Grand Tour
Location: Southern Bowl and Living Cavern
Time: Evening on Day 10, Month 4, Turn 2
Players: Roa, Khavn, Tialith, Aida, Neiran, Br'ce
Scene: Roa encounters the new Harper and continues to make bad decisions.
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.
The only word to describe a spring day such as this one is soggy. Rain falls in a constant shower of silver from the skies above, sometimes retreating into a misty drizzle, sometimes strengthening into a downpour that threatens to soak anyone who ventures outside.
Cool and rainy means most folks are inside, keeping dry. Roa, however, that slight young woman from dinner a few days ago, seems to be unwilling to join the crowd on this particular matter. She sits on a rock near the lake, a cloak draped about her shoulders and a hood up over her head so that really, she may not be recognizable from the side or the back. Out in the lake, amid the rainfall, a long and slender golden dragon swims and dives.
A bluerider lands in the bowl, unloading a tall passenger. There's a hood drawn over the upper part of his face, the water dripping off of it rendering most of the face too obscured to tell who it is. But the presence of a red goatee poking out from the bottom is probably a dead giveaway for those who know Khavn. A glance left and right gain his bearings in the bowl--let's see, Living Caverns are that way, yes?--and spot the slender figure sitting by the lakeside. Small splashes that grow gradually louder announce his approach.
At the sound of splashing footsteps, the slightly bowed head lifts and darts in the direction of the dragon barracks. In the doorway there lingers and tall broad shadow that has yet to startle. So Roa turns to regard the figure moving closer. She knows, now, two people with red goatees, but only one of them is kept so tidily. "Khavn of Harper Hall, wasn't it?" the girl calls by way of greeting. In the lake, the gold dragon submerges, vanishing from sight.
"Roa, of..." The voice trails off uncertainly for a moment, as he searches his memory and comes up blank. "Yes, it is I. What brings you out here on such a miserable sort of day?" is asked curiously, the cloak clutched tight against his chest with one hand to keep the weather off his torso. "Dragon-watching?"
"Dragon watching," Roa of Nowhere Stated agrees placidly. "She seems to prefer the rain when she's bathing," is the musing that comes next. She is quiet a moment before she adds, "And what adventures had to hopping from place to place on a blue?"
"What's her name?" Khavn inquires, coming to stand by Roa and look out across the lake. "She's quite lithe, isn't she." he remarks. "Paperwork, if you'll believe. There were some administrative affairs back at Harperhall that were very confused. I thought it would be easiest to simply ride back and take care of it in person. Nothing official, just a private favor from a friend of mine." Khavn's made many friends already in the short time he's been here.
There is a noncommittal mmm from the girl. "She is rather sleek, isn't she," and the words sound especially fond. "Her name? Oh, it's Tialith, I believe." One arm is lifted and shaken, sending droplets of water spilling to the soggy ground. "Paperwork and favors. Well, it's no clandestine plot, but it's something to do on a rainy day, at least."
Khavn casts a sidelong look at Roa--she believes?--and returns to his contemplation of the dragon. Which must not be hers. Ah well. A chuckle escapes him. "I wish it were a clandestine plot. Me at the center of momentous events, pulling strings from all over, manipulating from behind the scenes... It would have made the trip a lot more exciting, I think." There's a regretful sort of note in his voice. "I must admit, though, I'm not quite sure where we are." Head lifts to look up towards the sky, and then around. "The rain obscures a lot of the landmarks around here."
"Well, take heart, good Harper. I have heard from those who are members of such plots that it's more misery than it's worth. Far better to write songs about them. This," and a dripping hand lifts again to gesture to the area at large, "is the lake." Helpful. "Situated in the Southern Bowl of High Reaches Weyr. There," and the hand moves to point towards several openings, "Is the Caucus Barracks and Dragon Barrack. There, the Infirmary. Further down there you have the Feeding Grounds and between there and here the Weyrling Barracks which will soon be in use again. That tunnel takes you out of the Weyr. And down that way," and here Roa's whole body turns a bit, "is the Northern Bowl which will take you to the Living Cavern and other warm and delightful places."
"Yes, you're probably right. Or create stories about them, at least." There's only a brief shiver of the Harper's eyelids at the thought of creating songs, quickly passed over with a smile. "You wouldn't happen to know of any good plots to write stories about, would you? I'm afraid I haven't had time to spot the conspirators around here. They don't wear baggy concealing cloaks and stalk around under cover of darkness." An amused look is turned on Roa. "Or sit around in foul weather." he adds with a smile. "Aha. I was under the impression that I was at Igen weyr, for some reason. The weather should have been my first tip-off, I suppose."
Roa turns to stare back out at the water which is smooth save for the plip plops that the rain makes. No gold dragon. Or, no gold until a head breaks through the surface of the water and shakes, eyes lidded, nose snorting. "I'm not much one for gossip," the girl says lightly, "although you're certainly not the only one to wonder about Igen and the Reaches. I hear the kitchens is a good place to hear rumors. As is sitting in the Living Cavern and keeping an ear out."
"I do plenty of that already, and not a conspiracy to be found." Khavn sighs regretfully. "A lot of conspiracy theories, but none of the ringleaders seem to be obliging enough to speak while they're right next to me, for some reason. I think it might be facial hair." He tugs at his own beard for slight emphasis, smiling down. "There's certainly a number of similarities between Igen and the Reaches. The weather's not one of them, though."
"Truth be told," and then Roa pauses as the queen dragon begins swimming her way to shore. She climbs out a good fifty feet away to spread her wings and shake herself, which is a little bit or a redundant maneuver, considering the rain. "Truth be told," the girl picks up again, "if there are any conspiracies about, they wouldn't be very good if they were quite so easy to stumble into. Ugh, this rain. I offered a tour, didn't I, but this is miserable weather for it."
"I suppose. I much prefer inept conspiracies, though. They're more exciting when things go wrong, rather than when they succeed. More interesting that way." Khavn comments, eyeing the gold as she shakes herself. "At least we're sure of not having to deal with any crowds out here." he comments ironically. "Or we could simply stick to the indoor regions, I suppose. The weather matters very little when you're standing in the lower caverns, after all."
The slight woman slides down from the rock and steps away from Khavn to shake herself off in similar fashion to the gold dragon. Tialith has looked over towards the two watchers but, with a final shake, begins to make her way to the dragon barracks where her rider is probably waiting. "Yes, there is the indoors. I suppose that could do." Conspiracies, it seems, have been dropped for other topics. "You write stories?"
Khavn draws his cloak aside from Roa as she shakes herself--hey, don't get any more water on me--though he covers it up well with a smile. "I write and tell them, actually. I'm a storyteller. I tend to use drums to help establish a rhythm, and heighten the tension of stories. It's amazing how simply changing the beats can convey a broad range of different emotions and different circumstances, lulling or exciting the audience by turns. Turns even a boring story into an interesting one, and interesting ones...well." Brilliantly white teeth flash at Roa, as he turns to head towards the indoors. "...you'll just have to come and listen to some of them."
Roa quiets to listen with a sincere interest that wasn't there before, as he talks about stories and drums and tension. "Perhaps I shall," she says easily. And then she begins moving towards the Northern Bowl and the Living Cavern, where the tour will begin. The shadow in the barracks doorway detaches to reveal itself to be Morley. The guard lopes after Roa and the Harper to fall in step perhaps 10 paces behind them.
(Fade Out, and Fade Back In post-tour)
Living Cavern
Large enough to hold the majority of the Weyr's human population, this cavern can become loud enough to deafen thanks to the acoustics caused by its size. The ceiling is so far overhead that it's cast into shadow, a darkness that is broken only by the spark and glitter of a lucky beam of light striking the minerals found in the rock walls. Below, most of the floor is covered with an assortment of long tables and benches. There are some smaller tables, surrounded by chairs, but privacy appears to be a rare thing in this bustling cavern. Large hearths line the west wall, with fires burning day and night to warm the food and drink that keep the Weyr's inhabitants fueled. The serving tables are near the hearth, opposite the dais that holds the single table reserved for the Weyr leadership and honored guests.
"Well, yes, but they were there anyway. And they were interesting. Anatomy is a fascinating field. It's an interesting combination of precise empirical observation, and conjecture based upon observation. There's a certain synthesis that one sees in experienced doctors that transcends simple observational diagnoses--symptoms and the diagnosis at times will bear only a slight resemblance to the textbook case, but the odd diagnosis will turn out to be right. Ahh." Br'ce interrupts his own spontaneous outpouring of theories with a slight embarrassed cough. "Or so I read." He hunches his shoulders slightly, looking back down at his meal, and then over to Aida. Huh. She's uncharacteristically subdued. He pushes around some of the slices on his plate, letting them absorb some of the sauce, and give him time to listen in. A fascinating chance to observe Aida in a different habitat, and he's going to do his best impression of an invisible man. Well, as long as they don't talk about anything that really fascinates and interests him in an intellectual fashion.
Starting to summon up an answer for something said, Aida is given pause by Br'ce's initial statements. Her eyes swing to him and she lifts an eyebrow after a moment, then flashes a smile his way. She doesn't actually *say* anything to it, though, instead looking back to Neiran. It's not an area she's too very familiar with. Instead, she's got to face that question... Her mug is studied again, a drink taken from it while she mulls over her response. Eventually, she looks back up to explain, "The position is actually everything that I hoped it would be. It's been very, very good for me. My taking of said position has not been received as well as it could have been on a number of quarters." And she does *not* look at Br'ce in indication. Good Aida. "There are...moments where I miss working in the infirmary. It's very different work, now." The trio are sitting at a table in the midst of dinner time crowds, both Br'ce and Neiran with plates, Aida with just a mug. And there is quiet conversation.
The outpouring wasn't what Neiran expected - most accept his brief remarks, and turn the conversation (especially when at table) to something else. This response is unexpected, and it shows in the way his narrow eyes widen a margin, interest as clear on his face as any emotion ever is on his visage. "You have read correctly. There is much about the body that is pure conjecture. The opportunities for empirical observation are...not many." The unspoken taboo against invasive surgery and poking into the secrets of a dead person's organs hangs in the air like a weight. He presses his lips together, hesitating with a mouth full of more to say. The surgeon inevitably errs on the side of silence, and concludes mildly with: "It is a fascinating field, yes." He regards Aida then, fork still upon his plate. A tacit acknowledgment of such ill receptions is offered in the form of a blink. "I trust you're handling your diverse tasks with similar capability as you showed in the infirmary." That's his version of well wishings, before he takes another small bite of his meal.
Br'ce has been plenty supportive! Well, once the initial few days of shock, panic, and dismay were worked through. And he's been too busy lately to be disapproving. Nevertheless, the contents of his plate are found to be extremely fascinating. See, if you turn the plate a quarter circle to the left, then it looks kind of like a bucolic pastoral scene. See, there's the little sheep on the mountainside, and the gravy is the river in the valley... A nervous twitch and Br'ce barely restrains himself from looking around for his etiquette instructors as he hastily eats the shepherd. No playing with his food.
Khavn walks in, side by side with Roa, the two of them still shrouded in heavy outdoor cloaks, though they seem to have mostly dried by now. "You don't say? I never would have thought that about the records room. Still, she does seem quite formidable, the records keeper." is remarked as they amble amicably. "Still, it reminds me a great deal of the way they treated the folios back at Harperhall. A photographic memory was an invaluable aid there, as they didn't even really want you to get even a single glance at some of those. I know a student who used to sell his services for extra marks. Memorize a folio and copy it out, for a price."
Her eyes returning to the pair when Neiran responds to Br'ce, Aida's smile returns, if only briefly. Something pleased and hopeful there. It fades a little bit at Br'ce's lack of response, and she eyes his plate for a moment before she reaches out with one hand to wiggle her fingers somewhere between his nose and plate. Wiggle. It's an attempt to catch his attention, even as her eyes are going back to Neiran and she's nodding. "Of course," she replies. "If anything is worth doing, it's certainly worth doing right." Pause. "And I don't really have any *questions* about the notes I've digested so far, but if you have some free time in the next few evenings, a discussion or two would be welcome?"
Roa walks in alongside the harper, hood of her cloak having been tucked back at some point as she listens with a faint smirk. "And here I've been wasting my skills recalling the store rooms in the dark and reading written stories to tell later. I never considered selling my talents..." and the girl's tone implies that she is likely not considering it now. "Walking softly around Miniyal and being ever respectful of the records is the best way to keep most of her wrath directed elsewhere." She pauses to look around the room and the crowd within. "And here we are back where we started."
A blank look fleets across Neiran's face as he considers his schedule. "I am working in the infirmary the next four nights, and on the fifth I will be working on the treatise. However, if you would like to make an appearance in the infirmary during a quiet hour, it is unlikely I will be busy, provided it's before the Threadfall." Aida will know the quiet hours, of course. Thinking of work has suddenly drawn Neiran's attention to his idleness, and the plate before him is regarded with a small frown. He's eaten perhaps sixty percent of his sparse meal, but evidently that's enough for him, for he rises. The mug of tea will not be left behind, however, pale fingers curling around the handle of it. "I believe it would be advisable for me to return to some manner of activity. I have assignments that could afford to be looked over once more. It has been an enjoyable discourse," he adds quietly, paying homage to social niceties.
Br'ce startles slightly, casting a slightly guilty look towards Aida. Mouth forms the silent question 'what?' as he hastily pushes a string bean across his plate, obliterating the rest of his pastoral scene. "Yes, of course." he murmurs towards Aida. "Just don't stay out too late, dear." He likes to jealously guard their time together. "It's been a pleasure to speak with you as well, Neiran." Br'ce immediately rises as well, extending a hand across to table to try and shake Neiran's hand. "I hope to do it again soon. I'm sure that we would have many interesting things to speak of." While the words are social niceties, there is a large degree of genuine sentiment behind them--he actually does mean it when he says it.
"Oh, do you have a photographic memory? I'm taking you back the next time I go to Harperhall, there's a couple of old manuscripts that I would love to have a copy of." Khavn grins over at Roa. "That and a few diaries that I'd love to read, too. The potential for embarrassing anecdotes and blackmail nearly make me swoon with delight." The back of a hand is pressed dramatically against his forehead for emphasis. "You know what, I do believe you're right! Back to the beginning, again!" An expression of mock surprise is plastered to the journeyman's face, hands outstretched in amazement. "It's almost as if you led us in a circle of some kind. Quite dastardly and ingenious of you." he teases. "Would you care for some refreshments? I think I can be trusted to guide myself that far."
Drawing her hand back once she's got Br'ce's attention, Aida is starting to reply to Neiran when Br'ce's words register and they give her pause. Both of her eyebrows lift as she gives him an entirely skeptical look, but nothing is said to him immediately. Instead, she turns back to smile at Neiran; the whole thing has probably saved him from a measure of protest and maybe even a grumble about his meal not being finished. "I'll stop in," she promises. "It was good to see you, Neiran. Have as good of an evening as you can manage." Her much more typical bright smile is flashed at the Healer, and then her eyes come back to Br'ce. "Just don't stay out too late?" Deceptively calm and light, that question.
"I remember what I see," Roa says simply with her shoulders lifting and falling. "Call it what you will. Now, sir, arcane manuscripts I might be willing to assist you with. Diaries however..." her nose wrinkles, "I'm afraid you'll need another accomplice for that escapade. If you wouldn't mind bringing me some juice, I'll look for a place to sit." A small smirk flits across the girl's face. "I shall try not to make it too confusing for you."
Neiran takes Br'ce's hand in his own, his grip light and the temperate of his palm oddly cool. It's less of a handshake and more of a vague squeeze before his digits slide away. "Indeed. It was a pleasure to have made your acquaintance." One can almost hear some giddy manners instructor clapping her hands in the background in approval. If Neiran is far from gushing, at the very least he doesn't seem insincere. "Thank you once again for retrieving my meal, Aida. Enjoy your evening." With a nod to both, he turns to make his silent escape, taking his mug of tea towards him to the infirmary. His gaze happens to find Roa as he exits without any intentional searching, but as she has company and seems occupied and he as well is on his way out, he retains his silence and disappears the way he came, to the infirmary.
Br'ce shakes Neiran's hand firmly, making eye contact and smiling. He turns back to Aida, missing the subtext in the conversation as he eyes the retreating Neiran. "He's an interesting sort of man, it seems. A little unpolished, but very thorough in the way he speaks. A quality that is lacking, I assure you, in conversation these days." He turns an amiable smile on Aida. "Well, yes. I mean, you know how early in the morning you have to get up, after all. I know how wrapped up I can get in conversation--hours fly by and all of a sudden it's the middle of the night. I don't want to have to stay up worrying after you, after all." he says in an utterly reasonable tone. "I just don't like the idea of you being out there so late, that's all."
"Alas. I suppose I shall have to find another conspirator for my own plots." Khavn shrugs regretfully, bidding Roa a temporary adieu with a wave of his hand. "Don't worry, I'm sure I won't have any trouble picking such a beautiful lady as yourself out of the crowd." Other greetings are given and exchanged with several other of the Living Caverns denizens. "Hey, how are you, and how's the baby?--don't eat that, you know you can't take the heat--" and so on and so forth. The quest for juice has many obstacles, all of them social in nature.
The flattery about Roa's prettiness is met with a blank expression and a slight lifting of eyebrows. As the Harper wends his way towards juice, Roa wends her way towards Br'ce and Aida, and unlike Khavn there is no one to speak to congenially as she goes. Pausing at her chosen table she offers, "Good evening Aida, Br'ce," a nod to each. "Would it be all right if the new Harper and I joined you for a little?"
Giving an easy enough nod to Neiran in response to his words, Aida watches him go for a moment with a slight smile, then turns back to Br'ce. "He's one of my favorite people in the Weyr," she points out, her tone matter of fact. "I wouldn't call him unpolished." An eyebrow raises again at his reasonable words, and she lifts her mug up to take another careful drink of juice before she informs Br'ce just as mildly, "I'll visit with him on one of the nights I stay here, then. I am well capable of pacing myself and my sleep." Anything further that might have been said is halted by Roa's approach, and she turns her head and lifts her chin so she can bestow a polite smile upon the goldrider. "Who am I to deny one such as you? Please."
"Really? I'm not surprised. He seems quite knowledgeable." Br'ce responds ordinarily, finishing off the last of his plate. "Though I suppose he didn't enjoy dinner all that much. The food seems quite acceptable to me." A sort of vaguely confused wide-eyed look is given to Aida at her response. "Well. All right then..." Eyes roll around his head for a moment as he tries to think back on the conversation and see where it seemed to start going wrong. Durrrrr... "I was only just concerned." is muttered defensively, but he's saved by Roa's arrival. "Hello there. Feel absolutely free to join, we've got plenty of space." It's been a sort of rotating parade of people at this particular dinner, in any case.
Khavn continues to chat amicably with some of the kitchen workers over there, gathering a small crowd of people around him. From the looks of the way he's gesturing with that cups, he's probably telling one of his stories again. Plan Get Drinks, however, is momentarily stymied by an empty pitcher of juice--what's left dribbles into his cup in a sad little fashion. "Would you be a dear, Sulie, and get some more? I'd appreciate it ever so much."
Aida's invitation, or specifically the allusion to the goldrider's title evokes a slight thinning of Roa's lips as she draws out a chair. She leans forward a little, once seated. "If you two wouldn't mind, I'm trying out a bit of an experiment," murmurs the knotless Telgari. "If you could just call me 'Roa' rather than 'weyrwoman' or 'goldrider', I'd very much appreciate it." That being said, Roa leans back more comfortably and inquires, "How are the two of you?"
Perhaps unnoticed and quietly seating himself at another table nearby is one of Roa's guards on rotation. It's the younger one, Morley, this time, who leans back in his seat, hand idly resting near is knife, the other holding a mug of klah.
"He's not much of an eater," Aida explains, lifting a shoulder in a loose shrug and letting her expression settle back out into a simple smile, more polite than it is anything else. She takes another drink from her mug, then dips her head to Br'ce's notation of being concerned, saying nothing further on it. She's said her piece on the matter. Roa's words have her lifting an eyebrow slightly, studying her for a long moment before she nods again. "As you wish," she says. "I'm well. Yourself?" So usually sunny and warm, there is now something distinctly reserved in her demeanor.
Br'ce lifts his brows in slight confusion, though a brief shrug indicates his acquiescence. "If you insist, w-Roa." he catches himself in time, though one may see a decent amount of stammering out of him in the immediate future. The harper is eyed with a touch of curiosity. Experiment? What? Ah well, none of his business. Another uncertain glance is directed at Aida before he turns back to Roa with a miniscule shrug. Maybe she'll explain later? Fork is left on his plate, handle pushed around the edge until it rests at exactly the 4:30 position. "I'm doing well. The wing's starting to pull itself together, though we've had some injuries. Threadscore, and we haven't even actually flown Thread yet." A rueful smile pulls at one corner of his mouth.
The juice is retrieved and Khavn gets one of the kitchen maids to pour it for him, a mug in each hand. A friendly wink, "If you'll excuse me, I've got a gift for someone--" and he's on his way to the table, directing a smile and a friendly "hope we're not boring you too much," to Morley. "Ah, hallo, folks." Khavn's cheer should more than make up for any lack of such on the part of anyone else at the table. "Khavn, of Harperhall. Newly posted here. And boy am I glad to see some more unfamiliar faces. Roa's has been the only one for the past hour or so, and..." He leans across, stage-whispering conspiratorially. "...it gets a little old after a while, as nice as it is."
"Thank you," is murmured as first Aida and then Br'ce agree to her peculiar request. Aida's cool demeanor gets her a wordless look with a single quirk of her eyebrow, but it doesn't seem the weyrwoman plans on asking for anymore information. As Khavn returns, Morley gives the Harper a nod and a small smirk. "Just doin' m'job sir," is the guard's reply before he takes another sip of klah. "Thank you," says Roa accepting the juice and the insult with good humor. "I am rather tedious," she says solemnly, and then turns to Br'ce. "I don't think I've had the chance to congratulate you yet. Wingleader. Well done."
Giving a little toss of her head and then turning it so she's looking off of her shoulder and towards the cavern in general, it looks as if Aida may very well plan on checking out of this conversation. It's not until Khavn approaches the table and speaks that her eyes come back, settling up on him and just...studying him, for a long moment. Eventually, she gives an agreeable enough nod. "Aida," she states simply.
Br'ce just sort of looks at Khavn, taken somewhat aback. A sort of half-smile is essayed in response to the harper's jest, though his eyes flicker to Roa uncertainly. "Yes, of course." is murmured neutrally in response. "Br'ce, of brown Trellazoth." Introductions aside, he turns another anxiety-tinged glance at Aida. "Ah. Thank you." The polite, automatic response. "I haven't done enough to merit my getting the job. But I do hope to do enough to merit my keeping it. Which, if I want to do, means that there's some paperwork that I should be catching up on. We may not be a fighting wing yet, but that only means more paperwork, it seems." And provides a good excuse for him to escape the vaguely frosty Aida. He's taking this entirely personally.
Okay, that joke usually gets some laughs... "Tough crowd." Khavn murmurs, drawing back a little, though undaunted. He tries again. "Congratulations? Ah, so you're the brownrider I've been hearing whispers about. Good show, there, I'm glad to see a man close to my own age achieving great things already. Makes me feel positively dowdy, by comparison." He hooks a leg under a chair, scooting it to the table and seating himself, throwing one arm over the back of the chair. "You're hardly tedious, my dear Roa. I just have a somewhat insatiable need for new things. I could look at your face for hours more, no problem, really. Days might give me trouble, because I get sleepy, but hours I can do." This much is said with a straight face.
Roa's hands curl around her mug and lifted to get emptied perhaps halfway. Thirsty it seems. She nods to Br'ce as he speaks, and then, oh, is departing. "Good luck with your work, then. Paper or otherwise." Aida is given another glance, and then over to the Harper and his gilded words. "Flattery and humor all at once," the girl assesses with a tip of her head. "No wonder you're a storyteller."
Gaze swinging to Br'ce when he speaks, Aida watches him silently throughout, then curves her lips up further and lifts her chin, tipping her head to the side just so to present her cheek towards him. "I have things to attend to here, tonight," she murmurs, tone not exactly flat or cold...just not either cheerful or particularly warm, either. Which is probably considered chilly for her. "As I would not wish to keep you up worrying, I'll stay in the dormitory." There's a twitch of her lips that's probably based in amusement at Khavn's words, but no laughter yet. Her eyes do flick to Roa to see the woman's reactions, but she doesn't react further.
Definitely frosty, as far as Br'ce is concerned. Arctic. Sub-zero. Arrrgh. "Thank you, w-Roa." he barely manages to keep from slipping. Directing a courteous nod at the harper, he takes one final sip of his drink. "A pleasure to meet you, Khavn." Chilly. So very cold. Arrrgh. Br'ce forces the mental litany to come to a halt as he turns to Aida, summoning up an uncomfortable smile. "I suppose I'll just--see you when I see you." And then he's fleeing, walking as fast as dignity will allow in the direction of the offices.
Khavn levels a stern eye at Roa. "It's only flattery if it's not true, you know." Leaving the subject of whether or not it's true behind, he moves on. Ooh, tension. Of a sort. The dynamic between Aida and Br'ce is watched with mute interest for a moment. "Well, a pleasant man, to be sure. Seems a bit tense, though." Of course, having no baseline with Aida to compare things to, he's going to just assume that she's always this way. "In any case, Roa's been showing me the grand tour of the place. It's more extensive than I'd thought. And eventful."
"It's all of the twisting and turning," says Roa sagely as she watches Br'ce depart. "The space bends all around instead of going straight so more of it's used and...well, yes. It's bigger." The juice mug is slowly turned with her fingers as she thinks of something else to say. Coming up with absolutely nothing at all, the incognito goldrider remains silent.
Turning her head to watch after Br'ce, Aida waits until he's out of sight before she turns back to the other two. "He did seem tense, didn't he?" She asks, tone idly conversational. A glance is cast towards Roa before nodding her agreement with the woman's words and replying to Khavn, "That's very kind of her. Eventful? I take it you have had an exciting time of things, so far? How long have you been here?"
"I see. Extra room through twistiness. I wonder if there's a way to incorporate that into room design. Setting up a maze in your room to make it seem bigger doesn't sound like it would work too well." Khavn is more than happy to fill up any gaps in the conversation. "It's mostly been a whirlwind of new people, I'd have to say. I'm still just trying to figure out which kitchen girls to bribe to get extra goodies, and who has the best alcohol around here--you know, the important things." he grins at Aida. "I've only been here a few weeks. I still get lost fairly often. But it's a good chance to explore, and meet new--hey. Jorge? Jorge!" Khavn abruptly stands, craning his head to try to peer across the Living Cavern. "Excuse me, I think I see an old, old friend of mine--who owes me money. Jorge!" A grandiose, if abbreviated bow is directed at the two ladies, "Pardon me, Miss, and Miss." he says, doffing an imaginary hat. "I have to go chase a certain ruffian. Wish me luck." And then he's pushing through the crowd after the mysterious man, still calling out the name.
"I'd suggest speaking to Essdara for..." but before Roa can say anymore, Khavn is up and off and hunting Jorge. The girl watches the Harper go and then she turns to Aida to simply, and a little dramatically, roll her eyes. She says again, with a more genuine smile this time, "Hey there."
There may have an attempt to start putting together a reply, but Khavn is heading off, and so Aida is left to blink mildly after him. She shakes her head and turns back to Roa without much of an expression change -- until that smile is offered, at which points the ice melts. Not a great deal, but she does seem to settle more easily into her chair, and the smile that turns up further at the corners seems at least warmer. It's brief, soon enough fading back to the realm of politeness again, but hey. "Hello," she greets. "I...how are you holding up?"
Inhale. Exhale. Roa props her elbows onto the table, resting her chin in her hands. Somewhere, an etiquette teaching is weeping. Roa's mouth opens and closes several times before she offers, simply, "Still alive. And you? What was all of *that* about?" Her eyes slide towards the doorway where Br'ce so recently departed.
"That's good, at least," Aida remarks dryly, dropping the false neutrality all in a rush to leave behind a wry smile and a bit of bitter humor. She sets her mug down, bringing a hand up to shove her hair away from her face. "Still alive over here, as well. Tired. Cranky. Annoyed. Ready to growl at the next person who decides they're going to make my life difficult in any way, shape, or form." There's a sharp shake of her head as she glances in the direction Roa is looking, and then her gaze swings back. "Just a bit of bickering. He thought to tell me that it was fine if I visited Neiran so long as I didn't stay out too late, dear." Oh, the sarcasm in her tone for that. It drips.
Roa's brows arch upwards. "He didn't really say 'dear' did he?" Because, truly, that *must* just be Aida making fun of the stiff and stern brownrider. "Visiting Neiran? Are you still studying healing, then? That's commendable." Beneath the table, feet swing. Chin remains cradled in Roa's hands.
"Yes, he really did say dear," Aida says, rolling her eyes and shaking her head. "'Just don't stay out too late, dear'," she quotes, though it's unlikely that the brownrider used quite that particularly high-pitched note. She exhales a huff of air right after the words, and then she sinks down a little further in her chair, deflating the rest of the way. "It just annoyed me. And...I'm just studying. Healing, other things. Neiran's working with me on it all. He's a good guy."
"He is," the goldrider is quick to agree with Aida's assessment of the journeyman healer. "Well, I'm sure Br'ce didn't mean it to sound as awful as it did. Well, maybe he did. I don't precisely know him, but, well, he just doesn't seem the sort." Her shoulders lift and fall in a shrug, which is a bit funny-looking because of the way her head is propped in her hands. "He seems...tightly wound. But kind."
Mollified considerably by Roa's quick agreement with her summation of Neiran, Aida even smiles. Yes. He is a good guy. She chuckles and rolls her eyes, one of her own shoulders lifted in something of a shrug. "He probably didn't mean it that way, no," she agrees. "But that also doesn't mean I need it implied that I need his permission about how I spend my time, either. I won't have /that/. He's under a lot of pressure right now, but he /is/ very kind. He's very good to me."
"Then allow him a little bit of slack, if he's as good a man as all that. Shells, even weyrbred men view women as..." Roa quiets, but her nose wrinkles, "and Br'ce doesn't strike me as weyrbred. Does he seem to be trying, do you think?"
Eyebrows lifting as she regards Roa, Aida sits up some, hand coming up again to brush the curls away from her face once more. Stubborn curls. "And you do not suppose that I perhaps already do allow him a considerable amount of slack? I am certainly entitled to be annoyed on occasion, and to take exception to his behavior if it displeases me. He and I have a very good relationship, but we are going to quarrel on occasion, and I am not going to capitulate every time simply because he is the man and he is trying. I would be very displeased if he were to simply allow *me* to walk all over *him*." Her words are a bit clipped, her tone shifting towards a bit of formality again.
"Well, all of that sounds fair. What strikes me, I suppose, is the having arguments in public. But it is your and Br'ce's relationship. You should do what suits you both best, of course." Roa blinks slowly, eye going distant. "I'm sorry to run. Tialith has announced that she itches something fierce on her right side. I'd better go get some oil...have a good evening, Aida." And she is pushing her chair back and moving to stand. At the other table, Morley calmly mimics her movements.
"Tension does not an argument make," Aida points out placidly, giving Roa an entirely mild look. "At least, it did not last time that I checked. But I do thank you, for your advice." The smile she offers up is entirely polite, and she reaches to pick her mug up and lift it in something of a salute or toast. "Good evening, Roa."
"I suppose not. And really, considering my track record as of late, I'm hardly one to give advice. I'm sorry, Aida." And the words sound sincere. And a more than a little tired. Then Roa's turning and hurrying up towards the exit, her guard trailing behind.
Nothing further from the little caucus attached girl. Aida watches her go for a few steps, then gives a little toss of her head and settles back into her chair, bringing her mug up for a drink. Back to watching the living cavern again, all calm and collected. Which as has been established, for her, this is cold.
Time: Evening on Day 10, Month 4, Turn 2
Players: Roa, Khavn, Tialith, Aida, Neiran, Br'ce
Scene: Roa encounters the new Harper and continues to make bad decisions.
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.
The only word to describe a spring day such as this one is soggy. Rain falls in a constant shower of silver from the skies above, sometimes retreating into a misty drizzle, sometimes strengthening into a downpour that threatens to soak anyone who ventures outside.
Cool and rainy means most folks are inside, keeping dry. Roa, however, that slight young woman from dinner a few days ago, seems to be unwilling to join the crowd on this particular matter. She sits on a rock near the lake, a cloak draped about her shoulders and a hood up over her head so that really, she may not be recognizable from the side or the back. Out in the lake, amid the rainfall, a long and slender golden dragon swims and dives.
A bluerider lands in the bowl, unloading a tall passenger. There's a hood drawn over the upper part of his face, the water dripping off of it rendering most of the face too obscured to tell who it is. But the presence of a red goatee poking out from the bottom is probably a dead giveaway for those who know Khavn. A glance left and right gain his bearings in the bowl--let's see, Living Caverns are that way, yes?--and spot the slender figure sitting by the lakeside. Small splashes that grow gradually louder announce his approach.
At the sound of splashing footsteps, the slightly bowed head lifts and darts in the direction of the dragon barracks. In the doorway there lingers and tall broad shadow that has yet to startle. So Roa turns to regard the figure moving closer. She knows, now, two people with red goatees, but only one of them is kept so tidily. "Khavn of Harper Hall, wasn't it?" the girl calls by way of greeting. In the lake, the gold dragon submerges, vanishing from sight.
"Roa, of..." The voice trails off uncertainly for a moment, as he searches his memory and comes up blank. "Yes, it is I. What brings you out here on such a miserable sort of day?" is asked curiously, the cloak clutched tight against his chest with one hand to keep the weather off his torso. "Dragon-watching?"
"Dragon watching," Roa of Nowhere Stated agrees placidly. "She seems to prefer the rain when she's bathing," is the musing that comes next. She is quiet a moment before she adds, "And what adventures had to hopping from place to place on a blue?"
"What's her name?" Khavn inquires, coming to stand by Roa and look out across the lake. "She's quite lithe, isn't she." he remarks. "Paperwork, if you'll believe. There were some administrative affairs back at Harperhall that were very confused. I thought it would be easiest to simply ride back and take care of it in person. Nothing official, just a private favor from a friend of mine." Khavn's made many friends already in the short time he's been here.
There is a noncommittal mmm from the girl. "She is rather sleek, isn't she," and the words sound especially fond. "Her name? Oh, it's Tialith, I believe." One arm is lifted and shaken, sending droplets of water spilling to the soggy ground. "Paperwork and favors. Well, it's no clandestine plot, but it's something to do on a rainy day, at least."
Khavn casts a sidelong look at Roa--she believes?--and returns to his contemplation of the dragon. Which must not be hers. Ah well. A chuckle escapes him. "I wish it were a clandestine plot. Me at the center of momentous events, pulling strings from all over, manipulating from behind the scenes... It would have made the trip a lot more exciting, I think." There's a regretful sort of note in his voice. "I must admit, though, I'm not quite sure where we are." Head lifts to look up towards the sky, and then around. "The rain obscures a lot of the landmarks around here."
"Well, take heart, good Harper. I have heard from those who are members of such plots that it's more misery than it's worth. Far better to write songs about them. This," and a dripping hand lifts again to gesture to the area at large, "is the lake." Helpful. "Situated in the Southern Bowl of High Reaches Weyr. There," and the hand moves to point towards several openings, "Is the Caucus Barracks and Dragon Barrack. There, the Infirmary. Further down there you have the Feeding Grounds and between there and here the Weyrling Barracks which will soon be in use again. That tunnel takes you out of the Weyr. And down that way," and here Roa's whole body turns a bit, "is the Northern Bowl which will take you to the Living Cavern and other warm and delightful places."
"Yes, you're probably right. Or create stories about them, at least." There's only a brief shiver of the Harper's eyelids at the thought of creating songs, quickly passed over with a smile. "You wouldn't happen to know of any good plots to write stories about, would you? I'm afraid I haven't had time to spot the conspirators around here. They don't wear baggy concealing cloaks and stalk around under cover of darkness." An amused look is turned on Roa. "Or sit around in foul weather." he adds with a smile. "Aha. I was under the impression that I was at Igen weyr, for some reason. The weather should have been my first tip-off, I suppose."
Roa turns to stare back out at the water which is smooth save for the plip plops that the rain makes. No gold dragon. Or, no gold until a head breaks through the surface of the water and shakes, eyes lidded, nose snorting. "I'm not much one for gossip," the girl says lightly, "although you're certainly not the only one to wonder about Igen and the Reaches. I hear the kitchens is a good place to hear rumors. As is sitting in the Living Cavern and keeping an ear out."
"I do plenty of that already, and not a conspiracy to be found." Khavn sighs regretfully. "A lot of conspiracy theories, but none of the ringleaders seem to be obliging enough to speak while they're right next to me, for some reason. I think it might be facial hair." He tugs at his own beard for slight emphasis, smiling down. "There's certainly a number of similarities between Igen and the Reaches. The weather's not one of them, though."
"Truth be told," and then Roa pauses as the queen dragon begins swimming her way to shore. She climbs out a good fifty feet away to spread her wings and shake herself, which is a little bit or a redundant maneuver, considering the rain. "Truth be told," the girl picks up again, "if there are any conspiracies about, they wouldn't be very good if they were quite so easy to stumble into. Ugh, this rain. I offered a tour, didn't I, but this is miserable weather for it."
"I suppose. I much prefer inept conspiracies, though. They're more exciting when things go wrong, rather than when they succeed. More interesting that way." Khavn comments, eyeing the gold as she shakes herself. "At least we're sure of not having to deal with any crowds out here." he comments ironically. "Or we could simply stick to the indoor regions, I suppose. The weather matters very little when you're standing in the lower caverns, after all."
The slight woman slides down from the rock and steps away from Khavn to shake herself off in similar fashion to the gold dragon. Tialith has looked over towards the two watchers but, with a final shake, begins to make her way to the dragon barracks where her rider is probably waiting. "Yes, there is the indoors. I suppose that could do." Conspiracies, it seems, have been dropped for other topics. "You write stories?"
Khavn draws his cloak aside from Roa as she shakes herself--hey, don't get any more water on me--though he covers it up well with a smile. "I write and tell them, actually. I'm a storyteller. I tend to use drums to help establish a rhythm, and heighten the tension of stories. It's amazing how simply changing the beats can convey a broad range of different emotions and different circumstances, lulling or exciting the audience by turns. Turns even a boring story into an interesting one, and interesting ones...well." Brilliantly white teeth flash at Roa, as he turns to head towards the indoors. "...you'll just have to come and listen to some of them."
Roa quiets to listen with a sincere interest that wasn't there before, as he talks about stories and drums and tension. "Perhaps I shall," she says easily. And then she begins moving towards the Northern Bowl and the Living Cavern, where the tour will begin. The shadow in the barracks doorway detaches to reveal itself to be Morley. The guard lopes after Roa and the Harper to fall in step perhaps 10 paces behind them.
(Fade Out, and Fade Back In post-tour)
Living Cavern
Large enough to hold the majority of the Weyr's human population, this cavern can become loud enough to deafen thanks to the acoustics caused by its size. The ceiling is so far overhead that it's cast into shadow, a darkness that is broken only by the spark and glitter of a lucky beam of light striking the minerals found in the rock walls. Below, most of the floor is covered with an assortment of long tables and benches. There are some smaller tables, surrounded by chairs, but privacy appears to be a rare thing in this bustling cavern. Large hearths line the west wall, with fires burning day and night to warm the food and drink that keep the Weyr's inhabitants fueled. The serving tables are near the hearth, opposite the dais that holds the single table reserved for the Weyr leadership and honored guests.
"Well, yes, but they were there anyway. And they were interesting. Anatomy is a fascinating field. It's an interesting combination of precise empirical observation, and conjecture based upon observation. There's a certain synthesis that one sees in experienced doctors that transcends simple observational diagnoses--symptoms and the diagnosis at times will bear only a slight resemblance to the textbook case, but the odd diagnosis will turn out to be right. Ahh." Br'ce interrupts his own spontaneous outpouring of theories with a slight embarrassed cough. "Or so I read." He hunches his shoulders slightly, looking back down at his meal, and then over to Aida. Huh. She's uncharacteristically subdued. He pushes around some of the slices on his plate, letting them absorb some of the sauce, and give him time to listen in. A fascinating chance to observe Aida in a different habitat, and he's going to do his best impression of an invisible man. Well, as long as they don't talk about anything that really fascinates and interests him in an intellectual fashion.
Starting to summon up an answer for something said, Aida is given pause by Br'ce's initial statements. Her eyes swing to him and she lifts an eyebrow after a moment, then flashes a smile his way. She doesn't actually *say* anything to it, though, instead looking back to Neiran. It's not an area she's too very familiar with. Instead, she's got to face that question... Her mug is studied again, a drink taken from it while she mulls over her response. Eventually, she looks back up to explain, "The position is actually everything that I hoped it would be. It's been very, very good for me. My taking of said position has not been received as well as it could have been on a number of quarters." And she does *not* look at Br'ce in indication. Good Aida. "There are...moments where I miss working in the infirmary. It's very different work, now." The trio are sitting at a table in the midst of dinner time crowds, both Br'ce and Neiran with plates, Aida with just a mug. And there is quiet conversation.
The outpouring wasn't what Neiran expected - most accept his brief remarks, and turn the conversation (especially when at table) to something else. This response is unexpected, and it shows in the way his narrow eyes widen a margin, interest as clear on his face as any emotion ever is on his visage. "You have read correctly. There is much about the body that is pure conjecture. The opportunities for empirical observation are...not many." The unspoken taboo against invasive surgery and poking into the secrets of a dead person's organs hangs in the air like a weight. He presses his lips together, hesitating with a mouth full of more to say. The surgeon inevitably errs on the side of silence, and concludes mildly with: "It is a fascinating field, yes." He regards Aida then, fork still upon his plate. A tacit acknowledgment of such ill receptions is offered in the form of a blink. "I trust you're handling your diverse tasks with similar capability as you showed in the infirmary." That's his version of well wishings, before he takes another small bite of his meal.
Br'ce has been plenty supportive! Well, once the initial few days of shock, panic, and dismay were worked through. And he's been too busy lately to be disapproving. Nevertheless, the contents of his plate are found to be extremely fascinating. See, if you turn the plate a quarter circle to the left, then it looks kind of like a bucolic pastoral scene. See, there's the little sheep on the mountainside, and the gravy is the river in the valley... A nervous twitch and Br'ce barely restrains himself from looking around for his etiquette instructors as he hastily eats the shepherd. No playing with his food.
Khavn walks in, side by side with Roa, the two of them still shrouded in heavy outdoor cloaks, though they seem to have mostly dried by now. "You don't say? I never would have thought that about the records room. Still, she does seem quite formidable, the records keeper." is remarked as they amble amicably. "Still, it reminds me a great deal of the way they treated the folios back at Harperhall. A photographic memory was an invaluable aid there, as they didn't even really want you to get even a single glance at some of those. I know a student who used to sell his services for extra marks. Memorize a folio and copy it out, for a price."
Her eyes returning to the pair when Neiran responds to Br'ce, Aida's smile returns, if only briefly. Something pleased and hopeful there. It fades a little bit at Br'ce's lack of response, and she eyes his plate for a moment before she reaches out with one hand to wiggle her fingers somewhere between his nose and plate. Wiggle. It's an attempt to catch his attention, even as her eyes are going back to Neiran and she's nodding. "Of course," she replies. "If anything is worth doing, it's certainly worth doing right." Pause. "And I don't really have any *questions* about the notes I've digested so far, but if you have some free time in the next few evenings, a discussion or two would be welcome?"
Roa walks in alongside the harper, hood of her cloak having been tucked back at some point as she listens with a faint smirk. "And here I've been wasting my skills recalling the store rooms in the dark and reading written stories to tell later. I never considered selling my talents..." and the girl's tone implies that she is likely not considering it now. "Walking softly around Miniyal and being ever respectful of the records is the best way to keep most of her wrath directed elsewhere." She pauses to look around the room and the crowd within. "And here we are back where we started."
A blank look fleets across Neiran's face as he considers his schedule. "I am working in the infirmary the next four nights, and on the fifth I will be working on the treatise. However, if you would like to make an appearance in the infirmary during a quiet hour, it is unlikely I will be busy, provided it's before the Threadfall." Aida will know the quiet hours, of course. Thinking of work has suddenly drawn Neiran's attention to his idleness, and the plate before him is regarded with a small frown. He's eaten perhaps sixty percent of his sparse meal, but evidently that's enough for him, for he rises. The mug of tea will not be left behind, however, pale fingers curling around the handle of it. "I believe it would be advisable for me to return to some manner of activity. I have assignments that could afford to be looked over once more. It has been an enjoyable discourse," he adds quietly, paying homage to social niceties.
Br'ce startles slightly, casting a slightly guilty look towards Aida. Mouth forms the silent question 'what?' as he hastily pushes a string bean across his plate, obliterating the rest of his pastoral scene. "Yes, of course." he murmurs towards Aida. "Just don't stay out too late, dear." He likes to jealously guard their time together. "It's been a pleasure to speak with you as well, Neiran." Br'ce immediately rises as well, extending a hand across to table to try and shake Neiran's hand. "I hope to do it again soon. I'm sure that we would have many interesting things to speak of." While the words are social niceties, there is a large degree of genuine sentiment behind them--he actually does mean it when he says it.
"Oh, do you have a photographic memory? I'm taking you back the next time I go to Harperhall, there's a couple of old manuscripts that I would love to have a copy of." Khavn grins over at Roa. "That and a few diaries that I'd love to read, too. The potential for embarrassing anecdotes and blackmail nearly make me swoon with delight." The back of a hand is pressed dramatically against his forehead for emphasis. "You know what, I do believe you're right! Back to the beginning, again!" An expression of mock surprise is plastered to the journeyman's face, hands outstretched in amazement. "It's almost as if you led us in a circle of some kind. Quite dastardly and ingenious of you." he teases. "Would you care for some refreshments? I think I can be trusted to guide myself that far."
Drawing her hand back once she's got Br'ce's attention, Aida is starting to reply to Neiran when Br'ce's words register and they give her pause. Both of her eyebrows lift as she gives him an entirely skeptical look, but nothing is said to him immediately. Instead, she turns back to smile at Neiran; the whole thing has probably saved him from a measure of protest and maybe even a grumble about his meal not being finished. "I'll stop in," she promises. "It was good to see you, Neiran. Have as good of an evening as you can manage." Her much more typical bright smile is flashed at the Healer, and then her eyes come back to Br'ce. "Just don't stay out too late?" Deceptively calm and light, that question.
"I remember what I see," Roa says simply with her shoulders lifting and falling. "Call it what you will. Now, sir, arcane manuscripts I might be willing to assist you with. Diaries however..." her nose wrinkles, "I'm afraid you'll need another accomplice for that escapade. If you wouldn't mind bringing me some juice, I'll look for a place to sit." A small smirk flits across the girl's face. "I shall try not to make it too confusing for you."
Neiran takes Br'ce's hand in his own, his grip light and the temperate of his palm oddly cool. It's less of a handshake and more of a vague squeeze before his digits slide away. "Indeed. It was a pleasure to have made your acquaintance." One can almost hear some giddy manners instructor clapping her hands in the background in approval. If Neiran is far from gushing, at the very least he doesn't seem insincere. "Thank you once again for retrieving my meal, Aida. Enjoy your evening." With a nod to both, he turns to make his silent escape, taking his mug of tea towards him to the infirmary. His gaze happens to find Roa as he exits without any intentional searching, but as she has company and seems occupied and he as well is on his way out, he retains his silence and disappears the way he came, to the infirmary.
Br'ce shakes Neiran's hand firmly, making eye contact and smiling. He turns back to Aida, missing the subtext in the conversation as he eyes the retreating Neiran. "He's an interesting sort of man, it seems. A little unpolished, but very thorough in the way he speaks. A quality that is lacking, I assure you, in conversation these days." He turns an amiable smile on Aida. "Well, yes. I mean, you know how early in the morning you have to get up, after all. I know how wrapped up I can get in conversation--hours fly by and all of a sudden it's the middle of the night. I don't want to have to stay up worrying after you, after all." he says in an utterly reasonable tone. "I just don't like the idea of you being out there so late, that's all."
"Alas. I suppose I shall have to find another conspirator for my own plots." Khavn shrugs regretfully, bidding Roa a temporary adieu with a wave of his hand. "Don't worry, I'm sure I won't have any trouble picking such a beautiful lady as yourself out of the crowd." Other greetings are given and exchanged with several other of the Living Caverns denizens. "Hey, how are you, and how's the baby?--don't eat that, you know you can't take the heat--" and so on and so forth. The quest for juice has many obstacles, all of them social in nature.
The flattery about Roa's prettiness is met with a blank expression and a slight lifting of eyebrows. As the Harper wends his way towards juice, Roa wends her way towards Br'ce and Aida, and unlike Khavn there is no one to speak to congenially as she goes. Pausing at her chosen table she offers, "Good evening Aida, Br'ce," a nod to each. "Would it be all right if the new Harper and I joined you for a little?"
Giving an easy enough nod to Neiran in response to his words, Aida watches him go for a moment with a slight smile, then turns back to Br'ce. "He's one of my favorite people in the Weyr," she points out, her tone matter of fact. "I wouldn't call him unpolished." An eyebrow raises again at his reasonable words, and she lifts her mug up to take another careful drink of juice before she informs Br'ce just as mildly, "I'll visit with him on one of the nights I stay here, then. I am well capable of pacing myself and my sleep." Anything further that might have been said is halted by Roa's approach, and she turns her head and lifts her chin so she can bestow a polite smile upon the goldrider. "Who am I to deny one such as you? Please."
"Really? I'm not surprised. He seems quite knowledgeable." Br'ce responds ordinarily, finishing off the last of his plate. "Though I suppose he didn't enjoy dinner all that much. The food seems quite acceptable to me." A sort of vaguely confused wide-eyed look is given to Aida at her response. "Well. All right then..." Eyes roll around his head for a moment as he tries to think back on the conversation and see where it seemed to start going wrong. Durrrrr... "I was only just concerned." is muttered defensively, but he's saved by Roa's arrival. "Hello there. Feel absolutely free to join, we've got plenty of space." It's been a sort of rotating parade of people at this particular dinner, in any case.
Khavn continues to chat amicably with some of the kitchen workers over there, gathering a small crowd of people around him. From the looks of the way he's gesturing with that cups, he's probably telling one of his stories again. Plan Get Drinks, however, is momentarily stymied by an empty pitcher of juice--what's left dribbles into his cup in a sad little fashion. "Would you be a dear, Sulie, and get some more? I'd appreciate it ever so much."
Aida's invitation, or specifically the allusion to the goldrider's title evokes a slight thinning of Roa's lips as she draws out a chair. She leans forward a little, once seated. "If you two wouldn't mind, I'm trying out a bit of an experiment," murmurs the knotless Telgari. "If you could just call me 'Roa' rather than 'weyrwoman' or 'goldrider', I'd very much appreciate it." That being said, Roa leans back more comfortably and inquires, "How are the two of you?"
Perhaps unnoticed and quietly seating himself at another table nearby is one of Roa's guards on rotation. It's the younger one, Morley, this time, who leans back in his seat, hand idly resting near is knife, the other holding a mug of klah.
"He's not much of an eater," Aida explains, lifting a shoulder in a loose shrug and letting her expression settle back out into a simple smile, more polite than it is anything else. She takes another drink from her mug, then dips her head to Br'ce's notation of being concerned, saying nothing further on it. She's said her piece on the matter. Roa's words have her lifting an eyebrow slightly, studying her for a long moment before she nods again. "As you wish," she says. "I'm well. Yourself?" So usually sunny and warm, there is now something distinctly reserved in her demeanor.
Br'ce lifts his brows in slight confusion, though a brief shrug indicates his acquiescence. "If you insist, w-Roa." he catches himself in time, though one may see a decent amount of stammering out of him in the immediate future. The harper is eyed with a touch of curiosity. Experiment? What? Ah well, none of his business. Another uncertain glance is directed at Aida before he turns back to Roa with a miniscule shrug. Maybe she'll explain later? Fork is left on his plate, handle pushed around the edge until it rests at exactly the 4:30 position. "I'm doing well. The wing's starting to pull itself together, though we've had some injuries. Threadscore, and we haven't even actually flown Thread yet." A rueful smile pulls at one corner of his mouth.
The juice is retrieved and Khavn gets one of the kitchen maids to pour it for him, a mug in each hand. A friendly wink, "If you'll excuse me, I've got a gift for someone--" and he's on his way to the table, directing a smile and a friendly "hope we're not boring you too much," to Morley. "Ah, hallo, folks." Khavn's cheer should more than make up for any lack of such on the part of anyone else at the table. "Khavn, of Harperhall. Newly posted here. And boy am I glad to see some more unfamiliar faces. Roa's has been the only one for the past hour or so, and..." He leans across, stage-whispering conspiratorially. "...it gets a little old after a while, as nice as it is."
"Thank you," is murmured as first Aida and then Br'ce agree to her peculiar request. Aida's cool demeanor gets her a wordless look with a single quirk of her eyebrow, but it doesn't seem the weyrwoman plans on asking for anymore information. As Khavn returns, Morley gives the Harper a nod and a small smirk. "Just doin' m'job sir," is the guard's reply before he takes another sip of klah. "Thank you," says Roa accepting the juice and the insult with good humor. "I am rather tedious," she says solemnly, and then turns to Br'ce. "I don't think I've had the chance to congratulate you yet. Wingleader. Well done."
Giving a little toss of her head and then turning it so she's looking off of her shoulder and towards the cavern in general, it looks as if Aida may very well plan on checking out of this conversation. It's not until Khavn approaches the table and speaks that her eyes come back, settling up on him and just...studying him, for a long moment. Eventually, she gives an agreeable enough nod. "Aida," she states simply.
Br'ce just sort of looks at Khavn, taken somewhat aback. A sort of half-smile is essayed in response to the harper's jest, though his eyes flicker to Roa uncertainly. "Yes, of course." is murmured neutrally in response. "Br'ce, of brown Trellazoth." Introductions aside, he turns another anxiety-tinged glance at Aida. "Ah. Thank you." The polite, automatic response. "I haven't done enough to merit my getting the job. But I do hope to do enough to merit my keeping it. Which, if I want to do, means that there's some paperwork that I should be catching up on. We may not be a fighting wing yet, but that only means more paperwork, it seems." And provides a good excuse for him to escape the vaguely frosty Aida. He's taking this entirely personally.
Okay, that joke usually gets some laughs... "Tough crowd." Khavn murmurs, drawing back a little, though undaunted. He tries again. "Congratulations? Ah, so you're the brownrider I've been hearing whispers about. Good show, there, I'm glad to see a man close to my own age achieving great things already. Makes me feel positively dowdy, by comparison." He hooks a leg under a chair, scooting it to the table and seating himself, throwing one arm over the back of the chair. "You're hardly tedious, my dear Roa. I just have a somewhat insatiable need for new things. I could look at your face for hours more, no problem, really. Days might give me trouble, because I get sleepy, but hours I can do." This much is said with a straight face.
Roa's hands curl around her mug and lifted to get emptied perhaps halfway. Thirsty it seems. She nods to Br'ce as he speaks, and then, oh, is departing. "Good luck with your work, then. Paper or otherwise." Aida is given another glance, and then over to the Harper and his gilded words. "Flattery and humor all at once," the girl assesses with a tip of her head. "No wonder you're a storyteller."
Gaze swinging to Br'ce when he speaks, Aida watches him silently throughout, then curves her lips up further and lifts her chin, tipping her head to the side just so to present her cheek towards him. "I have things to attend to here, tonight," she murmurs, tone not exactly flat or cold...just not either cheerful or particularly warm, either. Which is probably considered chilly for her. "As I would not wish to keep you up worrying, I'll stay in the dormitory." There's a twitch of her lips that's probably based in amusement at Khavn's words, but no laughter yet. Her eyes do flick to Roa to see the woman's reactions, but she doesn't react further.
Definitely frosty, as far as Br'ce is concerned. Arctic. Sub-zero. Arrrgh. "Thank you, w-Roa." he barely manages to keep from slipping. Directing a courteous nod at the harper, he takes one final sip of his drink. "A pleasure to meet you, Khavn." Chilly. So very cold. Arrrgh. Br'ce forces the mental litany to come to a halt as he turns to Aida, summoning up an uncomfortable smile. "I suppose I'll just--see you when I see you." And then he's fleeing, walking as fast as dignity will allow in the direction of the offices.
Khavn levels a stern eye at Roa. "It's only flattery if it's not true, you know." Leaving the subject of whether or not it's true behind, he moves on. Ooh, tension. Of a sort. The dynamic between Aida and Br'ce is watched with mute interest for a moment. "Well, a pleasant man, to be sure. Seems a bit tense, though." Of course, having no baseline with Aida to compare things to, he's going to just assume that she's always this way. "In any case, Roa's been showing me the grand tour of the place. It's more extensive than I'd thought. And eventful."
"It's all of the twisting and turning," says Roa sagely as she watches Br'ce depart. "The space bends all around instead of going straight so more of it's used and...well, yes. It's bigger." The juice mug is slowly turned with her fingers as she thinks of something else to say. Coming up with absolutely nothing at all, the incognito goldrider remains silent.
Turning her head to watch after Br'ce, Aida waits until he's out of sight before she turns back to the other two. "He did seem tense, didn't he?" She asks, tone idly conversational. A glance is cast towards Roa before nodding her agreement with the woman's words and replying to Khavn, "That's very kind of her. Eventful? I take it you have had an exciting time of things, so far? How long have you been here?"
"I see. Extra room through twistiness. I wonder if there's a way to incorporate that into room design. Setting up a maze in your room to make it seem bigger doesn't sound like it would work too well." Khavn is more than happy to fill up any gaps in the conversation. "It's mostly been a whirlwind of new people, I'd have to say. I'm still just trying to figure out which kitchen girls to bribe to get extra goodies, and who has the best alcohol around here--you know, the important things." he grins at Aida. "I've only been here a few weeks. I still get lost fairly often. But it's a good chance to explore, and meet new--hey. Jorge? Jorge!" Khavn abruptly stands, craning his head to try to peer across the Living Cavern. "Excuse me, I think I see an old, old friend of mine--who owes me money. Jorge!" A grandiose, if abbreviated bow is directed at the two ladies, "Pardon me, Miss, and Miss." he says, doffing an imaginary hat. "I have to go chase a certain ruffian. Wish me luck." And then he's pushing through the crowd after the mysterious man, still calling out the name.
"I'd suggest speaking to Essdara for..." but before Roa can say anymore, Khavn is up and off and hunting Jorge. The girl watches the Harper go and then she turns to Aida to simply, and a little dramatically, roll her eyes. She says again, with a more genuine smile this time, "Hey there."
There may have an attempt to start putting together a reply, but Khavn is heading off, and so Aida is left to blink mildly after him. She shakes her head and turns back to Roa without much of an expression change -- until that smile is offered, at which points the ice melts. Not a great deal, but she does seem to settle more easily into her chair, and the smile that turns up further at the corners seems at least warmer. It's brief, soon enough fading back to the realm of politeness again, but hey. "Hello," she greets. "I...how are you holding up?"
Inhale. Exhale. Roa props her elbows onto the table, resting her chin in her hands. Somewhere, an etiquette teaching is weeping. Roa's mouth opens and closes several times before she offers, simply, "Still alive. And you? What was all of *that* about?" Her eyes slide towards the doorway where Br'ce so recently departed.
"That's good, at least," Aida remarks dryly, dropping the false neutrality all in a rush to leave behind a wry smile and a bit of bitter humor. She sets her mug down, bringing a hand up to shove her hair away from her face. "Still alive over here, as well. Tired. Cranky. Annoyed. Ready to growl at the next person who decides they're going to make my life difficult in any way, shape, or form." There's a sharp shake of her head as she glances in the direction Roa is looking, and then her gaze swings back. "Just a bit of bickering. He thought to tell me that it was fine if I visited Neiran so long as I didn't stay out too late, dear." Oh, the sarcasm in her tone for that. It drips.
Roa's brows arch upwards. "He didn't really say 'dear' did he?" Because, truly, that *must* just be Aida making fun of the stiff and stern brownrider. "Visiting Neiran? Are you still studying healing, then? That's commendable." Beneath the table, feet swing. Chin remains cradled in Roa's hands.
"Yes, he really did say dear," Aida says, rolling her eyes and shaking her head. "'Just don't stay out too late, dear'," she quotes, though it's unlikely that the brownrider used quite that particularly high-pitched note. She exhales a huff of air right after the words, and then she sinks down a little further in her chair, deflating the rest of the way. "It just annoyed me. And...I'm just studying. Healing, other things. Neiran's working with me on it all. He's a good guy."
"He is," the goldrider is quick to agree with Aida's assessment of the journeyman healer. "Well, I'm sure Br'ce didn't mean it to sound as awful as it did. Well, maybe he did. I don't precisely know him, but, well, he just doesn't seem the sort." Her shoulders lift and fall in a shrug, which is a bit funny-looking because of the way her head is propped in her hands. "He seems...tightly wound. But kind."
Mollified considerably by Roa's quick agreement with her summation of Neiran, Aida even smiles. Yes. He is a good guy. She chuckles and rolls her eyes, one of her own shoulders lifted in something of a shrug. "He probably didn't mean it that way, no," she agrees. "But that also doesn't mean I need it implied that I need his permission about how I spend my time, either. I won't have /that/. He's under a lot of pressure right now, but he /is/ very kind. He's very good to me."
"Then allow him a little bit of slack, if he's as good a man as all that. Shells, even weyrbred men view women as..." Roa quiets, but her nose wrinkles, "and Br'ce doesn't strike me as weyrbred. Does he seem to be trying, do you think?"
Eyebrows lifting as she regards Roa, Aida sits up some, hand coming up again to brush the curls away from her face once more. Stubborn curls. "And you do not suppose that I perhaps already do allow him a considerable amount of slack? I am certainly entitled to be annoyed on occasion, and to take exception to his behavior if it displeases me. He and I have a very good relationship, but we are going to quarrel on occasion, and I am not going to capitulate every time simply because he is the man and he is trying. I would be very displeased if he were to simply allow *me* to walk all over *him*." Her words are a bit clipped, her tone shifting towards a bit of formality again.
"Well, all of that sounds fair. What strikes me, I suppose, is the having arguments in public. But it is your and Br'ce's relationship. You should do what suits you both best, of course." Roa blinks slowly, eye going distant. "I'm sorry to run. Tialith has announced that she itches something fierce on her right side. I'd better go get some oil...have a good evening, Aida." And she is pushing her chair back and moving to stand. At the other table, Morley calmly mimics her movements.
"Tension does not an argument make," Aida points out placidly, giving Roa an entirely mild look. "At least, it did not last time that I checked. But I do thank you, for your advice." The smile she offers up is entirely polite, and she reaches to pick her mug up and lift it in something of a salute or toast. "Good evening, Roa."
"I suppose not. And really, considering my track record as of late, I'm hardly one to give advice. I'm sorry, Aida." And the words sound sincere. And a more than a little tired. Then Roa's turning and hurrying up towards the exit, her guard trailing behind.
Nothing further from the little caucus attached girl. Aida watches her go for a few steps, then gives a little toss of her head and settles back into her chair, bringing her mug up for a drink. Back to watching the living cavern again, all calm and collected. Which as has been established, for her, this is cold.