Weyrlinghood with Nari and the Gang
Who: Br'ce, Nari, T'ral, D'ven
Where: Weyrling Barracks, Benden Weyr
When: Around Turn 197-198, a few weeks into weyrlinghood after they've all Impressed.
What: Nari starts becoming a part of the group, using Br'ce as her ritual sacrifice. By which I mean they all pick on him. Again. Late-night jocularity and misbehaving from the Benden Boys (+ girl).
It's nighttime in the barracks, and most of the weyrlings have slipped into exhausted silence, run ragged by the twin worries of their growing dragons and the entirely new skill set they're having to learn. The newly minted Br'ce, in particular, is having issues with much of the physical labor. "Ow. /Ow/." There's a moment's muffled outcry as he jabs hiself in the finger /again/, while trying to repair a riding harness. A drop of blood momentarily wells, and he sticks his finger in his mouth. "Ow, ow, ow."
"Ah, shut it Br'ce." D'ven calls from across the barracks. "Seriously, do it when there's more light. You'll be just as bad, but then I can see you better when I want to laugh." There's a pause. "I mean it, quit with the Ow or I'm finding something to throw. You sound like a girl!"
"Leave the girls alone," T'ral calls from his cot, his voice ringing out in the dark -- it's hoarse, he was close to sleeping. "For a start, girls learn how to sew." There's a smattering of laughter from around the barracks, sleepy. "Nari knows how to sew, don't you Nari?"
From her perch on the perifery Nari peers over towards T'ral and then to Br'ce and D'ven. There's a moments hesitation and then a slightly wry smile crosses her face. "Yes. Though the next time I pick up a needle I doubt it'll be embroidery I'm working on."
"You shut it, Daraven." Br'ce flares, having developed a little bit of spirit over the course of Candidacy. And, well, extreme exhaustion and annoyance. It's just not /fair/, he's not used to all this physical labor. "I need to have this done. Tonight." He takes his finger out of his mouth, going doggedly back to sewing. "Agh. I hate this. I hate this. I hate this." A low-voiced, barely audible litany from him as he continues. "And stop picking on her, guys." He shoots a glare towards the room at large, and the snickers.
D'ven laughs, slightly prickled by the use of his old name though he dosn't intend to show it. "Oh no, Br'ce is mad at me. I'm quaking over here, seriously. I'm gonna die under a barrage of long words describing what a bad person I am." There's a pause, as he rummages around for something to throw, though nothing leaves his hands yet.
"You might hate it but you love your dragon, Br'ce." Nari seems impressed by the flare of temper as she pushes off the wall and walks past D'ven to pick up her own harness, settling in to the left of Br'ce. She runs her fingers across the leather strips feeling for weak spots. She glances briefly at D'ven and then back down at the harness, apparently intent on her task.
"Shut up, all of you " comes T'ral's weary instruction. Over near his cot, there's a series of rustling and banging noises as the brownriding weyrling gives up on sleep and rises to his feet. "Nari, will you show him what he's doing so D'ven can get his beauty sleep?" As T'ral comes out into the passageway between the couches, he's knuckling his eyes sleepily, shirt trailing from one hand -- he whips it towards D'ven's feet as he passes.
"You, sir, are an immature cad." Br'ce informs D'ven with as much dignity as one can manage when sitting cross- legged on a bunk at night sewing ineptly. There's a flush at Nari's words--and the fact that she's now sitting on his bed. "Of course I do. That's why I want to get this done in time. And right." he mumbles defensively, though the pace of his sewing slows hopefully at T'ral's words. A slightly embarrassed glance towards Nari. Help, please?
"Yeah?" D'ven laughs. "Well, so's yer.." His words are cut off by a shirt to the feet, turning his last word into a high pitched yelp. "I'm so throwing something." He mutters, though there's no sound to indicate searching.
Nari sets her own harness aside and scoots closer to Br'ce. "Here, let me look." Her voice is kind, but in no way fawning. She flashes a small smile just for Br'ce, and takes hold of his hands, pointing to a subtle flaw in the leather. "There's a crack forming there. You want to make really small stitches, here, give it to me." She holds out her hands for the harness. When D'ven gets the shirt tail she lets out a sharp laugh. She reaches, finds a nearby bundled shirt and tosses it at D'ven. Everyone pick on him! Yay!
"Children, children," T'ral mutters, although something approachingamusement is in his tone now, his Bitran accent far less clipped thanit was at first. Irritation fades, giving way to his usual good nature.He props up at the entrance to Br'ce and Trellazoth's alcove, lookingdown at the two weyrlings in there, and their tangle of straps. "Lookat that, Br'ce." There's a snicker in there somewhere. "She likes you,you're saved."
"Hey, that's my shirt!" Br'ce protests as it goes flying towards D'ven. "Nari!" he sounds a little shocked. "Shut /up/, T'ral, nobody asked you. You're not all /that/ much better at sewing than I am. You just have the advantage of all that extra bulk to keep your energized during the day." he retorts. "Why don't you pick on someone your own size? If you can find one." Yes, that's what passes for insults where Br'ce comes from, alas.
"Hey!" D'ven protests as the shirt arrives. "Don't make me come over there, Nari. You really don't want me to come over there." There's a pause. "So, Br'ce, this shirt of yours...do you want it back?" This time there is the sound of scrabbling around.
"Uh huh. That's me. I'm weak in the knees, mad in love." Nari's voice is drier than the Igen desert. "Keep it up T'ral and I won't help you with yours." There's humor in her tone rather than genuine irritation or threat.
"Touchy, touchy," T'ral snickers, twisting his own shirt around in his hands, but making no move to don it. Perhaps he still treasures dreams of getting back to bed at some point. "Are you listening, D'ven? I thought it was the girls meant to be all emotional and unreasonable. Is Br'ce freeing you up for more practical things by taking on the load, Nari?" He's got his very best grin on, broad and amused.
"Of course I want my shirt back." Br'ce retorts unthinkingly. "It's /my/ shirt, isn't it? Just don't get it dirty." he chides. Dying just a little bit on the inside as Nari speaks. But he conceals it well under furrowed brows, shooting a look towards T'ral. "/Quit it/. I'm not being emotional. And neither is she." Jumping to her defense.
"Yes, I'm listening T'ral." D'ven calls back in a tone heavy with amusement. "Just pondering what to do with Br'ce shirt. And I just heard Nari admit she loves Br'ce. I'm thinking I should sing a song about it, but someone'd probably throw a rock at my....oooo, hey, look what I found on Br'ce's shirt. This looks like one of Nari's hairs." There is no hair, of course.
Fingers running over the last straps of the harness, Nari hands the repaired leather back to Br'ce. She rolls her eyes and shakes her head at T'ral. "Practical like what? Having more time to run faster than both you and D'ven?" The challenge is clear in her voice, but then so is the amusement.
A chorus of groans rise up around the barracks at the prospect of a song, but the complaints quiet down quickly enough. T'ral laughs quietly, one hand coming up to try and flatten down sleep-mussed curls unsuccessfully. "I can't believe this is my life," he murmurs, just loudly enough that it must be his intention to be audible. "Stop sniffing Br'ce's shirt and get over here to see the lovebirds, D'ven." Amusement rings loud through his voice, but nothing unfriendly. For Nari, a snort. "I'm twice your mass, of course you're faster, little thing."
"Stop that, Daraven, she did not." Br'ce protests, still not used entirely to the changes in names. "So what if there's a hair? Give it back!" Hair and all! He shoots a grateful look to Nari for the repaired leathers, and rises to stick his head out of the alcove, glaring at D'ven. "We are /not/ lovebirds." He's a little disconcerted by Nari's lack of response to the taunting, and thus redoubles his efforts to be outraged on her behalf, lifting his chin arrogantly. His dragon sleeps soundly, even snoring slightly, completely ignoring the increasing hubbub.
"I'm coming, I'm coming." D'ven wanders across to the alcove, chucking Br'ce's shirt at him. "You're right T'ral, they're so cute. All nested down together." Drawing his chest up and stick it out, D'ven scrunches his face up in impression of their Weyrlingmaster. "Now remember you two. You can't do anything the least bit sexual for turns yet, so don't you even think about it! Do I make myself clear, you 'orrible little lot?" There's even a 'hrmph' sound at the end.
Nari stifles a groan and rolls her eyes towards the ceiling. "MMmmhmm. And here I was about to throw him down and ravish him this very moment." She looks towards Br'ce and murmurs, deadpan. "I'm sorry honey, by D'ven says no."
"Turns and turns and turns," T'ral agrees, drawing himself up beside D'ven to join in. "In fact, I think you'd better go run a lap of the bowl right now, Br'ce." His irrepressible grin is warring to get through his assumed stern expression. "Nari's got proper breeding. For shame, playing helpless with your straps to get her near." He turns his attention to Nari. "You be strong, say no. Ignore..." He pauses, wrinkling his nose, apparently searching for the word. "His blandishments."
The shirt gets Br'ce in the face, and there's an oomph out of him. Another glare directed D'ven-wards, and a surreptitious inspection of the shirt--ostensibly for dirty spots, but really for the Nari hair. Her words take him utterly aback, causing him to flush from the neck to the roots of his hair, and stare open-mouthed. /What/?! He clutches the shirt to his chest, floundering incoherently. "I--uh--err..." Want you to ravish me! Only...not. "I did not! I--! You! I!" He presses his back up against the wall, wishing nothing more than to be able to fuse with it and become one with the weyr.
"But the blandishments are my favorite part!" Exclaims Nari as she pushes herself to her feet. There's a brief but expressive and slightly apologetic look sent Br'ce-wards before turning a rather rakish grin on T'ral. "His mouth says 'no, no, no' but his eyes... well. That's a whole different story." With that said she saunters out of the cavern, looking rather pleased with herself.
D'ven seems set to lay into Br'ce more, when Nari saunters out with looking so pleased with her. "Guess she's gone to take care of herself, since Br'ce isn't up to it." He announces to the barracks at large, glancing around with a slightly unpleasant grin.
The bronze weyrling's words draw a howl of laughter from T'ral, although he does raise a fist to thump the other man in the shoulder. It's half a minute or so before he's mastered himself enough to reply, and by then he's doubled over, hands braced against his knees. Only then does he lift his head to eye Br'ce, smirking. "I reckon you're in, man."
Aforementioned eyes are wide with--something. Panic, embarassment, irritation--so many things at once, all of them bad. Br'ce stares out after Nari as she saunters out, still reduced to incoherency. Finally, he sits, crumbling into a disconsolate heap that scowls up at the other two. "Lay off her, guys. Really. She's a nice girl, you should try and be a little more polite." Yes, because clearly she isn't capable of taking care of herself.
Where: Weyrling Barracks, Benden Weyr
When: Around Turn 197-198, a few weeks into weyrlinghood after they've all Impressed.
What: Nari starts becoming a part of the group, using Br'ce as her ritual sacrifice. By which I mean they all pick on him. Again. Late-night jocularity and misbehaving from the Benden Boys (+ girl).
It's nighttime in the barracks, and most of the weyrlings have slipped into exhausted silence, run ragged by the twin worries of their growing dragons and the entirely new skill set they're having to learn. The newly minted Br'ce, in particular, is having issues with much of the physical labor. "Ow. /Ow/." There's a moment's muffled outcry as he jabs hiself in the finger /again/, while trying to repair a riding harness. A drop of blood momentarily wells, and he sticks his finger in his mouth. "Ow, ow, ow."
"Ah, shut it Br'ce." D'ven calls from across the barracks. "Seriously, do it when there's more light. You'll be just as bad, but then I can see you better when I want to laugh." There's a pause. "I mean it, quit with the Ow or I'm finding something to throw. You sound like a girl!"
"Leave the girls alone," T'ral calls from his cot, his voice ringing out in the dark -- it's hoarse, he was close to sleeping. "For a start, girls learn how to sew." There's a smattering of laughter from around the barracks, sleepy. "Nari knows how to sew, don't you Nari?"
From her perch on the perifery Nari peers over towards T'ral and then to Br'ce and D'ven. There's a moments hesitation and then a slightly wry smile crosses her face. "Yes. Though the next time I pick up a needle I doubt it'll be embroidery I'm working on."
"You shut it, Daraven." Br'ce flares, having developed a little bit of spirit over the course of Candidacy. And, well, extreme exhaustion and annoyance. It's just not /fair/, he's not used to all this physical labor. "I need to have this done. Tonight." He takes his finger out of his mouth, going doggedly back to sewing. "Agh. I hate this. I hate this. I hate this." A low-voiced, barely audible litany from him as he continues. "And stop picking on her, guys." He shoots a glare towards the room at large, and the snickers.
D'ven laughs, slightly prickled by the use of his old name though he dosn't intend to show it. "Oh no, Br'ce is mad at me. I'm quaking over here, seriously. I'm gonna die under a barrage of long words describing what a bad person I am." There's a pause, as he rummages around for something to throw, though nothing leaves his hands yet.
"You might hate it but you love your dragon, Br'ce." Nari seems impressed by the flare of temper as she pushes off the wall and walks past D'ven to pick up her own harness, settling in to the left of Br'ce. She runs her fingers across the leather strips feeling for weak spots. She glances briefly at D'ven and then back down at the harness, apparently intent on her task.
"Shut up, all of you " comes T'ral's weary instruction. Over near his cot, there's a series of rustling and banging noises as the brownriding weyrling gives up on sleep and rises to his feet. "Nari, will you show him what he's doing so D'ven can get his beauty sleep?" As T'ral comes out into the passageway between the couches, he's knuckling his eyes sleepily, shirt trailing from one hand -- he whips it towards D'ven's feet as he passes.
"You, sir, are an immature cad." Br'ce informs D'ven with as much dignity as one can manage when sitting cross- legged on a bunk at night sewing ineptly. There's a flush at Nari's words--and the fact that she's now sitting on his bed. "Of course I do. That's why I want to get this done in time. And right." he mumbles defensively, though the pace of his sewing slows hopefully at T'ral's words. A slightly embarrassed glance towards Nari. Help, please?
"Yeah?" D'ven laughs. "Well, so's yer.." His words are cut off by a shirt to the feet, turning his last word into a high pitched yelp. "I'm so throwing something." He mutters, though there's no sound to indicate searching.
Nari sets her own harness aside and scoots closer to Br'ce. "Here, let me look." Her voice is kind, but in no way fawning. She flashes a small smile just for Br'ce, and takes hold of his hands, pointing to a subtle flaw in the leather. "There's a crack forming there. You want to make really small stitches, here, give it to me." She holds out her hands for the harness. When D'ven gets the shirt tail she lets out a sharp laugh. She reaches, finds a nearby bundled shirt and tosses it at D'ven. Everyone pick on him! Yay!
"Children, children," T'ral mutters, although something approachingamusement is in his tone now, his Bitran accent far less clipped thanit was at first. Irritation fades, giving way to his usual good nature.He props up at the entrance to Br'ce and Trellazoth's alcove, lookingdown at the two weyrlings in there, and their tangle of straps. "Lookat that, Br'ce." There's a snicker in there somewhere. "She likes you,you're saved."
"Hey, that's my shirt!" Br'ce protests as it goes flying towards D'ven. "Nari!" he sounds a little shocked. "Shut /up/, T'ral, nobody asked you. You're not all /that/ much better at sewing than I am. You just have the advantage of all that extra bulk to keep your energized during the day." he retorts. "Why don't you pick on someone your own size? If you can find one." Yes, that's what passes for insults where Br'ce comes from, alas.
"Hey!" D'ven protests as the shirt arrives. "Don't make me come over there, Nari. You really don't want me to come over there." There's a pause. "So, Br'ce, this shirt of yours...do you want it back?" This time there is the sound of scrabbling around.
"Uh huh. That's me. I'm weak in the knees, mad in love." Nari's voice is drier than the Igen desert. "Keep it up T'ral and I won't help you with yours." There's humor in her tone rather than genuine irritation or threat.
"Touchy, touchy," T'ral snickers, twisting his own shirt around in his hands, but making no move to don it. Perhaps he still treasures dreams of getting back to bed at some point. "Are you listening, D'ven? I thought it was the girls meant to be all emotional and unreasonable. Is Br'ce freeing you up for more practical things by taking on the load, Nari?" He's got his very best grin on, broad and amused.
"Of course I want my shirt back." Br'ce retorts unthinkingly. "It's /my/ shirt, isn't it? Just don't get it dirty." he chides. Dying just a little bit on the inside as Nari speaks. But he conceals it well under furrowed brows, shooting a look towards T'ral. "/Quit it/. I'm not being emotional. And neither is she." Jumping to her defense.
"Yes, I'm listening T'ral." D'ven calls back in a tone heavy with amusement. "Just pondering what to do with Br'ce shirt. And I just heard Nari admit she loves Br'ce. I'm thinking I should sing a song about it, but someone'd probably throw a rock at my....oooo, hey, look what I found on Br'ce's shirt. This looks like one of Nari's hairs." There is no hair, of course.
Fingers running over the last straps of the harness, Nari hands the repaired leather back to Br'ce. She rolls her eyes and shakes her head at T'ral. "Practical like what? Having more time to run faster than both you and D'ven?" The challenge is clear in her voice, but then so is the amusement.
A chorus of groans rise up around the barracks at the prospect of a song, but the complaints quiet down quickly enough. T'ral laughs quietly, one hand coming up to try and flatten down sleep-mussed curls unsuccessfully. "I can't believe this is my life," he murmurs, just loudly enough that it must be his intention to be audible. "Stop sniffing Br'ce's shirt and get over here to see the lovebirds, D'ven." Amusement rings loud through his voice, but nothing unfriendly. For Nari, a snort. "I'm twice your mass, of course you're faster, little thing."
"Stop that, Daraven, she did not." Br'ce protests, still not used entirely to the changes in names. "So what if there's a hair? Give it back!" Hair and all! He shoots a grateful look to Nari for the repaired leathers, and rises to stick his head out of the alcove, glaring at D'ven. "We are /not/ lovebirds." He's a little disconcerted by Nari's lack of response to the taunting, and thus redoubles his efforts to be outraged on her behalf, lifting his chin arrogantly. His dragon sleeps soundly, even snoring slightly, completely ignoring the increasing hubbub.
"I'm coming, I'm coming." D'ven wanders across to the alcove, chucking Br'ce's shirt at him. "You're right T'ral, they're so cute. All nested down together." Drawing his chest up and stick it out, D'ven scrunches his face up in impression of their Weyrlingmaster. "Now remember you two. You can't do anything the least bit sexual for turns yet, so don't you even think about it! Do I make myself clear, you 'orrible little lot?" There's even a 'hrmph' sound at the end.
Nari stifles a groan and rolls her eyes towards the ceiling. "MMmmhmm. And here I was about to throw him down and ravish him this very moment." She looks towards Br'ce and murmurs, deadpan. "I'm sorry honey, by D'ven says no."
"Turns and turns and turns," T'ral agrees, drawing himself up beside D'ven to join in. "In fact, I think you'd better go run a lap of the bowl right now, Br'ce." His irrepressible grin is warring to get through his assumed stern expression. "Nari's got proper breeding. For shame, playing helpless with your straps to get her near." He turns his attention to Nari. "You be strong, say no. Ignore..." He pauses, wrinkling his nose, apparently searching for the word. "His blandishments."
The shirt gets Br'ce in the face, and there's an oomph out of him. Another glare directed D'ven-wards, and a surreptitious inspection of the shirt--ostensibly for dirty spots, but really for the Nari hair. Her words take him utterly aback, causing him to flush from the neck to the roots of his hair, and stare open-mouthed. /What/?! He clutches the shirt to his chest, floundering incoherently. "I--uh--err..." Want you to ravish me! Only...not. "I did not! I--! You! I!" He presses his back up against the wall, wishing nothing more than to be able to fuse with it and become one with the weyr.
"But the blandishments are my favorite part!" Exclaims Nari as she pushes herself to her feet. There's a brief but expressive and slightly apologetic look sent Br'ce-wards before turning a rather rakish grin on T'ral. "His mouth says 'no, no, no' but his eyes... well. That's a whole different story." With that said she saunters out of the cavern, looking rather pleased with herself.
D'ven seems set to lay into Br'ce more, when Nari saunters out with looking so pleased with her. "Guess she's gone to take care of herself, since Br'ce isn't up to it." He announces to the barracks at large, glancing around with a slightly unpleasant grin.
The bronze weyrling's words draw a howl of laughter from T'ral, although he does raise a fist to thump the other man in the shoulder. It's half a minute or so before he's mastered himself enough to reply, and by then he's doubled over, hands braced against his knees. Only then does he lift his head to eye Br'ce, smirking. "I reckon you're in, man."
Aforementioned eyes are wide with--something. Panic, embarassment, irritation--so many things at once, all of them bad. Br'ce stares out after Nari as she saunters out, still reduced to incoherency. Finally, he sits, crumbling into a disconsolate heap that scowls up at the other two. "Lay off her, guys. Really. She's a nice girl, you should try and be a little more polite." Yes, because clearly she isn't capable of taking care of herself.