You amble westwards to the Weyrling field.
C'daer stands, feet apart and shoulders squared, by the entrance to the weyrling barracks. He's watching a quartet of weyrling dragons doing wing flexing and exercises under G'ton's guidance.
Under the weight of a large wicker basket, Ilesyn wobbles across the bowl, her head almost hidden by the enormity of her load. She hesitates, her hands shifting to get a better grip upon the basket, and then continues, shifting from side to side as she attempts to get a better view of where she's going.
Oblivious, Daer stands in Ilesyn's path until the shout of a weyrling warns him; he steps out of the way with alacrity, "Ilesyn? Good day - what've you got there - J'lop, get -out- of her way." He does, but falls flat on his face, and the weyrlingmaster sighs.
Ilesyn lets the basket slide slightly, so that she's more visible - and her gaze is owlish as she blinks at J'lop, something amountable to wry amusement settled within her expression. "Laundry," reports the candidate, with a bob of her head towards C'daer. She's unconcerned by her near-hit; though she takes a step back so as to skirt around the weyrlings with more ease. "Hello."
"Is there any cure for clumsiness?" C'daer asks Ilesyn, watching J'lop scramble to his feet, take three steps, and trip over nothing to fall again. "We've three of them, and shards if I'm not at the end of my rope about what to do with them. Need help with that?"
"Difficult," is Ilesyn's assessment, a clinical glance taking in the weyrling in question. "It involves getting them to reprogram themselves to take everything slowly-- much like with a stutter. There's no surety in success, either." The basket, sliding further now that her full attention isn't upon it, earns another glance. "You could spare me the trouble and get the weyrlings to take their things inside, and carry the basket empty so that it's ready for the dirtied things, and I can just leave it at that?" Lazy.
C'daer frowns slightly, "I see." He waves a hand at the weyrlings who bustle about, fall about, or laze about, answering, "Not all the weyrlings are here, so you might as well take it inside. If you want to be spared coming back for the dirties, though, I'll round them up and have them collect them. Think you might have some pointers about clumsiness while they're doing that?"
Ilesyn's face doesn't so much fall as display an almost oxy-moronic cheerful dismay. "Oh, I suppose," she agrees, begrudgingly. "Anything, if it saves me coming back and forth all day long."
The Weyrlingmaster's lungs are nice and strong, and he bellows out the order for the weyrlings to collect their laundry. As they move towards the barracks, Daer waves a hand after them. "After you, my dear Ilesyn."
"'Dear'?" queries Ilesyn gingerly, as she hefts the basket up again, lumbering towards the barracks at less than a snail's pace. "I think the use that term worries me more than any of the insults that have come my way, from you and everyone else."
You amble westwards to the Weyrling barracks.
C'daer ambles in from the Weyrling field.
C'daer inquires in a delighted voice as he trails after, "Does it? What a shame, Ilesyn dear." He glances around the barracks - which are now a flurry of dirty clothes being tossed every which way - and decides to pretend he doesn't see it. "If you want to just put the clean ones on this table here, they can sort that out themselves."
Ilesyn, in a spurt of good-naturedness - or perhaps just a refusal to be more bother than she has to be - merely smiles into the wicker of her basket, which she drops to the ground as soon as she can. "Your sympathy does much good to my psyche. My thanks." Curious eyes peer about the interior of the barracks, as if weighing up what is found, whilst she unpacks the baske somewhat diligently. "All right."
Leaning against the table, Daer says, "All right. We have J'lop, who falls all over himself no matter what the situation, and Carly and Rella, who are only clumsy when they're embarrassed or nervous. Unfortunately that seems to be more than half the time."
Clinically, as she works, Ilesyn considers. "The latter two really just need to have their confidence boosted. Try giving words of praise when they do something reasonably well, and talk things through with them so that they can feel comfortable with them, if they're not certain. It may take some work, but it's possible to get a good result." A second pile of clothes and sheets is placed upon the table - and then her head disappears into the basket again for another lot. "As for J'lop, well. Some people naturally don't have coordination. Try and talk him through what he needs to remember - the idea behind keeping in control of all limbs."
The weyrlings start lining up with piles of soiled clothes in their arms, teasing each other and making faces. "That's an odd idea, keeping control of all your limbs. I mean, I guess it isn't," the weyrlingmaster says, "but I assume it comes naturally, so it's weird to me." He pauses, watching Ilesyn, and sighs. "I sound more like you every day, I swear. It's truly annoying."
The basket finally empty, Ilesyn indicates it with a tilt of her head to the weyrlings, and takes a step to the side so that she can continue to talk to C'daer whilst they fill it. "I'm having some kind of effect, then," she remarks, letting her arms drape lazily by her sides. "Of course it seems weird to you and I, but generally the problem behind clumsiness is a lack of confidence, or the inability to sit still, resulting in the rushing of everything."
"Yes, that's pretty much it, I think," Daer muses, tapping his fingers on the table. He catches a snatch of conversation from the weyrlings - 'red underwear' - and gives them a suspicious glare. They quiet very slightly and he continues, "the rushing about for J'lop, that is. He's the youngest of the bunch, too."
"He may well grow out of it naturally," adds Ilesyn idly, watching the weyrlings with unrestrained interest. "Some do. But it certainly won't hurt to help it along. The youngest? You shouldn't search them so young. Fifteen, sixteen, perhaps. Younger than that, and they're children. Not old enough to know what they want in life."
C'daer nods, looking over the line, "Daera did, somewhat. Although I don't know how much of that was Alaeth's influence." He holds a hand up for a pause and tells the weyrling second in line, who's holding one pair of underwear, "You have more than that. Go look under your cot." Back to Ilesyn, "Well, it isn't my choice. And they seem to do well enough. K'dir, for example."
Ilesyn's gaze rests, intently, upon the single underwear-holding weyrling, her head tilted to the side. "Probably doesn't change his clothes. Intense desire to be unattractive to any and all potential females - no doubt already worrying about flights." She pauses, and then continues, "Daera did? Well, there you go. Proof enough that it's possible. K'dir-- Well, perhaps. He's still not had an easy time of it. So unsure, thanks to the way things have gone."
"Hasn't he? I was considering asking him as an assistant, but experience in the wings will do him more good, I think," Daer says, conversationally, as the weyrling scurries off to find his other clothes. "And I think he's just too busy to care about changing his clothes. They've no time to even think about the opposite sex at this stage."
"He's too nice to talk about it to most people. But he talks to me. Asked /me/ to show him what sexual relations were suppoed to be like." is Ilesyn's only response - somewhat pointed, though she doesn't turn her gaze towards C'daer. "Busy or no, I bet they still do," she adds, cheerfully. "Not a lot, but certainly every so often; they're teenagers, that's what they do."
C'daer frowns, looking at Ilesyn in alarm. "Wait. L'mon asked -you- that? When? When he was a candidate? Not after he impressed?" The fury of the weyrlingmaster wronged gathers in Daer's eyes as he peers after the clothes-retrieving weyrling.
"K'dir," corrects Ilesyn. "I'm talking about K'dir. Not your silly weyrling."
He deflates and looks relieved. "Oh. Oh good. Wait. K'dir? Asked -you-? I thought he was.. never mind." That hastily, with a flush.
Daer carries himself with an equal amount of awkwardness and grace: a flush is not unnatural to these pale cheeks, but you'll rarely see him stumble out of the blue. And if dark eyes are lit with excitement about something in particular, his movements speak of hasty clumsiness; once settled to a task, he'll move more smoothly and easily. His black hair's short, smooth on the sides, slightly longer on top and tousled. His dark leather riding jacket opens to a crisp, clean white blouse, and his neat black trous have a tidy crease down the front. His clothes fall over work-hardened muscles which ease his lankiness and emphasize the width of his shoulders, on one of which - a fair distance from the ground, as he's taller than average - a firmly fastened knot marks him as a bronzerider and Weyrlingmaster of Fort Weyr. It's easy to place his age as somewhere between eighteen and twenty-two.
Ilesyn's eyes roll. "I don't think your weyrlings would dare. For someone as young as you are, they seem to respect you well enough." Her head tilts to the side once more, eyes watching the weyrlings with that same interest, following each one along. "You thought he was what? Why shouldn't he ask me, anyway? I may not be a pretty face, but I'm not all that bad."
C'daer says, vaguely indignant, "I'm not all -that- young. I.. I thought he was, um, not interested in girls." He says this in an absurdly soft voice so the weyrlings don't hear, glancing around nervously.
"You must be younger than me," insists Ilesyn, a lazy glance - just briefly - shifting to give C'daer a once over. "Oh. You thought he was gay." As if in compensation, her voice is loud, and almost jolly, echoing cheerfully through the cavern. "You don't like that idea, do you?"
C'daer makes hasty gestures intended to make Ilesyn shush up. "I! Um! Ilesyn, hush, I mean, I guess I did, but it's, um.." The weyrlings are covertly staring at their bright red weyrlingmaster. "Look, never mind, really. IT's not important."
Ilesyn blatantly, intentionally, ignores all gestures, continuing blithely. "I think it is important. Do you want to spend the rest of your life dreading the prospect of waking up with another man? You don't have to like it-- but Faranth's /balls/, it isn't fair to anyone to have to suffer your holdbred prejudice."
He hisses, "Nobody is -suffering-, Ilesyn! Shards, you're exaggerating it all out of proportion. Unless they ride green and Kourie catches, it's none of my business and I don't care, but I don't want to hear about it. All right!?" He makes shooing gestures at the weyrlings, and they stop staring and start muttering as they dump their laundry.
"K'dir was. Is, maybe. You /hurt/ him." Ilesyn's both calm and unconcerned, finally turning herself so that she faces C'daer full on. "You're right: you can ignore it all you want whenever you're not involved, but you need to learn to accept it if only for the occasions when the greens your lifemate catches have male riders. Because /that/ is selfish." She turns again, taking a step towards the laundry, as if to supervise.
C'daer protests, "It is -not-. I did not. I don't know what you mean." He crosses his arms across his chest and glowers at Ilesyn's back. "Honestly. You make a watchwher out of a firelizard."
Ilesyn shakes her head, as she leans down to shake the basket to make more room for the dirty laundry. "And you have neither the sense nor the maturity that ought to be yours. K'dir is still hurt by the way you treated him, and he still mentions it, every so often. You know perfectly well what I mean, and now you're just being childish about it."
"I don't know what you mean, treated him," Daer answers, quietly upset. "I treated him just like I'd treat anyone except Miake whose dragon I'd caught. Honest. He never said a word to me about it, we had wine and talked about it, this is foolishness."
"I don't think it much matters how you /think/ you treated him; he was still upset enough about the experience to talk to me about it." Calmly, the Mindhealer turns again, facing C'daer with a level expression. "I think your attitudes showed through, all the same. They were picked up."
C'daer tensely shrugs, "I can't help -that-," he answers curtly, and looks over at the bundle L'mon brings back. "That's more like it. I think that's all now, Ilesyn, and I'll try what you said about the clumsiness.
"You can help anything," reotrts Ilesyn, stubbornly. "You just have to work at it. I'd wager that you're younger than me, but you act like an old auntie - hidebound and stubborn." Once L'mon's bundle is placed into the basket, she leans down, wrapping her arms about it as she heaves it up from the ground. "All right. Good day, Weyrlingmaster."
C'daer asks, dark brows lowered, "Can you carry that alright? It looks heavy." He ignores the rest of what she says except to answer, "I'm nearly twenty-two - actually, I wanted to talk to you about that, but," he waves a hand at the basket, "it can wait."
Ilesyn's eyebrows raise, far above the top of the basket. "You wanted to talk to me about your age? The basket's heavy, but not all that heavy. I'm listening, if you'd rather get it over and done with." Nonetheless, she shifts the weight of the basket, readjusting her grips upon both sides.
"No, not my age, really." Daer hurries his speech, "It's just that like you said, you're older than me and a candidate - and not in this class, but it's possible that there will be weyrlings older than me for another turn or two, and I hear that they can get troublesome sometimes."
Ilesyn shrugs it off with a shake of her head, and a motion of her shoulders. "You just have to assert your authority, and remain in control, while at the same time allowing your similarity in age to prove that you do remember what they're going through, and can understand it. Use it to your advantage." Again, the basket is shifted, thumb pressing tightly into the inner side of the wicker.
C'daer tilts his head and, when he answers, is obviously impressed. "I hadn't thought of it from -that- angle. Thanks. Oh.. hm." His attention is drawn to the basket, and his lips curve upward in an amused smile. "Ilesyn? Can we step outside for a moment?" It sounds as though he's just thought of something.
"It's the only logical thing to do," remarks Ilesyn, tossing the gratitude off with a single nod of her head. Eyebrows raising archly, she nods, clearly intrigued. "If you'd like." Without waiting for further clarification, she starts to lumber into the field, knees banging against the lowly-held basket.
You amble eastwards to the weyrling field.
C'daer ambles in from the weyrling barracks.
Iele ambles in from the central bowl.
C'daer hurries behind after, asking once they're out of earshot of the weyrlings, "Has Avila said anything to you about anything of mine? Something red?"
Iele crawls on over, commando style, and hunkers down behind a large rock to spy on things.
"Red? Red underwear?" Ilesyn shakes her head, letting the basket slip from her fingers onto the ground; her fingers are promptly shaken out, then stretched. "No, but I heard it mentioned by one of the weyrlings in there," she indicates the barracks with her head. "Have I missed some interesting gossip, then?"
If Iele had pointy ears, they might be perking up right about now., that lovely word, gossip has caught her attention.
C'daer flushes lightly, "Avila has a pair of red underwear that she's taking around and telling everybody is mine, you see. Absolutely ridiculous, of course."
Ilesyn, of course, doesn't notice Iele. Her head tilts to the side, a flash of interest visible upon her expression. "Your body suggests otherwise. You flush too easily," she remarks.
"No, it's just that we're talking about underwear," C'daer insists. "It embarrasses me. Nothing to do with guilt at all."
"What's embarrassing about underwear?" queries Ilesyn, eyebrows raised again. "Even if it is red. What I've got to ask, though, is where Avila would get such an idea - if there wasn't any truth to it?"
C'daer pauses. "I, I, I don't know," he ventures, not having thought this out very well. "Maybe the weyrlings. But um, I was thinking that perhaps maybe we could give her that pair," he points to some on top of the pile that are bright pink and purple, "and tell her that they're, um, J'van's. I bet that would get her off talking about the other immediately."
Ilesyn's expression remains unconvinced. "Uh-huh," she says, rolling her eyes. "Tell me another." More surprised is her expression as C'daer explains his plan. "You say 'we'," she begins. "If /I/ get involved in such a thing, I get labeled as a pranker, and I have more dignity than that. If they're not yours, what have you got to hide? Ignore her, and move on. Retaliation only seems to hint at your guilt."
"Ohh. Uh. Never mind," Daer says, drooping slightly. "It's just that she does this sort of thing so -often-. It's really annoying." He looks sideways to see if he's getting any sympathy here.
"Then you have to think of something better. No cheap taunts - you need to hit her with something psychological, to really get her back," suggests Ilesyn, stretching the fingers of her right hand with the help of her left. "I know perfectly well how annoying she can be."
C'daer's eyes widen. "Would you help me, then? Because S'vilen talking to her didn't do a -thing-, if he did talk to her at all. And you'd know about that better than I would." He glances about, checking to see if he's being overheard.
Iele sees the rider start to turn, and ducks down behind the rock quickly. A heart-stopping moment ans a small pebble is dislodged though.
Ilesyn is clearly very tempted, and though it takes several moments, she nods her head in assent. Oblivious to Iele's presence, still, she continues, "I suppose so. What might work best would be to create a false scenario that plays like one of her romance scrolls. Make it appear /real/ - and play with her mind that way. She'd end up looking rediculous, if it played right." A plotting smile draws itself out upon her face, deviously satisfied.
C'daer eyes Iele's rock for a moment, and apparently isn't suspicious enough to look. "You mean like one of her pining for unrequited love deals? Like if you suddenly developed a huge crush on me, but only talked about it where she would hear and nobody else?"
Iele creeps back up, checking caerfully before finding the best spot to watch again. Although there's a obvious look of disgust at the mention of love 'eeeeew'.
"Goodness, is that believeable, even for Avila? I don't know if I was thinking that drastic." It does give Ilesyn reason to pause, though, and she comments, "Though it certainly would make her appear quite insane, if she went babbling on about it."
"It sounds like her romance scrolls," Daer points out. "Lusting over," he makes a face, "the handsome bronzerider who's weyrmated. Can the blindingly intelligent but not stunningly beautiful Ilesyn catch his eye and steal him away? You could start by seeing if you could get those underwear away from her by pleading lovelornity."
Iele can't help it, up on the rock, she starts a low sniggering, although they might not hear it, being so engrossed in their conversation as they are.
"Blindingly intelligent? I'm flattered." Ilesyn gives the laundry basket a little kick with her foot, noting, "It's so nauseating that it really might convince her, so long as it doesn't convince /other/ people. Are you sure you want to do this?" By her expression, Ilesyn's game, and cheerful enough about the prospect, too.
Pausing, Daer wonders, "Do you hear something?" He frowns, glancing around, until he spots the source of the noise. "Oh! Say, what do you mean by eavesdropping," he demands of the girl, then murmuring to Ilesyn, "I forget her name, do you know it?"
Iele looks sutubborn. "nothing. C'daer's got red knickers though!" she says, sticking out her tongue as she slides off the rock and makes a run for it.
Ilesyn gives a half shake of her head in response to C'daer's question, instantly alert; she turns to face Iele, her eyebrows raising. "C'daer does /not/ have red knickers!" insists Ilesyn in an authoritarian voice, as much as she can make it. "Evesdropping is a bad habit. Do you want to talk about it? You /can/ recover."
Iele stops and turns around at that. "How else am I supposed to learn anything around here then, nobody tells me nothing!" she says defiantly.
C'daer just has to laugh at that, shaking his head, as he starts out after Iele, "Hey, come back here! I don't have red underwear.." He stops as she does, and looks over his shoulder at Ilesyn. "I bet she could help convince Avila that you're serious. If she wanted to be included," he says thoughtfully.
Iele ohs at that, asking to be included in mischief - no that is something Iele can deal with. But she schools her face into an expression of neutrality. "What would be in it for me?" she asks, keeping just out of reach.
Ilesyn's expression turns considering at C'daer's suggestion, a short nod of approval following. "What do you want?" she queries. "Is there anything you have in mind?"
"The satisfaction of seeing Avila thwarted," Daer says with relish, "but - er - Ilesyn has the right of it. Anything special you'd want out of it?"
Iele's mind is obviously whirling with possibilities. "WWell," she starts, drawing the word out. "That would depend." she says, looking pointedly at both of them in turn.
"On what?" Ilesyn's quick to respond, tilting her head forward. "Go on."
C'daer nods, tucking is hands in his pockets and lifting one eyebrow. "Free mindhealing sessions, perhaps?"
Iele snorts. "Like I need my head checked." she says, mimicking perfectly the tone of her sensible foster mother. "You could agree to let me off if you catch me doing something bad." she comments, and flashes them a toothy grin.
"Everyone needs their head checked from time to time," insists Ilesyn, cheerfully. "But if that doesn't interest you..." She pauses, considering Iele's request. "I don't have that kind of authority. C'daer?"
"Well, we could not tell the Headwoman that you were eavesdropping," C'daer says, sounding thoughtful. "And I could offer you one dragon ride to wherever you'd like to go, if that interests you."
Iele hrms. "ABut eavesdroppings not /bad/" she says... intrigued by the idea of a dragonride.
Ilesyn shakes her head. "Evesdropping /is/ bad, I-- Iele." A flash of recollection, perhaps, and a brief, tight smile to go with it. "People like their privacy. Some things deserve to be kept private. Which is why we won't tell Chhaya, this time."
Iele humphs. "Psharn't do it then." she says recalcitrantly.
"Exactly," Daer says, nodding at Ilesyn's words. "And think of the places you could go. Southern Weyr. Monaco Weyr. Boll, Benden, High Reaches - anywhere on Pern. Twice," he adds to up the odds.
Ilesyn nods, approvingly. "Good girl. Do we have a deal?"
Cyndalia ambles in from the central bowl.
Iele looks slyly back at them. "What do I have to do then?"
Iele is standing just out of arms-reach of the dragonrider and the candidate, looking at them with all the defiance a ten-turn-old in the wrong can muster.
C'daer stands with Iele and Ilesyn, in quiet conversation. "All right. Let me see. Ilesyn, you'll try to convince her to give you the underwear because you have to have something if you can't have me, right? Maybe Iele can mention to Avila beforehand that she saw you staring at me, to prime the pump, so to say."
Ilesyn inclines her head forward. "Right. I think I can manage to pull that off. She may laugh, but I'm persistant enough to make it work. You'll have to go for the whole frustrated about having another woman after you thing, right?" A toothless grin falls into place upon her lips, gleaming amusement in her expression. "This should be fun. Iele? Just make sure that you /don't/ let anything slip about-- well, you know."
Iele hrms thoughtfully. "Like spreading tales... isn't that bad too." she says sweetly, face looking so angelic as she does so.
Iele giggles. "What, about C'daer's red knickers?" she says, and collapses into a spasm of giggles.
C'daer clears his throat. "It's.. it's not bad if you're doing it for a -higher purpose-," he tells the young girl. "We're doing it to get Avila to stop gossiping. That's a very noble pur... stop laughing!"
Cyndalia carries a worn messenger bag over her shoulder as she makes long strides across the bowl towards the weyrling fields. The tall, lanky girl snorts softly as she hears the conversation and adapts her path so that she passes close to the group, trying to catch C'daer's eye.
Ilesyn smirks. "Yes, indeed," she says, archly, "We have cause. There's a difference, something that you'll learn when you're a little older, I'm sure. Oh, C'daer, let her laugh. It makes her story all the more plausib--" Trailing off, Ilesyn catches sight of Cyndalia, and shuts her mouth, tilting her head in the other girl's direction rapidly, and silently.
Iele nods, looking innocent again. "Oooh, a noble purpose." catching sight of the older girl, she buttons her mouth about the subject of pants, but can't help but add sweetly. "Don't you think red is such a lovely colour?, going over to gsay hi."
Iele adds the last is directed at Cyndalia.
Daer's mouth clamps shut as he too catches sight of Cyndalia, looking worried. After a moment he just laughs quietly and murmurs to Ilesyn, "Whatever happens, it should be amusing." Then he calls, "Hello, Cyndalia," to his cousin, watching Iele greet her.
Cyndalia wears a definite smirk as she stands, one hand on her hip, a little outside the group. Her green eyes flicker from Iele to Ilesyn, before coming to rest on C'daer. "What's this new mischief, cousin. Is there something Avila should know?"
Ilesyn's lips are held tightly together, but she nods in response to C'daer, his murmur drawing something of a mirthful expression. "Indeed," she agrees, turning her attention to greeting Cyndalia - although not particularly warmly, or openly; it's just a short, easy nod.
Iele looks at Ilesyn and C'daer, a smirk of mischeif sneaking across her expression at that innocent comment.
C'daer quickly shakes his head, "No, we were just talking about I'lani. You know, the bronzerider she isn't weyrmated to." He attempts an innocent smile. "What're you doing down this way?"
If anything, the smirk widens into a rather malicious smile as C'daer speaks. She unbuckles the flap of her bag, pulls it open, searches for a minute or two, and finds what she wants. The hide is removed and handed to C'daer. "Why, delivering you your latest romance scroll. You don't remember ordering it just yesterday?"
That was Cyndalia.
Ilesyn's eyebrows lift at the entrance of a romance scroll to the conversation. "I didn't know that you were into that kind of education, C'daer," she marvels, kicking at her basket of dirty laundry again. "It doesn't seem to be quite your style. You," she adds to Cyndalia, "Are his cousin? I don't know you, yet."
Cyndalia straightens her face into what could pass for a respectful smile. "Oh he is. He's quite a regular of Avila's collection. One of her biggest fans." She gives Ilesyn a nod. "Cyndalia. His cousin. Come to live here for the year, and do a few odd jobs. Avila's roped me into delivering her scrolls for her. Interested in looking at a few?"
C'daer pauses, and then gibbers indignantly, "Cyndalia, you have me confused with Daera. -She's- the one who reads romance scrolls. Not me. Shards." He crosses his arms across his chest and sulks.
"Ah," is all that Ilesyn says, in response to Cyndalia. "Curious. First the undies, and now the romance scrolls. Everyone seems to be out to make you look like what you say you're not, C'daer."
Cyndalia blinks ever so innocently, giving C'daer a hurt look. "Why, I'm quite sure it was you. You came to find me yesterday, in the Resident's Hall. Don't deny it. You told me quite plainly that you had finished the two I gave you last week, and wanted something a bit more graphic this time?" She pushes the hide against his chest. "Surely you don't have such a bad memory as to forget all that?"
"This is ridiculous," Daer snaps, and steps backward. "I suppose Avila's put you up to this, huh? It's just like her. I'm guessing -this- is why you were sent to the Weyr, then?" He arches an eyebrow. "I haven't been keeping a close enough eye on you."
Sylural ambles in from the central bowl.
"Avila is bad news," admonishes Ilesyn; evidently, she's taking C'daer's side for once, no doubt thanks to discussions in play prior to Cyndalia's arrival. "Do you believe that you have tendancies to follow down her path? If so, I'd like to try and work with you about them, and see if we can't redeam you."
And Cyndalia's smile turns into a rather annoyed grimace. "Don't underestimate me like that. I'm the one who delivers, so I'm the one who knows where they go. Avila does't figure into the picture. And I certainly don't need looking after, Daer." At Ilesyn's question, she shakes her head. "I certainly wouldn't want to -be- like her. I merely deliver her scrolls. It's a job. No one else offered."
C'daer answers, strongly indignant, "If you don't want to be like her, then you ought to stop this nonsense about me wanting.. wanting," he blushes, "-graphic- romance scrolls. That's just." He wrinkles up his nose, "Ugh."
Sylural traipses across the bowl carrying a /huge/ basket, covered with a clean cloth. She grins at her bestest friend, wiggling her fingers in greeting before heading over to C'daer. She tugs at his sleeve and stage whispers, "Weyrlingmaster! Lookit, I brought some, just like I promised. You can have first pick." This last bit is offered in a spirit of extreme generosity and self-sacrifice.
Ilesyn's gaze shifts from Cyndalia to Sylural, and she shakes her head. "It's beginning to look to me as though you've been set up, C'daer." She takes a step back, nudging at her laundry basket from the side so that it comes back with her. "Good. I'll see you in my office later, then?" she adds, Cyndalia earning something of a smile. "I think we might be able to get somewhere, if you're already willing to change."
Cyndalia raises an eyebrow at Ilesyn. "My situation's quite tidy. I don't really have a need to change, perse. What did you have in mind?" She certainly doesn't look likely to follow the woman anywhere yet. A smirk is given to C'daer, "If you didn't want them, than you certainly shouldn't have asked for them. Make up your mind.
Daer brightens upon seeing Sylural. "Did you steal them -all-? You're more talented at that than I thought," he says happily, and gives Ilesyn only a glance, "Huh? Set up? Yes, I'll stop by later." Cyndalia receives a haughty look down his nose, nothing more.
Sylural looks highly indignant. "/Steal/?? I never /steal/ anything, sir. I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about. Anyway, you should pick soon. They're hot and steamy, just like you like them to be."
"Or not," comments Ilesyn, glancing from C'daer to Sylural. "I don't think I want to know about any of this." Cyndalia is given a wan smile. "We'll just talk, and see where you think you need to go. I imagine you /do/ have some ideas." Shaking her head, around the entire company, she picks up her basket, lugging it off towards the bowl.
You amble eastwards to the center of the bowl.
Posted by Louise at January 29, 2003 04:46 PM