecond. "/I/ know what rules /someone/ had issues with..." She only half-murmurs. Something R'dur says causes her to still, even if briefly, before she asks lightly, "Oh? They don't require you to ma'am and sir all over the place? They do here. Weyrlings are the only ones I'll take it from, since they don't have a choice." Logical, that.

Sria seems slightly relieved, and grins at R'dur's long answer, with a brief, shaded flick of her eyes toward Josilina. "Mm, I think I know what you mean," is all she says, and more directly to Jos, now: "I'm sure he tells Lhia more than most, if anything. - Ditto that," not the murmur, surely, which goes without any reply beyond a quick, solid smile.

"She's...?" All encouraging-like, Satiet tips her head R'dur-ward for further explanation. But in the next second she's distracted by Josilina, and smirks in response, "And from former weyrlings who can't seem to shake the habit." For whatever reason. "Teonath, is more like Alidaeth sometimes. She likes knowing, but I'm not always certain how much she shares. Not much. I hope." She looks dubious though, a thoughtful twist on her lips as she regards Sria.

"Well, we're /supposed/ to, ma'am," R'dur clarifies to Josilina. "But no one seems to like it very much--before or after I impressed Alidaeth. I don't like it when they tell me not to do it--not that it's wrong or anything if that's... what you want." He trails off, eyes dropping down to the table as he realizes Josilina is one of those very people. He very carefully doesn't respond to the Weyrwoman's comments on certain people and the rules they struggle with. Instead, he offers Satiet, "Intimidating." A grimace follows. Then: "That's good, then, ma'am. I don't mind Alidaeth learning things, but... Well, I'd hate for him to pry into other people's business. Which I'm sure he does, because I sometimes think he could wheedle most anything out of anyone, ma'am."

"And I'm sure she keeps his secrets more than most." Josilina rejoins with a small smile. "Mmm. I think most of our weyrlings stick with the requirement in general, rather than anger the Weyrlingmaster. Even though some folks ask them not to." She shifts a little in her seat, as if a little uncomfortable, before getting to her feet. "I should actually be on my way. I've got to drop these off," she taps the hides Breena gave her, "and do a few other things. It was nice to meet you R'dur, I hope you'll visit again, sometime when you're able."

"Would you like it?" Sria asks R'dur, "Being addressed as 'sir', I mean. You'll get it, to be sure, with the next batch of candidates. Not everyone hates it, but some prefer name, title." Satiet's gaze earns a most unhelpful, played-up wink, and only then: "I'm sure it's an even trade, with them." It would seem both riders are left in the dark. "'Night, Jos," she bids the Weyrwoman, along with a briefly measuring glance.

Josilina strides through the archway, into the lower caverns.
Josilina has left.

"Good night, ma'am." Satiet calls out, stripping away at her slice of bread, chewing while listening. "I warrant," she says, ignoring Sria's commentary though the look is hard to glance away from, "A lot of things intimidate you. People, the hatching?" Her smile for R'dur is thin in the brief second it is turned to the Telgari brownrider. "I'd rather not anger the Weyrlingmaster, or Amilin for that matter. Emilly's a bit more of a pushover when it comes to rules and regulations."

R'dur manages a genuine smile for Josilina. "It was very nice to meet you, ma'am. I'll be sure to visit again. Someday. Ma'am," he decides. He hesitates then, before answering Sria, "I don't think I'd /like/ it--it's a strange idea, ma'am--but I would tolerate it, at least. I mean, if they want to call me that, or have to, who am I to object, ma'am?" Pause. "But if they didn't, I wouldn't object, either." He shrugs, glancing briefly downward. He shifts uncomfortably as Satiet speaks to him again. "Well... Yes, ma'am," he agrees meekly.

Sria exhales, shifting from sigh to chuckle as she returns her attention to the conversation. "Right," she inclines her head to R'dur. "It's a tricky balance when requirements and personal preference are involved." She pauses, "As with anything." She'll glance between the other two upon the last, just once, her expression neutral.

"And I happen to think," Satiet's alto finally lifts in response to the conversation, "Protocol should be followed when necessary. At public functions, in public." Pretense, pretenses, pretenses. "It's fine, R'dur was it?" The goldrider turns a pleasant smile to the Telgari, "I don't think either of us will bite in any literal sense. I -think-." She's certain of herself, not so much of the Weyrsecond nearby.

R'dur nods slowly to Sria, then Satiet. "Yes, ma'am," he agrees with both at once. "And, yes, R'dur is right, ma'am. And... lots of people say that, and it seems to be true. I haven't actually /been/ bitten since my youngest brother got old enough to know better." He smiles outright now, clearly more at ease with the smaller group--even if he's not exactly rushing back toward Satiet just yet.

Sria shakes her head a little at Satiet's words, but replies easily all the same, "If I were to ever feel the urge to bite someone, I'd certainly save it for my mentees. - How much longer have you in your training, R'dur? As I've gathered you're in weyrling weyrs already."

Satiet coughs a bit, choking on the piece of bread in her mouth and pats forcefully at her chest twice. "There's something to be thankful for then." Though what is unclear, except that dire flush that races up the goldrider's pale cheeks.

"Perhaps another month, ma'am?" R'dur estimates. "Or less by now. A firm date hasn't been set yet, but graduation is already looming, ma'am." He rolls his shoulders, then flinches as Satiet coughs. Shooting a worried look over at her, he queries, "Are you okay, ma'am? I'm sorry, ma'am." As though it were his fault. Despite his obvious concern, he averts his eyes when she blushes, too--perhaps out of commiseration, as flushed as he's been half the night.

Sria laughs, warm and just a little incredulous. "Faranth," though she doesn't comment any further than that. "In my experience, graduation tends to loom from the halfway point onward. Well done, then, for being so close." She ignores all the blushing, difficult as it may be.

"Err, well, yes." Flustered from her normal composure by Sria - it always happens like that, funny, Satiet pushes back from her seat. "I'll see you around, Sria. If you have time tomorrow after whatever meetings you have and duties. I was hoping to get out of the Weyr for a while." To R'dur, she just nods, a sardonic smile on her lips. The flush, sadly, is still there, which totally negates the sarcastic expression. "It's not your fault. Really. Some mentees though," she slides a look Sria-ward, "Are thankful to not have been bitten. Good night and yes, congratulations on your impending graduation. I know I couldn't -wait- for mine. Though for markedly different reasons than erstwhile mentors."

R'dur hesitates, then nods. "Thank you, ma'am. We're all... looking forward to it, anyway, some more eagerly than others, ma'am," he notes wryly. Then, glancing to Satiet, he offers her a shy smile. "Thank you, ma'am. It, er, it was very nice to meet you," he notes, tone just a touch dubious. He still doesn't know what to make of her, and it's plain in his bearing and expression.

"I'd love to join," Sria replies. "I'll have Sruth bespeak Teonath, hm?" She grins at the last, then turns to R'dur, leaning back in her seat. "I'll probably not be long in heading in, myself, but it was lovely to meet you, R'dur." Echo, echo. "Do feel welcome to return sometime." Regardless, says her tone, of certain intimidating weyrwomen.

"Yes, ma'am. Alidaeth and I will," R'dur tells Sria with a small smile. "We should get back to Telgar now, though, before it gets any later. Good night, ma'am. I enjoyed my visit very much." He stands, lingers a few moments, and finally offers another "Good night, ma'am" before heading outside to his waiting brown.