In which Nolee and a rider contingent visit Sudee Hold to survey damaged stones and request tithes
Nolee, Caitlyn, Kintryth, Balinne, Zelieth, Tzivya, Feryth, V'lano, npc Amalie, npc Jesson, npc Avom, npc F'rgen, npc Chaumreth, plot, holders, threadfall, cothold
Special thanks to V'lano for playing npcs Amalie, Jesson, and Avom.
Nalaieth> Ista - Sudee Hold(#4841RJ)
Nalaieth> Beholden to Rocky Hold, this medium sized cothold is surrounded on three sides by the Istan jungle. The thick canopy shields the courtyard and other areas within the hold's walls from even the view of cleverly-flying sweepriders. The fire tower and drum heights extend upward, their sigils identifying the freestanding stone building below as Sudee cothold, and the sties just beyond as porcine grounds.
At a closer proximity, the rough-hewn stone of the central yard and the main hold building itself is chipping and cracking in places, needing reset and replaced. Weeds poke through cracks and joins in the stone, some bolder vining species reaching up the walls toward the shady overhangs provided by their ancestors reaching over the walls from above.
The main entrance to the cothold proper is up a few uneven steps, its grandeur fading under constant use. One corner of the courtyard contains an awning over an area set to welcome visitors with refreshments. The sounds of creaking wheels belong to the few carts pushed across the courtyard, testament to the constant work expected by hold residents, and the scents of jasmine and nearby porcines are strong in the air.
The wet summer season oppresses the island with high humidity and sweltering temperatures. This morning, clouds interrupt the sky and the air hardly moves more than a whisper.
The morning draws long shadows from the tall trees that close in around the walls of the hold, decorating the courtyard in streaks of cool and light. In the corner sheltered by the awning a woman perhaps in her late thirties, dressed well enough to greet company, bends over a small table, pouring some sort of citrus drink from an enormous pitcher into a more lovely cut-glass carafe. Up on the steps a man somewhat that woman's senior leans, his workaday clothes dressed up only by the fact that they are spotless and recently pressed. A younger man leans a step lower, his hip lodged jaunty against no visible support, hands behind his back. He's the lookout, by their postures; the older man, Holder Jesson, picks at his nails while his wife fusses with the drinks. But the young man, broad and brawny and finely made, looks up into the sky, waiting for the sight of dragons.
Nalaieth pops from between, circling lazily above the jungle-bound hold until the rest of the rider contingent appears. Chaumreth emerges as well, the grizzled blue dark against the morning sky, his rider a long lean line on his back. "I hope I got the time right," calls Nolee against the wind. "Thought it was afternoon, but they wanted morning. Even got up early to get ready." She peers downward, waits for companions, then takes Nalaieth to the courtyard below, the dragon's nails clacking on the unsteady stone as they land.
Nolee and Nala, carefully formal on this somewhat important day, landing smartly behind the goldpair. She watches for the others behind her to stay in place, then casting her gaze on Nolee again.
Zelieth's wings fold against her back as she lands with the others. With a haughty snort, she surveys the cothold as Balinne fusses with her straps and her helmet. She goes so far as to pull it from her head, but that's it. She remains where she is, seated upon her dragon, until other orders are given. A funny little smile, and a soothing hand on Zelieth's neck are all the outward answer she's giving the green.
In her place in the small formation, Feryth pops from between with a small blast of cold air. Agile of wing, cleaned and oiled to perfection, she is a picture-perfect example of a newly-graduated weyrling. She lands with the others, and Tzivya hops down from her back. Taking off her gloevs and helmet - her good leathers, definately out to make an impression - she turns towards Caitlyn with an expectant look as she waits for instruction.
Amalie unbends from her citrusade-pouring and raises a hand to shade her eyes against the shafts of morning light, looking out at the dragons that have come and the riders that make ready to come down from them. She's smiling.
"Well, that answers that," murmurs the gravelly-voiced older man, who then turns on a boot and disappears into his hold. The younger fellow - a man of perhaps twenty-five turns, all of them likely spent working hard in sweaty jungle if his muscular build and shining bald head are any indication, half-turns after the Holder, coughing up a wordless monosyllabic protest to be left alone to make formal greetings - but he -must- make those greetings, so he turns back out and puts on his best face for meeting dragonmen. A smile, chin up, shoulders back. False confidence keeps his eyes a little too wide, especially as Nalaeith grows larger in seeming by comparison to the small courtyard she's landed within. "Weyrwoman," he calls out, raising a hand, and hops down the steps. "Welcome to Sudee. My name is Avom, and it's a pleasure to have you."
Behind Avom, Jesson reappears in the hold doorway, frowning, arms crossed. "Finally," he adds, low.
Chaumreth completes the triangle, taking up position as such, his rider stern of composition and steady of posture, waiting for the appropriate cues, cheek twitching as the apparent holder turns his back on them: he doesn't like being late.
Nolee dismounts, leaving behind the helmet, gloves, and goggles of her occupation, and slides to the ground, gesturing for the others to do the same and trying not to notice Tzivya's eagerness. She makes a rather non-surreptitious survey of the place, brows drawing downward in consternation as she takes it all in. "Morning. Thank you for having us, and greetings from Ista Weyr," hails the goldrider, making a quick round of what can only be memorized and prompted-by-Nalaieth introductions of those who accompany her.
Caitlyn waits until Nolee dismounts, following protocol to the best of her knowledge, keeping to formality like a kind of protective armor - then stripping her helmet, goggles, gloves off - leaving them behind on Kintryth as she too dismounts. Her best polite smile is firmly in place, though her eyes serruptitiously scan the holding.
Balinne gives Zelieth's neck a final soothing stroke before following Caitlyn and Nolee's example: stripping down and dismounting. She smiles politely towards Avom, and bobs her head at the greeting. She finds her way to Caitlyn's side, taking up a comfortable and routine position there. She flicks a quick glance at Tzivya, and grins.
Feryth casts a haughty look over the holders, a dismissive and brief glance over each. Beside her, Tzivya moves over towards Caitlyn and Balinne. The woman's words get a curious look from her, as if she's trying to work through what she didn't say; in doing so she misses her aunt's smile. As one or two possible meanings land on her that she doesn't like, her polite smile fades just a little, the sincere edge to it cooling.
Chaumreth's rider pats the side of the blue dragon once he's reached the ground, a gesture perhaps made for balance as his boot crunches and slips against a loose piece of the cobbled stone of the courtyard. His steady and solid expression betrays little even on his lined and weathered face even as he's approached, a traditionalist at best who doesn't seem overly surprised that the young Wingleader's not the first approached. "A tour? We'd be honored to see more of Sudee."
Nalaieth is restless, her tail lashing back and forth and scattering bits of the crumbled rock. Nolee watches the holder's youth stride toward the older rider, the only male of their contingent, and her lips purse. "Thank you; I'd like that. Meanwhile, perhaps my Wingleader, Kintryth's, could be of assistance...?" However, her place is to make nicities, so she leaves the riders to, well, fend for themselves as she accepts the offer. "Until your husband is" a quick glance to where the man vanished inside, "available."
"Kintryth's...?" Amalie, too, makes the obvious error, glancing first at Chaumreth's - then at the woman who wears the -knot- that defines her as Wingleader. "Oh, of course. Avom will take them to see the grounds," says the holder's wife then, with a glance at Avom that is meant to inspire small wisps of smoke to rise upward from the back of the lad's bald head. She does not quite succeed, however, and Avom remains ignorant of his faux pas, while Amalie has no other recourse but a small sigh, a pressed smile, and a hand to offer Nolee the way toward citrusade and a seat in the shade.
Chaumreth's rider doesn't...well, Cait isn't terribly happy. But she promised Nolee she'd keep the peace, and so instead of overtly pressuring, she pipes up lightly to the goldrider's words, "How can we help you, good lady? I'm Caitlyn, blue Kintryth's rider, Wingleader." Her hand lifts to then indicate Nolee. "Weyrwoman Nolee and her Nalaieth," and then the hand flicks fingers lightly to the others near her, "wingsecond Balinne and her green Zelieth, and wingrider Tzivya and her green Feryth."
Balinne wears a pleasant smile, perfectly suited for this type of situation, though not terribly sincere. It's an arched eyebrow and a wary glance towards Caitlyn when the misunderstanding occures, and a smile, barely noticable relaxation when it's over. Gah, holders. "Nice to meet you," she pipes up, just to be nice.
Tzivya, for a moment, watches Avelie. At Caitlyn's introduction, a sunny smile comes out and a glimmer of the cheer she is known for, giving the woman a politly raised hand in greeting. "Ma'am!" Her voice is crisp and clear as she greets the woman, utterly ignoring Avom and failign to recognise his presence at all.
"There's not so much to see," Avom confesses. It's on those words that Jesson disappears again inside his hold, apparently leaving to see to it that the men - whatever Amalie would have said next. If his words caused his uncle displeasure, Avom doesn't seem aware of it; he's busy opening a hand out to one side, apparently to lead the non-weyrwoman riders off on their 'tour.' Until, that is, Caitlyn sees fit to address herself to Amalie instead of him, a strange move that has Avom's complete and confused-looking attention. 'Wingleader,' he mouths then, and glances at Chaumreth's rider, then at Kintryth's, then at Kintryth himself as if he sort of expects the dragon to be something special. (If he only knew!) "Ah, wingleader," says Avom then. "Will you be staying for drinks or...?" Touring, presumably.
Nolee accepts the offered hand and steps off toward the awning, nodding as Caitlyn clarifies the introductions, not quite catching whether Avom's error is intentional or accidental. Consternation fades as Caity responds well, Nolee smiling at the bluerider then at their hostess as she steps along toward that corner of the courtyard, tripping only a few times on cracks in the stone beneath their feet, and leaving her friends with the brawny hold youth.
Chaumreth's nods with a crisp "F'rgen, Chaumreth's. Well met," to Avom as he is left out of the introductions, taking that as plenty of hint that she's expecting to do the representing for their group. One graying brow quirks toward the women: will they then be staying to have tea, or aiding in the business at hand?
Nolee accepts the offered hand and steps off toward the awning, nodding as Caitlyn clarifies the introductions, not quite catching whether Avom's error is intentional or accidental. Consternation fades as Caity responds well, Nolee smiling at the bluerider then at their hostess as she steps along toward that corner of the courtyard, tripping only a few times on cracks in the stone beneath their feet, and leaving her friends with the brawny hold youth.
Caitlyn gives F'rgen a small beam - half humor, half lash of whip via eyes, and then gives a small nod to Nolee. "By your leave, ma'am, we'll go and tour the grounds, perhaps see what we can do to help." Her gaze sweeps all the others besides the weyrwoman, then latches tightly to Avom. "Please show us what you will, good sir." Her back is ramrod straight, chin slightly lifted, making her seem taller than she really is.
Balinne flicks imaginary dust from the back of her other hand, effectively stiffling a grin. She hops forwards, close to Caitlyn, and leans in close, whispering something softly into her ear. That done, she steps back once more, and awaits the 'tour' of the grounds. Zelieth huffs from behind her, curls up, and appears to take a nap.
"Don't mind the stones," says Amalie, apologetic, as the weyrwoman trips a bit along the way to drinks and rest. Her voice lowers then, until they're a few steps along. "You must forgive my husband, weyrwoman. It's been turns since - well, Jesson wasn't comfortable with riders here before - you know." This does give Nolee a lot of credit for (or expectation of) filling in the gaps, but Amalie moves along in blissful ignorance of her own, ready to welcome the junior goldrider to a chair beneath the awning.
Tzivya falls into now silent step with the other riders; nothing could make her seem much taller than she is, so it's little surprise how easily she's lost in the knot of people following after the holder man. Behind her, Feryth nestles down and closes her eyes, though it's clear enough to those who know dragonkin she is far from sleeping, so much as riding along with her rider.
Avom's posture echoes Caitlyn's. He has a few inches on her in height and what might feel like whole ballfields on her in breadth, though, and the shrug of his shoulders is an enormous gesture of false comraderie and comfort. He gives F'rgen a glance - sorry, man? - then leads the way to the courtyard's gate, where hinges may be noted to be pulling out of the stone. The holes have been re-puttied and the gate moved so new holes could be bored several times, leaving the pale rock repeatedly pockmarked. "If you'd like to come around the outside and walk the perimeter with me, look up and see the pretty side of the place, I can get the gate open - ?"
Kintryth remains 'seated' on his hind limbs, appearing even more unremarkable than the other dragons - purposefully drooping his wings out rather slovenly-like, his neck and head at odd angles. Playing the 'sad, stupid' beast.
F'rgen is prepared to fall into line, his chosen spot in it the back, where he can look but not touch as it were, leaving the mission-leading to the wingleader. He nods to Avom: one of patient indulgence of the Wingleader's youth and gender and rank, and manages a very small smile which wanes in noting the wear to the gate-stone.
Nalaieth remains attentive, alerted to the potential tensions at bay, her tail in steady but slow motion from side to side, sweeping the cobble clear and blundering over the weeds in its path. Nolee reaches the awning, settles into a seat as she's welcomed thence, and tries to uncrinkle her forehead and take advantage of her time with a somewhat receptive audience. "We're hoping to help fill in more," she pipes cheerfully. "If we get a good sense for what's needed, our ranks can plan to be of assistance."
"No thank you, good man," Cait intones briskly, that rather stiff smile still on her features, but not really touching her eyes. "We really want to help you, so we need to see what's the worst off at your holding...what needs fixing...Yes, just as the weyrwoman says." As her eyes flick to Nolee, she allows them to then slide over the green-filled courtyard, the somewhat run down gate, too. As her glance accidentally meets F'rgen's, she gives him a tiny nod. Yes, I noticed.
To her credit, Balinne doesn't so much as let her eyes twinkle. She just nods her head at Caitlyn's answer, falls into step, and looks around the cothold with interest. As they pause so that Avom can fiddle with the gate, she makes a show of stooping down, and plucking greenry from between the stones. "Hmm," she says towards Tzivya, her voice loud enough to be heard by the entire group, but not obviously so, "Bit of green growing up around here." It's casual, a simple remark, and she lets the bits of plant fall back to the ground.
"Right. See the worst of it then." Avom dares a quick smile for Caitlyn, and met with ice, turns his attention instead to the hold's gate. A hand goes up onto the worn iron, pressing just enough that the gate-door swings a little on its creaking hinges; dust comes down out of the limestone into which those hinges are set, and Avom moves on, leading his tour along the wall in a direction that will take them inevitably back to the hold's entrance (the way Jesson went). "Don't mind the weeds," he notes, pausing pace only to note Balinne's greenery-inspection; then the young man tilts up his head and squints into the trees whose lush branches overhang the Hold wall. "The birds, y'know? They drop seeds like you wouldn't believe. It's impossible. At least it's soft on the feet." And he walks on.
Chaumreth's [rider's] eyes avert from the Wingleader's to rest on that wiggling bit of greenery Balinne's revealed, the set of his jaw an intentional effort to remain silent and allow his betters to speak while he, as it were, takes notes. Traditionalism, it seems, does not approve of stray greenery above or below, and the overhanging branches are also met with a staunch expression, though this time he also folds his arms.
Caitlyn 'hmms' thoughtfully to Balinne, giving neaby greenery an almost absent prod with her boot toe. "Weeds..." she murmurs offhandedly, then giving a glance to Avom, a little shrug, looking to Balinne again. "Where did you gather your gate stones from? Maybe we can help finding something tougher than limestone this time." Yes, Cait's using her knowledge of geology to her benefit.
Back under the awning, Amalie pours for Nolee a tall glass of the cold drink and smiles. "That's what Jesson's needed to hear. He's so - well - I'm sorry, ma'am. It's just been difficult for him to see so much of our hard work go down the road - " As Avom's tour leads the other riders a little farther away from the 'hospitality station' she tends, Amalie looks up at the Hold's steps, where her husband disappeared, and sighs another small prim sigh, standing beside Nolee's chair. "He's really concerned about the walls. He doesn't -like- for it to look this way, it's just that we can't afford to have rock shipped and then carted and - well." A small smile, down at the weyrwoman, so much younger. Fond eyes. "I'm sure he'll worry you about that enough. How is the Weyr doing? We hear - rumors, you know. One of the mainland holds."
Balinne isn't *trying* to be rude, but she does appear concerned at Avom's lack of worry over the weeds. She keeps her mouth locked shut, and only the barest flutter of her attention says that she's speaking with Zelieth.
Far enough away under the awning that the rider's words are faint, Nolee focuses on Amalie, and on that beverage she's offered. Things are so much nicer with something to drink. "Please reassure him that we're interested in being of assistance, and could arrange transportation for the cargo, particularly if the weyr's tithings arrived on time, as we'd spend less time sweeping for a tithe train that may be lost." She hangs her head, using the situation to her advantage. "Things are not so well, truth be told. The tales you're hearing, if they speak of Thread, they're not just tales. There was another one, just this sevenday, over Boll."
Tzivya looks rather shocked at the casual commentary on weeds. "I figured the way holders breed, they'd just have the kids do the weeding, since it doesn't take a Wingleader to pull grass up." She just can't help herself sometimes. Padding along at the end of the pack, her eyes dart around from place to place, taking in everything as she does so, for herself and for Feryth.
"Shipped from the mainland, story goes. Long before I was born, ma'am." Avom brightens a bit to be able to answer Caitlyn with relative completeness on a topic the riders seem inclined to treat as a solvable problem. "There's quartz under your feet, partly, and something else they brought in to fill the gaps after one of the quakes a few turns back. If you look at the wall you can see cracks from that, too." He leads their path closer to the wall - the weeds include, there, some vines that creep high upward from between stones along the rock toward the greenery overhanging above, like stalactites and stalagmites in partnership - and runs fingertips along an obvious crack for example. They stop their path though, when Tzivya speaks, and Avom leans, back-arching, to look down the line of riders at the one who spoke. A moment's silence. Then: "We haven't had a marriage in a few turns, miss. If we had a weyrful of out-of-wedlock littles here it'd be different."
Caitlyn clenches her teeth, then rounds on Tzivya, not with words, but with that crackling gaze and press of lips into a thin line that should do *more* than warn her of her mouth. Turning back to their 'host' when he jabs at Weyr morals, she manages to keep her tongue in her head - instead moving to inspect that crack with eyes and fingers. "I see...hmm. Well, hopefull we can get some metamorphic rock from nearer the extinct volcanoes. Stands up better to time than porous limestone."
"Boll! But they have - they have -crops- there," protests Amalie, as if her nearing-forty-turns wouldn't be enough (they are) that she'd witnessed dragonriders fighting Thread over croplands just as good as anywhere else. As if Thread should avoid crops on principle. "Ma'am, the tithe - well, he's - Jesson - " Ugh. The holder's wife has to pour -herself- a cup of citrusade to get over this, and take a sip, and fan her face a little, and sit down and take another sip, and -then- she can talk some more. "Jesson figures the Weyr owes us better than transport, ma'am, if we're paying tithe. I mean, in -this- day and age. You understand." She's sure Nolee understands. Just certain.
F'rgen very slowly closes his eyes as the barely-graduated weyrling allows her mouth to fall open and words to course out. A low clearing of his throat arrives in time, a subtle hint that the girl's words may not be well received. And indeed, they are not. "Meanwhile, if your groundcrews have sufficient flamethrowers, this could be burned off, though that would discolor the stone," he muses, the holder's return insult ringing true enough that he doesn't address it.
Balinne winces inwardly, and then outwardly. So much for pleasantries. She smiles politely towards Avom, "We'd be happy to assist you in removing it. The dragons can flame a little, and it shouldn't be as difficult to maintain after that." Smile.
"We're willing to provide transport," Nolee repeats, a dutiful weyrwoman who is echoing exactly what's been repeated to her. "Provided tithe arrives on time. We could also provide the manpower to help with replacements, but that can be spared only if your hold tends to the greenery rampantly growing in your courtyard, a move that is especially important in -this- day and age." She sits forward in the chair, anxious enough that she has to squint into the distance a moment to maintain her composure. "Yes, there are crops there. It's a terrible shame--and the riders cannot predict the fall's locations accurately, for they defy all predictions."
Tzivya turns a pretty shade of red and clenhes her mouth shut; she doesn't go as far to apologise, taking the admonation to stay quite quite to heart. Her steps take on a more rigid tone s she reigns in her relaxation, looking much more the quiet wingrider she is supposed to be rather than the relaxed woman.
Avom unbends, smiling only when Tzivya seems to have been quelled. Just as well if he doesn't realize that it wasn't likely -his- remark that stilled her tongue. "Groundcrews," he says, as if the word's a little alien to him. "When I was little and there was Threadfall, sir, basically all the young men turned out to fight and the women turned out to tend the wounded and us kids fetched and carried. I don't have the first idea where the flamethrowers would be if we have them, but - " But Balinne's mentioning that unique dragonly skill, burping up fire, and though Avom's eyes widen a bit, so does his mouth. He smiles, finally, a smile all full of handsome teeth in his brawny jaw. "If that's what we have to do," he says, with a shrug. "The roots make the stones looser, so I'm sure Uncle won't mind." He leads the wingriders along away from the wall toward the steps.
"Doesn't the very... idea of... that happening defy all predictions? I mean, this is -not- Pass. This is -not- supposed to happen." And make no mistake, Amalie -disapproves greatly- of Thread falling in -this- day and age. Hmf. "The men get so busy with the hogs, ma'am, the courtyard's hard to tend. The plants do tend to hide the problems with the rock, though - look, there." She points. "That vine has such a gorgeous orange flower in spring."
F'rgen's taken to chewing on one section of the inside if his cheek, the better to stay silent, particularly as the youth confesses the hold's utter absence of even a useful flamethrower, his steps crackling as boots cross rough patches in the yard. Chaumreth shifts, then stills, an exchange between them apparent.
"Dragonfire can be quite effective, and it's less harsh to the soil than things like agenothree and human-made flamethrowers - not that either of those others are bad," Caitlyn drones on, nodding to Avom - gesturing for him to lead on. "But flamethrowers and chemicals are needed when dragons aren't near to help protect this hold. You need to find them near-immediately, good man. Thread respects only fire, acid, and deep water."
Balinne's nose twitches, and she falls into step. "There is Threadfall again," she murmers, mostly to herself. She steps carefully, keeping a look out for loose stones that may trip her up.
Nolee leans back in her seat, sipping at the beverage as though tranquility and calm resided inside. "I know--we can hardly believe it either. Heaps of people have been hurt, crops lost, a few people and riders lost, too." A pause, then, "You have porcines! That's right. I wondered what that smell was." Ut-oh, she's deviated from the script. "I mean, they must take up heaps of time, but even if you picked a few weeds each day it could help. Or if you cut back that big vined tree over there." The one that's hanging over the wall, maybe? "Jays, it is a nice flower--maybe you could make a place to sit just outside the hold walls, so if something happened, the inside'd still be clear."
"- Smell -" Amalie looks at Nolee for a moment wide-eyed. Then calms herself with a little finger-fanning of her face and a sip of her citrusade. There's just nothing else she can say. Gardening concerns are impossible to focus on when a weyrwoman's just insulted your air.
The tour comes to a somewhat abrupt halt when Jesson appears once more between the hold's doors. Avom stops short almost chin-to-chin with his uncle, then steps aside to make introductions. "Uncle Jesson, this is the Wingleader Caitlyn and her riders." Better to introduce none than two and skip one. Another glance at the male bluerider - sorry again, man.
Caitlyn gives a nod and a quiet smile of greeting to Jesson, her gaze clear, level on his. "Greetings from Ista Weyr, holder Jesson. We're here to see if we might be able to help with some repairs to your holding... given the go-ahead from our Leaders, of course. There seems to be a need for hardier rock than limestone, and a definite need to clear back much greenery that's encroached on the hold-proper." Her tones are clear, almost bland.
Balinne stops short, managing not to run into anyone as the tour comes to an end. She clasps her arms behind her back, and gives another concerned glance towards the weeded floor. She says nothing, but her attention is sharply focused upon Caitlyn, and Jesson.
"And of course we'll have to pay for whatever stone you suggest?" Jesson flicks up a brow and narrows an eye on Caitlyn, mouth angry and pursed. "I'll arrange for the stonework myself if I can just get your riders to carry it." Without even a glance for Avom, the holder tromps heavily down the steps, turning his path toward Nolee and his wife. But he talks all along the way, so the others are obliged to follow along if they want to maintain conversation. "We're so busy trying to make sure we can keep the sows producing - thirty head of hogs a season wants the Weyr! from us! - there's hardly time to be bothered weeding, dragonrider. You have no idea what it's like farming in jungle like this. At least when Thread fell the trees knew their place." He goes on stomping along, calling out his grouchy-respectful greeting of "Weyrwoman!" as he goes.
F'rgen nods crisply, first to Avom, then to Jesson. "Well met," his only words, his lanky form still perfectly postured, graying hair ruffled by the midmorning breeze.
A perfect moment for the Lord's return! Nolee crinkles her mouth and blinks her large bovinish brown eyes, and Nalaieth croons encouragement through the moment of silence just before Caitlyn speaks...and remains that way, stunned by his vehement burst.
Caitlyn isn't exactly sure if the holders will have to pay or not, but the confrontational attitude of Jesson leaves her smarting, the bluerider's eyes glowering quietly as she strides longly to pace him. Those who know her can tell she's forcing herself to try and pick her words carefully. "Holder Jesson, whether you or the Weyr picks up the tab for the stone, there's no doubting that Sudee *needs* clearing and renovation, or Thread will sooner or later have it's way. We can fire back part of the greeery with our dragons, but *you* are ultimately in charge of the welfare of those who live here."
Jesson was trying to greet the weyrwoman. He was trying - Amalie is meant to notice this, certainly - to be politic, to be nice, to say hello-weyrwoman-how-have-you-been-bring-me-rocks-and-I'll-give-you-pigs-bye. But what he's doing now is wheeling around on a heel to look at Caitlyn with what could be best considered narrow suspicion. "Can't renovate without rock. Can't get rock without tithe. Pay tithe, hard to afford rock. And you want to worry about Thread that isn't falling and weeds!" His eyes widen, as though this disconnect with reality is really rather shocking - but the man is middle-aged and his work is wearying and after another split-second he seems to shrink a little, deflated by a sigh. "Fine. If you're going to help with the green, I'll take it. Any help from a dragonrider is fine by me."
Chaumreth shakes his head, clearing an annoying gathering of winged insects, then stills. F'rgen's arms remain folded, his smile terse and interested in how this will all play out.
Nalaieth rises a forelimb, scratching at the space between the stones with a high-pitched, talons-on-stone noise and scraping away some of the greenery therein: even a queen is willing to lend a ...hand. Or perhaps she's just making noise to be disruptive, a sound to follow Zelieth's bellow. "We could send a few riders to try to help locate and repair your tanks, if that is what is needed," comes the chirrupy voice of Nolee, "to be sure your home is kept safe."
Kintryth gives a mellow croon to his clutchsister and dam, head bobbing slightly as he holds his 'broken' pose, lazing in the warm air.
All of the dragons' 'talking' has Avom looking over at them with an expression that could be considered curious at best, anxious at worst.
Dragon> Kintryth bespoke Nalaieth with << Caitlyn wants me to have you ask yours if she'll allow a firestone clearing of whatever greenery we can reach right now. I have a full sack of stone on my harness. >>
What can Cait say when she doesn't have the ultimate say? The bluerider looks over to the dragons, then to Nolee with an expression of, 'A little help, please.'
Nalaieth> Kintryth senses that Nalaieth hesitates, then returns, << Mine is not opposed. She is...bewildered by the Holder, and encourages yours to do what she thinks is best. >>
Jesson is surrounded by silence, including a wife whose silence comes in the form of a wary wide-eyed look and a hand over her mouth. The holder regards the women and the one man, then lets out a steam of breath. "We'll have something for the Weyr on the next train south. Weyrwoman, we've got a quarry in mind, but your Wingleader her suggested something local. If I see a favorable quote for the amount of rock we need - " He steps around the table with the drinks on it and puts a hand down on his wife's shoulder, turning to face the riders as a group as best he can. "With someone coming out to see about the tanks, we'll call it even."
Caitlyn gives a great sigh at something, then looks at all her fellow riders. "I have a sack of 'stone with Kintryth. Feed all your dragons accordingly from it, and fire back the green that threatens the hold most directly, if you please." She turns a look on Jesson that seem surprised, but quickly covers it witha more neutral expression.
Balinne's mouth twitches, but she says nothing. She shares words with Zelieth silently, and then at Caitlyn's command, gives a salute and heads for the waiting dragon.
Nolee usefully uses that moment to take a sip of the citrusade. A big sip. Then another. She smiles to the hold's Lady, setting her cup down. "That's very good," she praises her hostess. Rising, she nods to Jesson. "We'll send someone soon, hopefully within the sevenday, and the Wingleader will contact her friends--someone? About the other rocks. Meanwhile, we can clear the surface greens with the dragons, if you permit?"
F'rgen hesitates an instant, then strides toward his mount as well, waiting only for the word to help.
"We permit," fills in Amalie, while her husband's mouth is opening to say something considerably longer and more irrational, if functionally similar. So Jesson snaps his jaw closed and looks down at his wife, then up at the weyrwoman. "Thank you," he says, which looks a lot like it hurts to do, and shares out that sparing thanks with the dragonriders, too.
Avom has been watching the dragons and their riders by turns. Something about Kintryth seems to displease him, to disappoint - the lad turns away with a complicated frown, and disappears into the hold. Once the riders are busy with the greenery, Jesson follows, leaving Amalie to share out glasses of citrusade and coax her unmarried daughter, a simple girl of twenty turns, into helping with the weeds.