Olliren gets Searched Part 1
Who: Olliren, Issa
When: Month 2, Turn 1 of the 7th Pass
Where: Living Cavern
What: Issa offers Olliren the chance to stand for Citalth's clutch
Though it's crisp and sunny outside, many residents still prefer the coziness of the living caverns today, and Issa has to make her way through several groups of bustling people to find a table near the hearth. In her arms she carries two satchels made to attach to riding straps and her helmet, all of which are deposited on a bench when she first gets the chance. After that's done, she heaves a breath and begins unfastening her jacket and unwinding her scarf.
While some might like it outside, and Olliren is one of those, he's also got his orders, and they involve being inside to keep an eye on things. One of the kids in the living cavern suddenly goes bolting across the cavern. Something seems to be in the child's hand, filched from another child, and screaming can be heard from the child who just lost her dolly. The guard glances at the children for a few instants before his gaze finds the greenrider he met the other day, and the brow with a scar in it shoots up slightly. "Need a hand?" he asks politely.
"Under control," Issa says, waving the offer away and slinging her jacket onto the tabletop, "Thanks." Screaming children blend into the din of the caverns for her, as she scans the entrance for someone quickly, casually, but abandons the effort when they don't appear. "Keeping the crazy under control, today, Olliren?" she asks, a quirk of a smile showing at one corner of her lips as she begins to tug at her riding gloves, one finger at a time.
Olliren smirks back at Issa lazily as he reaches an arm out and grabs the fabric of the running boy-child's tunic, jerking the kid to a halt, none too roughly, but not entirely gently either. "Give it back," he says pointedly. The boy looks up and up and his eyes go wide, and then he nods with a gulp before the guard releases him. Abashed, the boy slinks back to the girl and hands the doll back. Olliren rocks back on his heels and watched the whole thing. "Not too many crazies today," he finally answers Issa. "Unless you count Deek over there." He jerks a thum b over to an old uncle known for muttering to himself.
Issa watches the proceedings with a mildly interested expression, one eyebrow cocked, her head slightly tilted as she drops her gloves with her belongings. Crossing her arms across her chest slowly, she watches the boy trot off, watches the exchange of the doll with approval, and turns her gaze back to the guard. "You make a good nanny, too, it seems," she says, distracted for a moment as Deek slaps his knee, laughing loudly at some imaginary joke. The rider turns back with a stifled grin. "Maybe you should consider a change of profession." She spares another, now slightly annoyed glance, at the door to the bowl, opting to sit on the edge of the bench and rest her feet.
Olliren arches the scarred brow once more. "I happen to like my profession," he answers sagely. "I get to bully people and make threatening noises all the time. What's not to love?" His smile is wide, and it's clear he's probably just being insolent again. "Well, the pay isn't all that great, but they give you lots of nice equipment to use." Hand on his dagger as a simple 'for example' sort of gesture. Deek's next cackle is duly ignored, but the guard gives the rider a mild expression of interest. "Something... wrong?" he prompts.
"No, nothing wrong, really," Issa answers, turning her eyes away from the door and leaning back onto the table behind her, having given up for the moment. "Just waiting on a few wingmates of mine. We were just out riding sweeps and... things," she explains, a hand patting the bags to her left idly, "And we were supposed to regroup here. However they're not the most... punctual riders in the weyr, shall we say?" An odd hybrid of a grunt and a chuckle escapes her. "Probably just got held up.”
Olliren slides his gaze to the bags. "Things, eh?" he queries saucily, but doesn't ask on the matter further. He's not here to police the riders, just to keep people from messing with the Bloods at the Caucus. "In the Hold guard, if you're late, you're off the guards. Captain's /big/ on punctuality, and some here think they can slack without it getting back to him..."
Issa ignores the saucy query pointedly and simply pushes on. "Unfortunately, our wingleader's a little more lenient than your Captain, it seems. They'll get an extra sweep or two, I expect, but no more. And you can't exactly take away a rider's knot. Once you've Impressed you're in. For good. Dependable or not." There's no more than a simple fact-stating tone to her voice, her focus suddenly thrown to a hangnail that she has on her left thumb. She picks at it idly as she looks back up at Olliren. "I trust you're always punctual?"
Olliren lifts his hand from the dagger to gesture to his rank badge. "You don't get one of these for sleeping when you're supposed to be on duty," he answers laconically. "What'd you do if you were the wingleader? What's an effective punishment for someone who can't be fired, eh? Sweeps sound like a foot patrol. Not really punishment that leads to reform."
Issa grins approvingly, offering a slight chuckle and nodding. Her attention to her hangnail dissipates at the posing of an interesting question. "Oh, sweeps are bad enough if they're at the wrong time. Early morning sweeps, snowstorm sweeps... sweeps after 'fall, I suppose." A small shrug. "Put them on weyrling duties, or something. Make 'em bag firestone and run drills until they can't see for the tedium. Not that I'll have to worry about leading a wing anytime soon." A sour note bristles behind the last words, though she plays it off as a joke and changes the subject to detract from the bitterness. "How old are you, Olliren? If you don't mind my forwardness."
"You eventually learn to ignore the weather... and not to complain about it in front of certain ears," Olliren answers rather laconically again with a shrug. "I suppose if you can't give them any true punishment, and they won't reform, it's good to have 'em too tired to misbehave," he adds musingly, rubbing his chin. The last question catches him slightly off-guard. "Old enough to know better, ma'am," he drawls. "Any particular reason for... asking?"
"Oh, a particular reason, yes, but not the one you're thinking of, I'll wager," Issa comments mysteriously, but giving him a once over and a bat of her eyelashes anyway. Her eyes go a tad glassy and she gets that strange air that dragonriders get when conversing with that other mind inside their head. But it's a mere second in length, and she's back to the conversation. "Just trying to get to know the guards sent here to protect Pern's best and brightest," she continues. "You know much about Weyrs and dragons?"
Olliren is starting to get used to that spacy look riders get when talking to their dragons. The mysterious air earns the rider a mild snort and a lack of most of the guard's attention as he /is/ on duty right now. "If you want to get to know one of us, you /could/ wait until someone's off-duty and can devote his full attention to you." The mildly leading comment is deposited there, but not touched onto any further. "I know what any Hold kid's taught," he finally answers, rubbing the back of his head. "I'm learning more here on a daily basis," he adds with a shrug. "What's it to you?"
Issa raises her eyebrows in genuine surprise, turning to cast her eyes over the normal, subdued hubbub of the living caverns. "A real snarl of threatening situations, yes, I see," the greenrider comments dryly. "I might question your competence if you couldn't hold a simple conversation while keeping an eye on a bunch of brats and an old uncle." She's goading him now, probably to pay him back for the bristly manner with which he delivered his answer. "Like I said, I'm just trying to get a feel for the newcomers come to visit us this lovely winter. Do you find that you like the Weyr?" There's a hint of good-natured mocking as she takes on the air of a doting old cotholder with nothing better to talk about. Another internal conversation seems to be going on, indication that there's more of an ulterior motive than she lets on.
Olliren grins lopsidedly to Issa. "Maybe the old uncle is a spy for certain parties who are not welcome h ere," he adds with a rather impudent wink. "Or the children are their means of gathering information. All seriousness aside, you don't get very far in this profession if you relax your guard, pun intended, all the time. Situations can change very quickly, so it's wise to be watchful." He shrugs noncomittally at the question about the Weyr. "Doesn't matter if I like it or not," he answers truthfully. "I'm ordered here, so here I am. It's a /place/, like the Hold or a Crafthall. And just like anywhere, there are people I /like/, and people I don't. Won't affect my job, if that's what you're hinting at."
Issa listens with thinned eyes concentrating on Olliren's face, full of interest, though, and nothing of mean-spirit. She leans over to the left a bit, her hand reaching into one of the wherhide bags, groping for something in particular. "Oh, no, that's not what I was insinuating. You seem very capable," she says, her words, for once, forming a very straightforward compliment. Finally she fishes out a tangle of white cord, a simple knot and shows it to Olliren, asking frankly, "Do you know what this means?"
Olliren tilts his head in a nod to accept the compliment as it is. With some mild curiosity, he peers toward the white cord. "It means either you like to tie down your lovers, or you're giving someone chores..." The answer is a bit impudent, but somewhat serious at the end there. "Going on a search sweep, then?" he asks, remembering she was waiting on her fellows to show up.
Issa grins up at him. "While the former sounds interesting," and she pauses for a flirtatious look, "it's mostly the latter." She takes the knot between her hands and tries to untangle the ends that got kinked while in her bag. "I was on search, which explains, somewhat, while my wingmates are still absent. Though I'll wager they stopped for some generous holders' wine, too." She casts a glance at the door but gives a slight shake of her head, continuing with, "Anyway, it means we've got a clutch on the sands, essentially. And we're looking for /capable/ rider candidates." Searching eyes are turned onto his face. "If you get what I'm hinting at."
"I may be dense," Olliren remarks rather sardonically, "but I'm not /that/ dense. However, with no offense intended to either yourself or your dragon, are you sure you haven't been hitting the wine a bit yourself?" Still, there's a note of uncertainty on his face, perhaps wondering if she's toying with him somehow... lovely flirty look, that.
"Not a drop of wine or klah in me, I assure you," Issa jokes casually, holding up both hands as if fending off the accusations, the white knot dangling from her left hand like a limp wherry. "I'm sure," she says with more conviction. "And, probably much more important, Oshisyth's sure. And she's turned down line after line of boys today. Can't argue with that." She gives a small shrug, as if she were helpless, a mere pawn in the whole situation. She then leans forward, leaning on her knees, staring at the guard on duty. "Look we need more dependable riders, I'm telling you. Especially now. We can't afford to have any more riders like my wingmates. We just can't. That's why I think we'd do well to have you on the sands come hatching day." Not quite as nice as another flirtatious look, but convincing in it's own way.
"What a pity..." Olliren murmurs to Issa's comment about no wine or klah. Then, he frowns and rubs his chin some more as her continued words begin sinking in. If he weren't under specific orders already, he'd probably say yes off the bat. "Well, give my thanks to Oshisyth... but I can't accept." Holding up a hand to ward off any protest, he elaborates. "At least, not without checking with my Captain first. My duty is to my Hold first. I am not my own man at this point, able to go off at the drop of a hat. If I'm given leave, then you can slap that thing on me. If not, I'm sorry..." And somewhere in that cocky man's statement, there is genuine regret in his voice.
The regret in Olliren's voice is mirrored in the subtle downward curving of Issa's mouth and the hardening of her expression. "Fair enough," she says lightly, however, and the knot quickly disappears inside the bag again. "Check with your Captain. But don't think that Oshisyth will let me forget you. She's very stubborn about the ones she chooses." A beat is spent silently letting her eyes drift to the ground and indulging in an affectionate smile. This moment is interrupted harshly by the entrance of a young, brash bluerider and a languid greenrider, both men calling out to Issa when they see her. "Duty calls," Issa says, favoring him with an exasperated look and a small grin. She rises and grabs her stuff, saying in farewell, "Think about it, Olliren. I'll be seeing you around."
"I certainly hope so," Olliren answers Issa, once more sounding like someone trying to flirt with the greenrider. "If not for the one, maybe for the other...?" he asks with a slight smile on his face. When he goes back to most of the guarding again, his eyes narrow on something that piques his interest. "Duty calls for me too," he murmurs with a slight nod. "Clear skies." With those words, he slips through the crowd toward a certain knot of folks over in the corner.
Issa offers a final flirty smile before she hefts her bags and walks off. Echoes of her wingmates bragging over the many young lads they've snagged for the sands and teasing Issa for her inability to bring anyone back can be heard as they leave for the bowl.
When: Month 2, Turn 1 of the 7th Pass
Where: Living Cavern
What: Issa offers Olliren the chance to stand for Citalth's clutch
Though it's crisp and sunny outside, many residents still prefer the coziness of the living caverns today, and Issa has to make her way through several groups of bustling people to find a table near the hearth. In her arms she carries two satchels made to attach to riding straps and her helmet, all of which are deposited on a bench when she first gets the chance. After that's done, she heaves a breath and begins unfastening her jacket and unwinding her scarf.
While some might like it outside, and Olliren is one of those, he's also got his orders, and they involve being inside to keep an eye on things. One of the kids in the living cavern suddenly goes bolting across the cavern. Something seems to be in the child's hand, filched from another child, and screaming can be heard from the child who just lost her dolly. The guard glances at the children for a few instants before his gaze finds the greenrider he met the other day, and the brow with a scar in it shoots up slightly. "Need a hand?" he asks politely.
"Under control," Issa says, waving the offer away and slinging her jacket onto the tabletop, "Thanks." Screaming children blend into the din of the caverns for her, as she scans the entrance for someone quickly, casually, but abandons the effort when they don't appear. "Keeping the crazy under control, today, Olliren?" she asks, a quirk of a smile showing at one corner of her lips as she begins to tug at her riding gloves, one finger at a time.
Olliren smirks back at Issa lazily as he reaches an arm out and grabs the fabric of the running boy-child's tunic, jerking the kid to a halt, none too roughly, but not entirely gently either. "Give it back," he says pointedly. The boy looks up and up and his eyes go wide, and then he nods with a gulp before the guard releases him. Abashed, the boy slinks back to the girl and hands the doll back. Olliren rocks back on his heels and watched the whole thing. "Not too many crazies today," he finally answers Issa. "Unless you count Deek over there." He jerks a thum b over to an old uncle known for muttering to himself.
Issa watches the proceedings with a mildly interested expression, one eyebrow cocked, her head slightly tilted as she drops her gloves with her belongings. Crossing her arms across her chest slowly, she watches the boy trot off, watches the exchange of the doll with approval, and turns her gaze back to the guard. "You make a good nanny, too, it seems," she says, distracted for a moment as Deek slaps his knee, laughing loudly at some imaginary joke. The rider turns back with a stifled grin. "Maybe you should consider a change of profession." She spares another, now slightly annoyed glance, at the door to the bowl, opting to sit on the edge of the bench and rest her feet.
Olliren arches the scarred brow once more. "I happen to like my profession," he answers sagely. "I get to bully people and make threatening noises all the time. What's not to love?" His smile is wide, and it's clear he's probably just being insolent again. "Well, the pay isn't all that great, but they give you lots of nice equipment to use." Hand on his dagger as a simple 'for example' sort of gesture. Deek's next cackle is duly ignored, but the guard gives the rider a mild expression of interest. "Something... wrong?" he prompts.
"No, nothing wrong, really," Issa answers, turning her eyes away from the door and leaning back onto the table behind her, having given up for the moment. "Just waiting on a few wingmates of mine. We were just out riding sweeps and... things," she explains, a hand patting the bags to her left idly, "And we were supposed to regroup here. However they're not the most... punctual riders in the weyr, shall we say?" An odd hybrid of a grunt and a chuckle escapes her. "Probably just got held up.”
Olliren slides his gaze to the bags. "Things, eh?" he queries saucily, but doesn't ask on the matter further. He's not here to police the riders, just to keep people from messing with the Bloods at the Caucus. "In the Hold guard, if you're late, you're off the guards. Captain's /big/ on punctuality, and some here think they can slack without it getting back to him..."
Issa ignores the saucy query pointedly and simply pushes on. "Unfortunately, our wingleader's a little more lenient than your Captain, it seems. They'll get an extra sweep or two, I expect, but no more. And you can't exactly take away a rider's knot. Once you've Impressed you're in. For good. Dependable or not." There's no more than a simple fact-stating tone to her voice, her focus suddenly thrown to a hangnail that she has on her left thumb. She picks at it idly as she looks back up at Olliren. "I trust you're always punctual?"
Olliren lifts his hand from the dagger to gesture to his rank badge. "You don't get one of these for sleeping when you're supposed to be on duty," he answers laconically. "What'd you do if you were the wingleader? What's an effective punishment for someone who can't be fired, eh? Sweeps sound like a foot patrol. Not really punishment that leads to reform."
Issa grins approvingly, offering a slight chuckle and nodding. Her attention to her hangnail dissipates at the posing of an interesting question. "Oh, sweeps are bad enough if they're at the wrong time. Early morning sweeps, snowstorm sweeps... sweeps after 'fall, I suppose." A small shrug. "Put them on weyrling duties, or something. Make 'em bag firestone and run drills until they can't see for the tedium. Not that I'll have to worry about leading a wing anytime soon." A sour note bristles behind the last words, though she plays it off as a joke and changes the subject to detract from the bitterness. "How old are you, Olliren? If you don't mind my forwardness."
"You eventually learn to ignore the weather... and not to complain about it in front of certain ears," Olliren answers rather laconically again with a shrug. "I suppose if you can't give them any true punishment, and they won't reform, it's good to have 'em too tired to misbehave," he adds musingly, rubbing his chin. The last question catches him slightly off-guard. "Old enough to know better, ma'am," he drawls. "Any particular reason for... asking?"
"Oh, a particular reason, yes, but not the one you're thinking of, I'll wager," Issa comments mysteriously, but giving him a once over and a bat of her eyelashes anyway. Her eyes go a tad glassy and she gets that strange air that dragonriders get when conversing with that other mind inside their head. But it's a mere second in length, and she's back to the conversation. "Just trying to get to know the guards sent here to protect Pern's best and brightest," she continues. "You know much about Weyrs and dragons?"
Olliren is starting to get used to that spacy look riders get when talking to their dragons. The mysterious air earns the rider a mild snort and a lack of most of the guard's attention as he /is/ on duty right now. "If you want to get to know one of us, you /could/ wait until someone's off-duty and can devote his full attention to you." The mildly leading comment is deposited there, but not touched onto any further. "I know what any Hold kid's taught," he finally answers, rubbing the back of his head. "I'm learning more here on a daily basis," he adds with a shrug. "What's it to you?"
Issa raises her eyebrows in genuine surprise, turning to cast her eyes over the normal, subdued hubbub of the living caverns. "A real snarl of threatening situations, yes, I see," the greenrider comments dryly. "I might question your competence if you couldn't hold a simple conversation while keeping an eye on a bunch of brats and an old uncle." She's goading him now, probably to pay him back for the bristly manner with which he delivered his answer. "Like I said, I'm just trying to get a feel for the newcomers come to visit us this lovely winter. Do you find that you like the Weyr?" There's a hint of good-natured mocking as she takes on the air of a doting old cotholder with nothing better to talk about. Another internal conversation seems to be going on, indication that there's more of an ulterior motive than she lets on.
Olliren grins lopsidedly to Issa. "Maybe the old uncle is a spy for certain parties who are not welcome h ere," he adds with a rather impudent wink. "Or the children are their means of gathering information. All seriousness aside, you don't get very far in this profession if you relax your guard, pun intended, all the time. Situations can change very quickly, so it's wise to be watchful." He shrugs noncomittally at the question about the Weyr. "Doesn't matter if I like it or not," he answers truthfully. "I'm ordered here, so here I am. It's a /place/, like the Hold or a Crafthall. And just like anywhere, there are people I /like/, and people I don't. Won't affect my job, if that's what you're hinting at."
Issa listens with thinned eyes concentrating on Olliren's face, full of interest, though, and nothing of mean-spirit. She leans over to the left a bit, her hand reaching into one of the wherhide bags, groping for something in particular. "Oh, no, that's not what I was insinuating. You seem very capable," she says, her words, for once, forming a very straightforward compliment. Finally she fishes out a tangle of white cord, a simple knot and shows it to Olliren, asking frankly, "Do you know what this means?"
Olliren tilts his head in a nod to accept the compliment as it is. With some mild curiosity, he peers toward the white cord. "It means either you like to tie down your lovers, or you're giving someone chores..." The answer is a bit impudent, but somewhat serious at the end there. "Going on a search sweep, then?" he asks, remembering she was waiting on her fellows to show up.
Issa grins up at him. "While the former sounds interesting," and she pauses for a flirtatious look, "it's mostly the latter." She takes the knot between her hands and tries to untangle the ends that got kinked while in her bag. "I was on search, which explains, somewhat, while my wingmates are still absent. Though I'll wager they stopped for some generous holders' wine, too." She casts a glance at the door but gives a slight shake of her head, continuing with, "Anyway, it means we've got a clutch on the sands, essentially. And we're looking for /capable/ rider candidates." Searching eyes are turned onto his face. "If you get what I'm hinting at."
"I may be dense," Olliren remarks rather sardonically, "but I'm not /that/ dense. However, with no offense intended to either yourself or your dragon, are you sure you haven't been hitting the wine a bit yourself?" Still, there's a note of uncertainty on his face, perhaps wondering if she's toying with him somehow... lovely flirty look, that.
"Not a drop of wine or klah in me, I assure you," Issa jokes casually, holding up both hands as if fending off the accusations, the white knot dangling from her left hand like a limp wherry. "I'm sure," she says with more conviction. "And, probably much more important, Oshisyth's sure. And she's turned down line after line of boys today. Can't argue with that." She gives a small shrug, as if she were helpless, a mere pawn in the whole situation. She then leans forward, leaning on her knees, staring at the guard on duty. "Look we need more dependable riders, I'm telling you. Especially now. We can't afford to have any more riders like my wingmates. We just can't. That's why I think we'd do well to have you on the sands come hatching day." Not quite as nice as another flirtatious look, but convincing in it's own way.
"What a pity..." Olliren murmurs to Issa's comment about no wine or klah. Then, he frowns and rubs his chin some more as her continued words begin sinking in. If he weren't under specific orders already, he'd probably say yes off the bat. "Well, give my thanks to Oshisyth... but I can't accept." Holding up a hand to ward off any protest, he elaborates. "At least, not without checking with my Captain first. My duty is to my Hold first. I am not my own man at this point, able to go off at the drop of a hat. If I'm given leave, then you can slap that thing on me. If not, I'm sorry..." And somewhere in that cocky man's statement, there is genuine regret in his voice.
The regret in Olliren's voice is mirrored in the subtle downward curving of Issa's mouth and the hardening of her expression. "Fair enough," she says lightly, however, and the knot quickly disappears inside the bag again. "Check with your Captain. But don't think that Oshisyth will let me forget you. She's very stubborn about the ones she chooses." A beat is spent silently letting her eyes drift to the ground and indulging in an affectionate smile. This moment is interrupted harshly by the entrance of a young, brash bluerider and a languid greenrider, both men calling out to Issa when they see her. "Duty calls," Issa says, favoring him with an exasperated look and a small grin. She rises and grabs her stuff, saying in farewell, "Think about it, Olliren. I'll be seeing you around."
"I certainly hope so," Olliren answers Issa, once more sounding like someone trying to flirt with the greenrider. "If not for the one, maybe for the other...?" he asks with a slight smile on his face. When he goes back to most of the guarding again, his eyes narrow on something that piques his interest. "Duty calls for me too," he murmurs with a slight nod. "Clear skies." With those words, he slips through the crowd toward a certain knot of folks over in the corner.
Issa offers a final flirty smile before she hefts her bags and walks off. Echoes of her wingmates bragging over the many young lads they've snagged for the sands and teasing Issa for her inability to bring anyone back can be heard as they leave for the bowl.