Loggity Log Logs!
Firstly, a meeting of two old... friends, shall we call them?
Players: S'vos, Bailie.
Time: Hmmm. Early spring, is all I can narrow down to. A few RL days ago!
What:
S'vos
Careful care may have once been taken of this man. Scars from long ago seem to have been tended with the utmost tenderness. It's the ones from not-so-long ago that seem to have avoided infirmaries. One such scar lines the high ridge of his cheekbone, nearly tickling the underside of one fiery brown eye. The line of his face is angular and abrupt, high cheekbones giving way to smooth cheeks and a jaw not carved from stone, but molded from clay, instead. His appearance is almost feminine, what with full lips the color of pale pink flowers. His hair, black as night, sweeps over one eye. It's kept shaggy, flipping at the edges lightly. The wind is often its' mistress and whichever way it goes, S'vos seems satisfied.
His riding leathers are in good repair, conforming to an able, yet lithe frame. He is no creature of stern muscle and rigidity. Instead, the physique explored by this young man is a sleeker, flexible one. The sleeves of his jacket are nearly always rolled up, and the front often undone. A shirt of either palest blue or deepest jet decorate his torso. It depends on the day, really. His boots, showing a little wear, line his feet like old comrades: The soles worn down and the laces on the sides frayed at their ends. Around his neck, a black cord is wrapped and tied, devoid of pendant or glitter.
Bailie
Even in winter, Bailie's skin has the healthy hint of a tan, smooth and even. Whilst mostly straight, her dark brown hair flicks into soft waves as it nears her shoulders, where neatly trimmed edges rest. Defined brows sit above strikingly rich brown eyes, lined with thick black lashes. The apples of her cheeks are naturally a little pink, and a small mole mars the right one. Her nose, whilst a little chubby, is well-formed; below it, wide pinks lips curve parallel to her rounded chin. Not unnaturally short, she stands between five and five and a half feet - petite, though curvy enough for her age.
To guard against High Reaches chill autumn and winter, Bailie is clad in a tight-fitting cream top and a billowy rose skirt. Both are embroidered with fawn stitching, several flowers and petals along the hemlines of her waist. Fawn boots without laces cover her feet, pink roses stitched on the sides of the calves to complete the outfit. When outside, a long fawn dress coat keeps her warm, with cream contrast stitching on the lapels and large cream buttons just for show.
A simple necklace of silver and pearl drapes delicately from Bailie's neck. Double strands of silver twist to a central point from which a large, creamy peach pearl dangles. Arrowing upwards from the single pearl are several matching pearls in translucent white, held tightly against the silver.
Southern Bowl
The bowl floor is a broad expanse of gravel and dust, packed flat over decades of dragonweight landing on it. Kept free of vegetation, the only color variation across the vast hollow of the bowl are the dragons, in good weather often found sunning on low ledges or sprawled along the floor itself. The well-worn, charcoal-grey walls of the bowl are nearly vertical, far too steep for even the most adventurous climber to attempt. The rim of the bowl, marked by a rainbow of perching dragons at all times of the day, is topped with massive stone spires that stretch upwards into the blue vault of the sky. There are seven in all, great black fingers of stone that seem, from where you stand, to touch the clouds.
Here the lake dominates the bowl floor, wind-scattered waves lapping at the gravel shore. A few scrawny shrubs to the southeast mark the fenced-in enclosure of the feeding grounds, bordered on its southwestern edge by the lake itself. Following the wall here will lead to the entrance to the weyrling complex and, past that, the stairs that lead to the guest weyr. On the other side of the lake is a vast, yawning tunnel curving upwards slightly, connecting to the long road leading away from High Reaches Weyr. Adjoining the exit is the high arch of the infirmary entrance.
It's a clear winter day and though the sun is clear and bright in a pale blue sky, it's still cold enough that breath will fog in the air. When the wind kicks up, it's icy and mean, nipping at any exposed skin.
Moonlight casts its mottled wiles upon the ground of snow and ice. Tendrils of the glistening powder tend to dance when even the slightest breeze happens upon its temporary rest. Settled upon a swatch of stone close to the Caucus barracks sits a tall man, black hair ruffled now and then as he perches. An instrument comprised of strings and played with an expert flair maintains his fingers' attentions, his voice smoothed along with each note in a song not oft' heard. And with the notes he plays so do the wingbeats of a large brown coincide. The battle-torn creature, terrible and moody, almost looks graceful as the song appears to encase them both.
And from the Caucus barracks emerges a young woman, picture-perfect from head to toe as she usually is. Not a curl out of place, Bailie's only vice tonight is the pursed frown upon her lips as she ventures out into the snow one dainty step at a time. Not caught in the spell that singer and his dragon seem to be trapped in, her attention sweeps around the bowl testily until dark eyes come to rest upon the brown pair. And so, she stares - or rather, almost glares - for a long moment. She taps a heeled boot, purposely offbeat.
"One moment, pretty miss." The man says, his fingers strumming a perfect harmonic chord. He continues, as promised, only a moment longer, the dragon pulling his wings in and spiraling toward the earth as the last notes detach themselves from their instrumental bonds. The brown's wide wings open at the pinnacle moment and he lands with soft form upon the frozen scape. The instrument is stowed to the side and the darkhaired fellow rises to his feet, offering a low, elegant bow. "My apologies, Lady, I did not know that we would be disturbing anyone this evening. There seems to be a big to-do holed up in the caverns. I had thought it a meeting of many." He does not raise, yet.
Bailie's jaw drops slightly open as she's told to wait, sculpted brows shifting high in surprise at the perceived insult. She snaps her teeth shut firmly as the dragon lands, her brown eyes shifting back and forth between him and his scarred rider. She doesn't return the ceremony of S'vos' greeting, nor does she show any gesture to release him from the bounds of etiquette; instead, she's sweeping a skeptical look over the brownrider as she brings her hands to clasp primly at her front. "They're probably taking supper," she explains with little patience, adding that, "While some of us are trying to study. I don't mean to interrupt your song, but perhaps you could find somewhere less central to sing, so that the Caucus students aren't interrupted?" It's clear that by 'Caucus students' she means herself, evident in the self-important cant of her head.
"Seeing as how you, my Lady, are the only one to appear with any complaints about my singing, and so late in our practice session, I feel as though I have interrupted absolutely nothing." The man says, still bowed. To the side, the epic brown rumbles, maw opening and snapping shut in a mimicking gesture of the woman. Is she being mocked by a dragon? It may appear so, for he rumbles afterwards, an amused rumble leaving his lungs. The man finally stands, wholesome brown eyes alighting in the given glows outside the Caucus complex. "And if memory serves, my Lady, your taste has never truly been for scholarly studies." Bold brown eyes now fix themselves on the tan woman's face. The hint of a smile appears upon the rider's lips.
Her brows shift higher still, and Bailie's eyes widen as the bowed rider replies. She blinks a few times, the blush of anger seeping into her cheeks as she catches his dragon's imitation of her in the corner of one eye. Haughtily, and not very ladylike, she wrenches her hands from each other to shove them (with a small wince for the impact of fists now balled) on her hips. Her chin tilts up a little as the brownrider stands tall, so that she might meet his audacious gaze with her own dark stare. "Ex/cuse/ you!" His smile is met by an even harder frown on her part, as she struggles to find the familiarity they obviously share.
"I seem to remember the image of a perfect little lady stacking her books up to just the right height in empty kitchens far from here.. stacked them just perfectly so that she could slip a slender hand into a jar lifted high above the heads of all the other hold children and withdraw one of the head cook's own stash of cookies." The man's hand slips up to rub at a chin only partly dotted by hair. "Yes, I remember it quite well. There was a test the following day that she was miraculously prepared for, regardless of her study habits. Now, as to the reason why she suddenly found herself knowledgeable.. I.. I just can't think of it at this precise moment." His eyes continue to stare off to the side. The brown has found a patch of snow to lay comfortably in, blowing a stream of hot air at the back of Bailie's dress. "Perhaps said little Lady remembers." And now firelight brown eyes center upon her face again, searching deep into her own for some spark, some sign. "Bailie." He says quietly, reverently.
As the blush in her cheeks deepens, it's clear that Bailie's no longer caught up in anger - instead it seems to be embarrassment that keeps her eyes wide and allows her eyebrows to sink back down a notch. Something flickers in her deep brown eyes, and her lips form a surprised little 'o' shape as she continues to study... "Siravos?" Twisting her head to take in his lifemate too, her shock turns to curiosity and her hands slip back to smooth her dress. "But you're so..." In her pause, she turns her look back to S'vos. "You're so..." Another pause. "Tall!"
Another bow, this one more close to form, as the man's arms sweep out to the sides in the classic mockery of formality. "As I always have been, though I suppose you may call me S'vos, these days." The fellow admits softly, a tender smile touching his lips as he regards the woman once more. "And you, dear Lady, are a vision of loveliness I could never have hoped to view again. You have certainly grown into your grace, Bailie." A careful hand reaches out to clasp hers and, if succeeding, bring it to his lips for a light kiss.
"S'vos, sorry," Bailie corrects herself, blinking a few times to try and adjust her memory of the lad to fit his current picture. With a stare less wide and far more friendly, she beams a smile right back at the brownrider, allowing him to take her hand for his purpose. Tilting her chin a little further skyward, she revels in his compliment, lifting shoulders in a soft shrug that simply says, 'Haven't I just?' "Are you visiting someone? And this must be your dragon, I did hear you'd Impressed when they searched you for Fort Weyr. He's," she shoots a sidelong glance at the brown, "Just the right match for you." She says this as though she'd actually /know/.
The brown in question snorts at the girl again, his giant wings, patchy and shredded in places, wave once. Broody as he may be, he does so like getting attention every now and then. "He is the biggest brown you'll see here. And, coincidentally, the surliest." S'vos states, glancing at his lifemate for several long moments. It appears to have been a brief conversation, for after the man's gaze returns to Bailie, the brown's movements shake the ground around them ever so slightly. He trundles closer, large nose lowered so that one hand reaching out from either of them will pat him directly between the nostrils. "If you like, Daenomaketh is rather partial to gorgeous women petting him." The brownrider admits casually. "Actually," He begins, in regards to the 'visiting' question. "We have transferred. M'lik considered my request, and allowed it. My family has moved to the hold here, and my younger brother has been ill for a time and, well.. I'd like to be close to them in the physical always. Betweening is great, but.. there's just the presence of family. Makes a man solid." He explains, his own cheeks going a little red. "And it does so do my heart good to see you here. And a Caucus student! Your family must be extremely proud of you." He beams at the woman.
Bailie's smile thins a little as Daenomaketh approaches, and she shrugs again, a little apologetic this time. "Oh, I don't know... he /is/ big, Si- sorry, S'vos." Though she's not at all awkward, there is a little hesitation as the pretty girl reaches out to briefly touch the dragon's nose. She pulls her hand back quickly. "Oh? I hadn't heard they'd moved, and I'm sorry to hear about your brother. You miss out on lots of the little tidbits being away from home." Speaking of her family - "My father's very proud, Sefton and I go home as often as we can to visit. You heard of my betrothal, I assume? My brothers still laugh about me being here, they don't think I'll last. But we'll see about that!"
The brown emits a sound that could only be best described as a draconic laugh. He pulls his head from the conversation and aims it toward the skies where watch dragons change rounds. S'vos nods his head as she speaks. "Yes, he's doing all right, though. They've got a lot of great healers in the hold, here, and my mother is doing her best alongside them. He should be fine once the weather stops being as horrid as it has been." A brow lifts as the words 'Sefton and I' filter from her lips. And then the word 'betrothal' has the other brow up to its height. "Betrothal!" He stammers a moment, mouth, so used to being a thin line, unreadable, jumps into a grin that belies his age, taking him straight back to boyhood. Without thinking, he reaches out for her shoulders to pull her into a hug. Moments like this sometimes cause him to forget himself. "Congratulations, Bailie! Fantastic news! I will definitely have to meet this fellow of yours." She is released after a moment, and he laughs. "Indeed we shall! From what I remember, your brothers were always quite the pain, anyway. You're doing fine, I bet, and will absolutely wow them."
"Oh, goo-" Bailie's all but cut off by S'vos' response to her betrothal, and her shoulders tighten a little at first as the brownrider draws her close; she's quick, however, to relax into the old familiarity of their youth, and wraps her arms tightly around his waist with a tinkling laugh. "Goodness, S'vos, warn me before you hug so tightly next time? Of course, you'll meet him! How could I not introduce Sef to the man who used to do my homework for me?" Her grin is back, her head now held at an affectionate rather than arrogant tilt. "Speaking of homework, I should probably get back to mine. We can have lunch soon, though? If you're not too busy with... you know. Dragon... ridery... things."
S'vos releases the woman carefully, setting her feet onto the ground first and foremost. Yes. S'vos is famous for bear hugs. Even now. "That's most excellent. I would very much like to meet the man that's stolen the most lovely woman on Pern from the pool of availability." He says, though his tone is light and full of joy. "And I must certainly shake his hand, for you seem happy. If he has done that much already, then he has my approval." Not that that really matters, however.. it just might. "Yes. Homework. I, for one, will not be holding you from that. And should you ever have need of me." He turns to face the bowl, pointing to a dark ledge somewhere high up. "My weyr is up there, and is available to you for visits whenever you see fit." He bows to her once more. "Good night, and good studying. I have missed you." With that, he plucks his instrument from where it lay and, with a final wave, turns toward the brown and disappears into the night sky.
-END LOG-
And secondly, two Ladies find some common ground...
Players: Carina, Bailie.
When: Evening on day 2, month 3, turn 2 of the 7th Pass.
What:
Carina
Carina is the epitome of the dark and mysterious school of beauty. She has an unremarkable face shape, distinguished only by her distinctively proud nose, aquiline in shape. In the season of winter, her skin has paled to a very fair color, the only splash of color being a rosy tint to her cheekbones. Her hazel eyes are outlined in kohl, finely applied, and her dark eyebrows she keeps trimmed to a medium width -- the better for a striking gaze. Carina's long dark hair has been pinned up today and away from her face by a matching set of large silver clips. The clips have spokes coming off of them, a spray each of three teardrop shaped pearls tipping them.
Today, Carina has dressed appropriately for the cold, yet manages an extravagence in layers of white undoubtedly inspired by the purity of snow. Her sweater is a soft piled wool, bleached to a point where just the barest hint of the natural buff color remains. The neck of it is an exuberant scalloped turtleneck, the fabric flopping just below her chin. She has on over it a blindingly white coat made of a stiffer, coarser wool that is cinched at the waist, reaching midcalf in length. The buttons are half-done up, round ones made of tortoise-shell. Under her layers, she has on white slacks and neutral buff-colored suede boots with trim of white fur.
Carrying:
Carina's Purse
Bailie
Even in winter, Bailie's skin has the healthy hint of a tan, smooth and even. Whilst mostly straight, her dark brown hair flicks into soft waves as it nears her shoulders, where neatly trimmed edges rest. Defined brows sit above strikingly rich brown eyes, lined with thick black lashes. The apples of her cheeks are naturally a little pink, and a small mole mars the right one. Her nose, whilst a little chubby, is well-formed; below it, wide pinks lips curve parallel to her rounded chin. Not unnaturally short, she stands between five and five and a half feet - petite, though curvy enough for her age.
To guard against High Reaches chill autumn and winter, Bailie is clad in a tight-fitting cream top and a billowy rose skirt. Both are embroidered with fawn stitching, several flowers and petals along the hemlines of her waist. Fawn boots without laces cover her feet, pink roses stitched on the sides of the calves to complete the outfit. When outside, a long fawn dress coat keeps her warm, with cream contrast stitching on the lapels and large cream buttons just for show.
A simple necklace of silver and pearl drapes delicately from Bailie's neck. Double strands of silver twist to a central point from which a large, creamy peach pearl dangles. Arrowing upwards from the single pearl are several matching pearls in translucent white, held tightly against the silver.
Caucus Common Area
The common area between the two barracks has been made over into a sort of lounge area. Several sitting areas have been marked out by the use of cheerful rugs and circles of chairs and couches. Low tables are set in the center of each of these areas, and provide a place to set mugs of klah or reading material. A small hearth has been built at the east end of the room. There are never less than two pots of fresh klah simmering over the fire built within.
Carina is sitting upright in one of the fluffy chairs, which she has brought closer to the hearth. She is still wearing her white coat, but it has been loosened and allowed to fall open around her. She has an opened book in her hands, propped up against her knees pressed tightly together. From time to time she fitfully looks up, clearly not that interested in the reading material.
The wind does not discriminate, apparently, for as Bailie enters the commons it's quite clearly had a go at her usually perfectly-set curls. Never one to enter a room unnannounced, the Fortian beauty makes much of a fuss of huffing as she smooths her skirt, then moving onto putting this curl and that back in its rightful place. Multitasking, her daintily booted feet carry her eastward to the hearth; once there, she's unbuttoning her coat and blinking a few times as she studies the fire within.
Her entrance is caught during one of Carina's fussy moments with the book, and she shuts it with a loud slap and sets it aside between thigh and armrest. "Lady Bailie!" She says with a delighted smile and a wee little clap of her hands.
Bailie's attention shifts as Carina greets her, wide dark eyes settling on the Benden woman for a short moment before she musters a smile to match. "Lady Carina," slips out too, before the younger of the two finds her high-watt smile and beams it brightly. She doesn't clap either, for she's starting to warm her hands a little by holding them out in front of her. "I wasn't aware of your presence at Caucus." Her tone is quite formal, "I /do/ hope I haven't overlooked you, and that you've only recently arrived?"
"I'm quite recently arrived," Carina says quickly enough, lifting a hand to wave off any formal concerns. "Your Sefton has hired me to keep an eye on all of the young ladies of note at the Caucus and to keep them out of trouble." Her hands are returned to her lap, and her smile fades to a more natural one. "I presume that includes you, although I highly doubt you are any trouble at all."
"Ah," Bailie's relieved, and her smile relaxes just a tiny bit with a toss of her shiny curls. She flips her hands around to warm the other sides, and her brows lift a touch; "He did?" There's surprise now in her timbre, but it's measured. "Well, I can assure you of that, Lady Carina. My private tutor is here as well, so I've all the chaperone I need between Sefton, Sykarin and now yourself - no time for mischeif, even if I wanted to cause it."
Carina gives a sharp little nod, "None the less, I will be careful not to give you preferential treatment. It would only lead to jealousy and resentment." She ahs, and says, "The matter of your private tutor -- I would like to send for my handmaid, but I do not know where she would be roomed. Perhaps you could enlighten me as to the proceedure for such things."
Bailie's smile thins and widens a little again, and she cants her head a little to one side. "Of course." The younger girl draws her hands to clasp at her waist in front of her, and straightens her head again with enough of a jerk that her curls bounce a little. "Sykarin has his own quarters, though he's a harper Journeyman, so... I presume his rank allows for that. I don't see the harm in asking for the same for your handmaid, but I wouldn't be surprised if she were given a bed in the common dorms." A beat, and then a slightly confused, "If you're chaperoning, you'd have your own quarters? Perhaps an arrangement could be made there, if your quarters are big enough?"
Carina sighs, perhaps a bit dramatically although she doesn't seem to have done it on purpose, given that she turns her head away. "I'm staying in the common dorms. Mine is the big trunk that has been blocking up one of the cots. I'd /like/ a private room, but am afraid it wouldn't really make me an effective chaperone." And she wants to be good at it, don't you know. Carina looks back at her. "What I think would be best would be if the Weyr would provide the Blooded women with a large room, like this one, and then we could set up our cots seperately, but I am not sure if they would allocate the resources." Her eyes flick around the room in a roll and then land back at Bailie.
Amused, Bailie's cheeks dimple as she presses her smile a little more tightly to avoid an impolite chuckle at the Bendenite's dramatic sigh. "I haven't had anything to do with the new Igenite leadership team here, and unfortunately have to sway with them, Carina." She's frank now, even dropping titles. "My husband-to-be, however, is surely a different story. I'd talk to him on your behalf, but... it might be construed as favouritism by the other chaperones, and would only lead to jealousy and resentment." She affects a light shrug, hands spreading
Carina laughs, full-throatedly. "Quite true. The timing of my arrival was hardly advantageous to the idea, but then again, I have never been favored with good timing and always make the best of it despite that." She raises a cunning little eyebrow and says, "I doubt I would curry any favors with your intended were I to pursue the matter myself with the Weyrleadership."
"Well." Bailie cants her head again, her pressed smile still intact. "I do doubt Sefton would appreciate anyone taking matters of the Caucus into their own hands," she's careful here, choosing her improper nouns wisely. "But I like to think that as his betrothed, my needs gain special consideration. Now, if a chaperone felt no need to question my late return to bed on certain occasions... I might be inclined to take on her cause as my own?"
"It would be terribly inappropriate for a chaperone to be discuss her charges' indiscretions with anyone other than the Headmaster," Carina says, every bit of Benden propriety slipping into her tone and she straightens even more. "The role requires discretion and the need to deal with such matters in a way that would not do further damage to honor and reputation and I intend to live to that standard." And then she grins, facade cracking in complete delight.
Bailie bats her lashes as she moves to shrug her coat off. "I'm sure you'll make a simply wonderful chaperone here, Carina," she practically purrs back with relish. Folding her coat over one arm, the young Fortian takes a deep breath and expels it slowly. "I won't feel so rushed in my late-night study, then, and I'll be sure that the Headmaster is aware of how uncomfortable the current living arrangement makes me in particular next time we speak." Bailie sips her head low. "If you'll excuse me for now - regrettably, I've a study date, and I should be on my way to fetch my books for it."
Carina tilts her head towards the fire, a knowing look spreading on her face as she picks up that book she so eagerly discarded earlier. She props it open on her lap and then says, "I wouldn't want you to be late on my account. Do take your time, Bailie. The purpose of the Caucus is only served through a studious attention to your work."
Bailie smirks, turning her head toward the barracks to try and hide it. "I'll keep that in mind next time I'm studying late," she murmurs, adding a louder, "Good evening, Carina," before hurrying on her way.
-END LOG-
Players: S'vos, Bailie.
Time: Hmmm. Early spring, is all I can narrow down to. A few RL days ago!
What:
S'vos
Careful care may have once been taken of this man. Scars from long ago seem to have been tended with the utmost tenderness. It's the ones from not-so-long ago that seem to have avoided infirmaries. One such scar lines the high ridge of his cheekbone, nearly tickling the underside of one fiery brown eye. The line of his face is angular and abrupt, high cheekbones giving way to smooth cheeks and a jaw not carved from stone, but molded from clay, instead. His appearance is almost feminine, what with full lips the color of pale pink flowers. His hair, black as night, sweeps over one eye. It's kept shaggy, flipping at the edges lightly. The wind is often its' mistress and whichever way it goes, S'vos seems satisfied.
His riding leathers are in good repair, conforming to an able, yet lithe frame. He is no creature of stern muscle and rigidity. Instead, the physique explored by this young man is a sleeker, flexible one. The sleeves of his jacket are nearly always rolled up, and the front often undone. A shirt of either palest blue or deepest jet decorate his torso. It depends on the day, really. His boots, showing a little wear, line his feet like old comrades: The soles worn down and the laces on the sides frayed at their ends. Around his neck, a black cord is wrapped and tied, devoid of pendant or glitter.
Bailie
Even in winter, Bailie's skin has the healthy hint of a tan, smooth and even. Whilst mostly straight, her dark brown hair flicks into soft waves as it nears her shoulders, where neatly trimmed edges rest. Defined brows sit above strikingly rich brown eyes, lined with thick black lashes. The apples of her cheeks are naturally a little pink, and a small mole mars the right one. Her nose, whilst a little chubby, is well-formed; below it, wide pinks lips curve parallel to her rounded chin. Not unnaturally short, she stands between five and five and a half feet - petite, though curvy enough for her age.
To guard against High Reaches chill autumn and winter, Bailie is clad in a tight-fitting cream top and a billowy rose skirt. Both are embroidered with fawn stitching, several flowers and petals along the hemlines of her waist. Fawn boots without laces cover her feet, pink roses stitched on the sides of the calves to complete the outfit. When outside, a long fawn dress coat keeps her warm, with cream contrast stitching on the lapels and large cream buttons just for show.
A simple necklace of silver and pearl drapes delicately from Bailie's neck. Double strands of silver twist to a central point from which a large, creamy peach pearl dangles. Arrowing upwards from the single pearl are several matching pearls in translucent white, held tightly against the silver.
Southern Bowl
The bowl floor is a broad expanse of gravel and dust, packed flat over decades of dragonweight landing on it. Kept free of vegetation, the only color variation across the vast hollow of the bowl are the dragons, in good weather often found sunning on low ledges or sprawled along the floor itself. The well-worn, charcoal-grey walls of the bowl are nearly vertical, far too steep for even the most adventurous climber to attempt. The rim of the bowl, marked by a rainbow of perching dragons at all times of the day, is topped with massive stone spires that stretch upwards into the blue vault of the sky. There are seven in all, great black fingers of stone that seem, from where you stand, to touch the clouds.
Here the lake dominates the bowl floor, wind-scattered waves lapping at the gravel shore. A few scrawny shrubs to the southeast mark the fenced-in enclosure of the feeding grounds, bordered on its southwestern edge by the lake itself. Following the wall here will lead to the entrance to the weyrling complex and, past that, the stairs that lead to the guest weyr. On the other side of the lake is a vast, yawning tunnel curving upwards slightly, connecting to the long road leading away from High Reaches Weyr. Adjoining the exit is the high arch of the infirmary entrance.
It's a clear winter day and though the sun is clear and bright in a pale blue sky, it's still cold enough that breath will fog in the air. When the wind kicks up, it's icy and mean, nipping at any exposed skin.
Moonlight casts its mottled wiles upon the ground of snow and ice. Tendrils of the glistening powder tend to dance when even the slightest breeze happens upon its temporary rest. Settled upon a swatch of stone close to the Caucus barracks sits a tall man, black hair ruffled now and then as he perches. An instrument comprised of strings and played with an expert flair maintains his fingers' attentions, his voice smoothed along with each note in a song not oft' heard. And with the notes he plays so do the wingbeats of a large brown coincide. The battle-torn creature, terrible and moody, almost looks graceful as the song appears to encase them both.
And from the Caucus barracks emerges a young woman, picture-perfect from head to toe as she usually is. Not a curl out of place, Bailie's only vice tonight is the pursed frown upon her lips as she ventures out into the snow one dainty step at a time. Not caught in the spell that singer and his dragon seem to be trapped in, her attention sweeps around the bowl testily until dark eyes come to rest upon the brown pair. And so, she stares - or rather, almost glares - for a long moment. She taps a heeled boot, purposely offbeat.
"One moment, pretty miss." The man says, his fingers strumming a perfect harmonic chord. He continues, as promised, only a moment longer, the dragon pulling his wings in and spiraling toward the earth as the last notes detach themselves from their instrumental bonds. The brown's wide wings open at the pinnacle moment and he lands with soft form upon the frozen scape. The instrument is stowed to the side and the darkhaired fellow rises to his feet, offering a low, elegant bow. "My apologies, Lady, I did not know that we would be disturbing anyone this evening. There seems to be a big to-do holed up in the caverns. I had thought it a meeting of many." He does not raise, yet.
Bailie's jaw drops slightly open as she's told to wait, sculpted brows shifting high in surprise at the perceived insult. She snaps her teeth shut firmly as the dragon lands, her brown eyes shifting back and forth between him and his scarred rider. She doesn't return the ceremony of S'vos' greeting, nor does she show any gesture to release him from the bounds of etiquette; instead, she's sweeping a skeptical look over the brownrider as she brings her hands to clasp primly at her front. "They're probably taking supper," she explains with little patience, adding that, "While some of us are trying to study. I don't mean to interrupt your song, but perhaps you could find somewhere less central to sing, so that the Caucus students aren't interrupted?" It's clear that by 'Caucus students' she means herself, evident in the self-important cant of her head.
"Seeing as how you, my Lady, are the only one to appear with any complaints about my singing, and so late in our practice session, I feel as though I have interrupted absolutely nothing." The man says, still bowed. To the side, the epic brown rumbles, maw opening and snapping shut in a mimicking gesture of the woman. Is she being mocked by a dragon? It may appear so, for he rumbles afterwards, an amused rumble leaving his lungs. The man finally stands, wholesome brown eyes alighting in the given glows outside the Caucus complex. "And if memory serves, my Lady, your taste has never truly been for scholarly studies." Bold brown eyes now fix themselves on the tan woman's face. The hint of a smile appears upon the rider's lips.
Her brows shift higher still, and Bailie's eyes widen as the bowed rider replies. She blinks a few times, the blush of anger seeping into her cheeks as she catches his dragon's imitation of her in the corner of one eye. Haughtily, and not very ladylike, she wrenches her hands from each other to shove them (with a small wince for the impact of fists now balled) on her hips. Her chin tilts up a little as the brownrider stands tall, so that she might meet his audacious gaze with her own dark stare. "Ex/cuse/ you!" His smile is met by an even harder frown on her part, as she struggles to find the familiarity they obviously share.
"I seem to remember the image of a perfect little lady stacking her books up to just the right height in empty kitchens far from here.. stacked them just perfectly so that she could slip a slender hand into a jar lifted high above the heads of all the other hold children and withdraw one of the head cook's own stash of cookies." The man's hand slips up to rub at a chin only partly dotted by hair. "Yes, I remember it quite well. There was a test the following day that she was miraculously prepared for, regardless of her study habits. Now, as to the reason why she suddenly found herself knowledgeable.. I.. I just can't think of it at this precise moment." His eyes continue to stare off to the side. The brown has found a patch of snow to lay comfortably in, blowing a stream of hot air at the back of Bailie's dress. "Perhaps said little Lady remembers." And now firelight brown eyes center upon her face again, searching deep into her own for some spark, some sign. "Bailie." He says quietly, reverently.
As the blush in her cheeks deepens, it's clear that Bailie's no longer caught up in anger - instead it seems to be embarrassment that keeps her eyes wide and allows her eyebrows to sink back down a notch. Something flickers in her deep brown eyes, and her lips form a surprised little 'o' shape as she continues to study... "Siravos?" Twisting her head to take in his lifemate too, her shock turns to curiosity and her hands slip back to smooth her dress. "But you're so..." In her pause, she turns her look back to S'vos. "You're so..." Another pause. "Tall!"
Another bow, this one more close to form, as the man's arms sweep out to the sides in the classic mockery of formality. "As I always have been, though I suppose you may call me S'vos, these days." The fellow admits softly, a tender smile touching his lips as he regards the woman once more. "And you, dear Lady, are a vision of loveliness I could never have hoped to view again. You have certainly grown into your grace, Bailie." A careful hand reaches out to clasp hers and, if succeeding, bring it to his lips for a light kiss.
"S'vos, sorry," Bailie corrects herself, blinking a few times to try and adjust her memory of the lad to fit his current picture. With a stare less wide and far more friendly, she beams a smile right back at the brownrider, allowing him to take her hand for his purpose. Tilting her chin a little further skyward, she revels in his compliment, lifting shoulders in a soft shrug that simply says, 'Haven't I just?' "Are you visiting someone? And this must be your dragon, I did hear you'd Impressed when they searched you for Fort Weyr. He's," she shoots a sidelong glance at the brown, "Just the right match for you." She says this as though she'd actually /know/.
The brown in question snorts at the girl again, his giant wings, patchy and shredded in places, wave once. Broody as he may be, he does so like getting attention every now and then. "He is the biggest brown you'll see here. And, coincidentally, the surliest." S'vos states, glancing at his lifemate for several long moments. It appears to have been a brief conversation, for after the man's gaze returns to Bailie, the brown's movements shake the ground around them ever so slightly. He trundles closer, large nose lowered so that one hand reaching out from either of them will pat him directly between the nostrils. "If you like, Daenomaketh is rather partial to gorgeous women petting him." The brownrider admits casually. "Actually," He begins, in regards to the 'visiting' question. "We have transferred. M'lik considered my request, and allowed it. My family has moved to the hold here, and my younger brother has been ill for a time and, well.. I'd like to be close to them in the physical always. Betweening is great, but.. there's just the presence of family. Makes a man solid." He explains, his own cheeks going a little red. "And it does so do my heart good to see you here. And a Caucus student! Your family must be extremely proud of you." He beams at the woman.
Bailie's smile thins a little as Daenomaketh approaches, and she shrugs again, a little apologetic this time. "Oh, I don't know... he /is/ big, Si- sorry, S'vos." Though she's not at all awkward, there is a little hesitation as the pretty girl reaches out to briefly touch the dragon's nose. She pulls her hand back quickly. "Oh? I hadn't heard they'd moved, and I'm sorry to hear about your brother. You miss out on lots of the little tidbits being away from home." Speaking of her family - "My father's very proud, Sefton and I go home as often as we can to visit. You heard of my betrothal, I assume? My brothers still laugh about me being here, they don't think I'll last. But we'll see about that!"
The brown emits a sound that could only be best described as a draconic laugh. He pulls his head from the conversation and aims it toward the skies where watch dragons change rounds. S'vos nods his head as she speaks. "Yes, he's doing all right, though. They've got a lot of great healers in the hold, here, and my mother is doing her best alongside them. He should be fine once the weather stops being as horrid as it has been." A brow lifts as the words 'Sefton and I' filter from her lips. And then the word 'betrothal' has the other brow up to its height. "Betrothal!" He stammers a moment, mouth, so used to being a thin line, unreadable, jumps into a grin that belies his age, taking him straight back to boyhood. Without thinking, he reaches out for her shoulders to pull her into a hug. Moments like this sometimes cause him to forget himself. "Congratulations, Bailie! Fantastic news! I will definitely have to meet this fellow of yours." She is released after a moment, and he laughs. "Indeed we shall! From what I remember, your brothers were always quite the pain, anyway. You're doing fine, I bet, and will absolutely wow them."
"Oh, goo-" Bailie's all but cut off by S'vos' response to her betrothal, and her shoulders tighten a little at first as the brownrider draws her close; she's quick, however, to relax into the old familiarity of their youth, and wraps her arms tightly around his waist with a tinkling laugh. "Goodness, S'vos, warn me before you hug so tightly next time? Of course, you'll meet him! How could I not introduce Sef to the man who used to do my homework for me?" Her grin is back, her head now held at an affectionate rather than arrogant tilt. "Speaking of homework, I should probably get back to mine. We can have lunch soon, though? If you're not too busy with... you know. Dragon... ridery... things."
S'vos releases the woman carefully, setting her feet onto the ground first and foremost. Yes. S'vos is famous for bear hugs. Even now. "That's most excellent. I would very much like to meet the man that's stolen the most lovely woman on Pern from the pool of availability." He says, though his tone is light and full of joy. "And I must certainly shake his hand, for you seem happy. If he has done that much already, then he has my approval." Not that that really matters, however.. it just might. "Yes. Homework. I, for one, will not be holding you from that. And should you ever have need of me." He turns to face the bowl, pointing to a dark ledge somewhere high up. "My weyr is up there, and is available to you for visits whenever you see fit." He bows to her once more. "Good night, and good studying. I have missed you." With that, he plucks his instrument from where it lay and, with a final wave, turns toward the brown and disappears into the night sky.
-END LOG-
And secondly, two Ladies find some common ground...
Players: Carina, Bailie.
When: Evening on day 2, month 3, turn 2 of the 7th Pass.
What:
Carina
Carina is the epitome of the dark and mysterious school of beauty. She has an unremarkable face shape, distinguished only by her distinctively proud nose, aquiline in shape. In the season of winter, her skin has paled to a very fair color, the only splash of color being a rosy tint to her cheekbones. Her hazel eyes are outlined in kohl, finely applied, and her dark eyebrows she keeps trimmed to a medium width -- the better for a striking gaze. Carina's long dark hair has been pinned up today and away from her face by a matching set of large silver clips. The clips have spokes coming off of them, a spray each of three teardrop shaped pearls tipping them.
Today, Carina has dressed appropriately for the cold, yet manages an extravagence in layers of white undoubtedly inspired by the purity of snow. Her sweater is a soft piled wool, bleached to a point where just the barest hint of the natural buff color remains. The neck of it is an exuberant scalloped turtleneck, the fabric flopping just below her chin. She has on over it a blindingly white coat made of a stiffer, coarser wool that is cinched at the waist, reaching midcalf in length. The buttons are half-done up, round ones made of tortoise-shell. Under her layers, she has on white slacks and neutral buff-colored suede boots with trim of white fur.
Carrying:
Carina's Purse
Bailie
Even in winter, Bailie's skin has the healthy hint of a tan, smooth and even. Whilst mostly straight, her dark brown hair flicks into soft waves as it nears her shoulders, where neatly trimmed edges rest. Defined brows sit above strikingly rich brown eyes, lined with thick black lashes. The apples of her cheeks are naturally a little pink, and a small mole mars the right one. Her nose, whilst a little chubby, is well-formed; below it, wide pinks lips curve parallel to her rounded chin. Not unnaturally short, she stands between five and five and a half feet - petite, though curvy enough for her age.
To guard against High Reaches chill autumn and winter, Bailie is clad in a tight-fitting cream top and a billowy rose skirt. Both are embroidered with fawn stitching, several flowers and petals along the hemlines of her waist. Fawn boots without laces cover her feet, pink roses stitched on the sides of the calves to complete the outfit. When outside, a long fawn dress coat keeps her warm, with cream contrast stitching on the lapels and large cream buttons just for show.
A simple necklace of silver and pearl drapes delicately from Bailie's neck. Double strands of silver twist to a central point from which a large, creamy peach pearl dangles. Arrowing upwards from the single pearl are several matching pearls in translucent white, held tightly against the silver.
Caucus Common Area
The common area between the two barracks has been made over into a sort of lounge area. Several sitting areas have been marked out by the use of cheerful rugs and circles of chairs and couches. Low tables are set in the center of each of these areas, and provide a place to set mugs of klah or reading material. A small hearth has been built at the east end of the room. There are never less than two pots of fresh klah simmering over the fire built within.
Carina is sitting upright in one of the fluffy chairs, which she has brought closer to the hearth. She is still wearing her white coat, but it has been loosened and allowed to fall open around her. She has an opened book in her hands, propped up against her knees pressed tightly together. From time to time she fitfully looks up, clearly not that interested in the reading material.
The wind does not discriminate, apparently, for as Bailie enters the commons it's quite clearly had a go at her usually perfectly-set curls. Never one to enter a room unnannounced, the Fortian beauty makes much of a fuss of huffing as she smooths her skirt, then moving onto putting this curl and that back in its rightful place. Multitasking, her daintily booted feet carry her eastward to the hearth; once there, she's unbuttoning her coat and blinking a few times as she studies the fire within.
Her entrance is caught during one of Carina's fussy moments with the book, and she shuts it with a loud slap and sets it aside between thigh and armrest. "Lady Bailie!" She says with a delighted smile and a wee little clap of her hands.
Bailie's attention shifts as Carina greets her, wide dark eyes settling on the Benden woman for a short moment before she musters a smile to match. "Lady Carina," slips out too, before the younger of the two finds her high-watt smile and beams it brightly. She doesn't clap either, for she's starting to warm her hands a little by holding them out in front of her. "I wasn't aware of your presence at Caucus." Her tone is quite formal, "I /do/ hope I haven't overlooked you, and that you've only recently arrived?"
"I'm quite recently arrived," Carina says quickly enough, lifting a hand to wave off any formal concerns. "Your Sefton has hired me to keep an eye on all of the young ladies of note at the Caucus and to keep them out of trouble." Her hands are returned to her lap, and her smile fades to a more natural one. "I presume that includes you, although I highly doubt you are any trouble at all."
"Ah," Bailie's relieved, and her smile relaxes just a tiny bit with a toss of her shiny curls. She flips her hands around to warm the other sides, and her brows lift a touch; "He did?" There's surprise now in her timbre, but it's measured. "Well, I can assure you of that, Lady Carina. My private tutor is here as well, so I've all the chaperone I need between Sefton, Sykarin and now yourself - no time for mischeif, even if I wanted to cause it."
Carina gives a sharp little nod, "None the less, I will be careful not to give you preferential treatment. It would only lead to jealousy and resentment." She ahs, and says, "The matter of your private tutor -- I would like to send for my handmaid, but I do not know where she would be roomed. Perhaps you could enlighten me as to the proceedure for such things."
Bailie's smile thins and widens a little again, and she cants her head a little to one side. "Of course." The younger girl draws her hands to clasp at her waist in front of her, and straightens her head again with enough of a jerk that her curls bounce a little. "Sykarin has his own quarters, though he's a harper Journeyman, so... I presume his rank allows for that. I don't see the harm in asking for the same for your handmaid, but I wouldn't be surprised if she were given a bed in the common dorms." A beat, and then a slightly confused, "If you're chaperoning, you'd have your own quarters? Perhaps an arrangement could be made there, if your quarters are big enough?"
Carina sighs, perhaps a bit dramatically although she doesn't seem to have done it on purpose, given that she turns her head away. "I'm staying in the common dorms. Mine is the big trunk that has been blocking up one of the cots. I'd /like/ a private room, but am afraid it wouldn't really make me an effective chaperone." And she wants to be good at it, don't you know. Carina looks back at her. "What I think would be best would be if the Weyr would provide the Blooded women with a large room, like this one, and then we could set up our cots seperately, but I am not sure if they would allocate the resources." Her eyes flick around the room in a roll and then land back at Bailie.
Amused, Bailie's cheeks dimple as she presses her smile a little more tightly to avoid an impolite chuckle at the Bendenite's dramatic sigh. "I haven't had anything to do with the new Igenite leadership team here, and unfortunately have to sway with them, Carina." She's frank now, even dropping titles. "My husband-to-be, however, is surely a different story. I'd talk to him on your behalf, but... it might be construed as favouritism by the other chaperones, and would only lead to jealousy and resentment." She affects a light shrug, hands spreading
Carina laughs, full-throatedly. "Quite true. The timing of my arrival was hardly advantageous to the idea, but then again, I have never been favored with good timing and always make the best of it despite that." She raises a cunning little eyebrow and says, "I doubt I would curry any favors with your intended were I to pursue the matter myself with the Weyrleadership."
"Well." Bailie cants her head again, her pressed smile still intact. "I do doubt Sefton would appreciate anyone taking matters of the Caucus into their own hands," she's careful here, choosing her improper nouns wisely. "But I like to think that as his betrothed, my needs gain special consideration. Now, if a chaperone felt no need to question my late return to bed on certain occasions... I might be inclined to take on her cause as my own?"
"It would be terribly inappropriate for a chaperone to be discuss her charges' indiscretions with anyone other than the Headmaster," Carina says, every bit of Benden propriety slipping into her tone and she straightens even more. "The role requires discretion and the need to deal with such matters in a way that would not do further damage to honor and reputation and I intend to live to that standard." And then she grins, facade cracking in complete delight.
Bailie bats her lashes as she moves to shrug her coat off. "I'm sure you'll make a simply wonderful chaperone here, Carina," she practically purrs back with relish. Folding her coat over one arm, the young Fortian takes a deep breath and expels it slowly. "I won't feel so rushed in my late-night study, then, and I'll be sure that the Headmaster is aware of how uncomfortable the current living arrangement makes me in particular next time we speak." Bailie sips her head low. "If you'll excuse me for now - regrettably, I've a study date, and I should be on my way to fetch my books for it."
Carina tilts her head towards the fire, a knowing look spreading on her face as she picks up that book she so eagerly discarded earlier. She props it open on her lap and then says, "I wouldn't want you to be late on my account. Do take your time, Bailie. The purpose of the Caucus is only served through a studious attention to your work."
Bailie smirks, turning her head toward the barracks to try and hide it. "I'll keep that in mind next time I'm studying late," she murmurs, adding a louder, "Good evening, Carina," before hurrying on her way.
-END LOG-