You amble eastwards to the bright and cheerful living caverns.
Rhys enters from the bowl, throwing off his heavy coat even as he walks. Beneath, his thin hirt is open and wet with sweat, stained with blood (or redwort... or both), and the Healer's look is of overall weariness.
Ilesyn's boots go clomp against the stone floor, and her belt clinks as she clicks it into place, wandering across the cavern from the bowl, just after Rhys. The healer's attire is given a knowing glance, though she makes no comment, instead fetching herself a mug of cider from the hearth.
M'ial sits at a table, munching on a redfruit, the fruit bowl from the Serving Table having been stolen by this brownrider currently lies on the table in front of him. What seems like a thousand citron peels surround him, as well as several hundred redfruit cores. Yet, this man remains silent, offering no greetings.
"Mus have klah - or wine. Strong drink." Rhys mutters to himself, rummaging about at the serving table. "Shiva caught herself with a butcher knife." He explains to no one in particular. "Sharding clumsy of her. Should be more careful." The missing is noted, and he turns away from the table to search for the fruit bowl. "Adverse to sharing, old man?" Is sent in M'ial's direction.
Ilesyn's lips are drawn into a smirk around the edge of her mug at Rhys' use of the term 'old man'; the mindhealer-weyrling sidles into a seat nearby, hands wrapping more tightly about the mug. "Or perhaps she just needed some attention," she remarks, towards Rhys. "A plea for help."
M'ial raises a brow at the words the Healer sends his way, "Old man? You sound more like one than I, for you mutter to yourself. And I'll have you know that I'm only 23 Turns old." He picks up a citron peel, throwing it at the healer before glancing at Ilesyn. "Don't you /even/ start on that. I'll throw a citron peel at you!"
"Not bloody likely," The Healer and, ostensibly 'old man' in the group chuckles dryly. "The chit took seven stitches across the palm - a bit more than it would take for her light 'o love to notice her." Wiping at the mess on his shirtfront absently, he adds. "Twenty-three and won't last mch longer, if you begin a food fight while I"m in the room."
"Such a threat," responds Ilesyn, sarcastically. "Citron peel! Oh my. I don't think I could cope with that." Releasing her mug, the Mindhealer notes, "Sometimes people take things too far, just to be sure. I've seen it plenty of times."
M'ial promptly picks up another citron, a bigger one than the one he threw at the Healer, throwing it at Ilesyn, "I told you to not to start that, for Faranth's sake. You said that brown dragons had /everything/ to do with insane people, yet one /chose/ you!" he responds, glancing at Rhys. "Seven stitches?" Shrug, "Oh, I'm not starting such a thing. Not I."
"I can see that." Rhys says dryly, and turns towards Ilesyn. "Brown dragons have everything to do with insane people? Stretching a bit far for illustrations, aren't we, Mindhealer?"
Ilesyn gives a sour glance towards M'ial. "I never said that I was perfect. Brownriders are-- less stable, in my experience. Past and present."
M'ial grins at Ilesyn, "Oh, and you're quite stable? Your own proof has turned against you." A shrug, pushing the fruit bowl, offering it to Rhys. "There you go."
Rhys nods and selects a redfruit from what's left, taking a bite and crunching for a bit. A swig of wine follows, and he pipes up with "So I'd better find a more stable table, hmm? A stable table, heh." He chuckles dryly again and takes another bite. Not a Harper, thank Faranth!
"No. I'm /hardly/ stable." Ilesyn promises, drawing her mug towards her lips. "A stable table? You find that /funny/. Perhaps you, too, are in need of my services, Healer."
M'ial has had his fill of fruits, it seems, for he merely leans back into his chair, "Hardly stable? Well, perhaps you could service yourself?" he asks sweetly, smiling.
Rhys sobers up at Ilesyn's criticism, but the smirk creeps back across his face at M'ial's suggestion. "Now /that/ I'd like to witness." He offers out.
Ilesyn's lips are drawn into a somewhat sarcastic smile. "No. I think it's the /servicing myself/ that is part of the problem. But not-- for long." Rhys' response draws a smirk, too.
M'ial shrugs, rising up, "Well, as much as I'd love to witness this wonderful conversation of servicing people, I've got to go." Then he's gone.
"Need some help with that?" Rhys makes a show of leering, only glancing up at M'ial's exit and taking another bite of redfruit. "Moody fellow."
"That was odd," remarks Ilesyn, staring after M'ial. "Although it only further proves my hypothesis about brownriders." Turning back, conversationally, she laughs. "You make an odd figure -- leering, yet covered in blood. Nice combination. I like it."
"It's quite a hit with the ladies," Rhys rolls his eyes and finishes the last of the redfruit in a few quick bites. "Yes, they come into my infirmary to see me at my most attractive. But thank you. I think." Fellow Healer is given a thoughtful look.
Ilesyn comments, head tilted to the side, as if considering Rhys, "Hey, it's better than firestone dust. At least blood doesn't make a person sneeze -- and it's warm and gooey. Kind of more fun." Or something. "You think you're more attractive after washing, then?"
"Don't /you/ think so?" Rhys turns the edge of the question back. "Besides, anything is better than numbweed - wake up in the morning and can't feel your nose because you raked your sleeve through it and slept on it." What an attractive image.
"I'm allergic to numbweed. That'd be even worse, for me," remarks Ilesyn, conversationally. "Well, I suppose so. Though I must say I've mostly ever seen you at work. What /do/ you do in your off-hours?"
"Work some more." Rhys shrugs "We're understaffed - as I'm sure you know. And what likely nightlife there is around here is out of commission." Again he does a bit of a leer, though not as obviously or enthusiastically as before. "Was back t'the Hall the other day for chamomile - they say they miss you."
"How sweet of them," remarks Ilesyn, almost cheerily. "Should I be feeling guilty, for only encouraging the understaffing? And if it's really nightlife that you want, I could do my bit. If you weren't picky." It's been more than a turn. She's out of practice. But that's a leer -- sort of.
Genuinely surprised at having his advances returned, Rhys manages to cover his reaction with a slow grin. "I'll come find you some night when I won't be sent back to the Hall in chains for trying." He winks shortly, then turns back to the remainder of his wine. "Don't feel too bad - with your specialty you can always continue your training. Master Aelis told me they were wondering if you'd try dragonhealing."
It might just be that Ilesyn's desperate - more than a turn of abstinence will do that to you - or perhaps she's just being her usual self; she smiles, toothlessly, "As you will." Her cider is discarded, having turned cold and gained a skin on the top, and she nods. "Not dragonhealing, too. Dragonmindhealing, perhaps -- but I'd be less inclined to get involved in ichor everywhere than blood everywhere. I'll do my bit, when I can. I'll have to, for my own sake."
"He has that bent, then, too?" Rhys waits for her to supply the dragon's name. "Your -brown, it was?- I mean."
"Sort of," agrees Ilesyn. She doesn't come forward with the name, merely nodding: "Brown."
"Mm, that could be very interesting." Rhys nods. "I don't believe I've read of anything like it before. Is there any precedent?"
Relieved, apparently, that she was not pushed further on her lifemate's identity, Ilesyn nods rapidly. "I think it could be. I've not heard of it before, though I /am/ researching the idea. I'd like to learn more about how they think -- and one example is not enough to make an educated study."
Rhys eyes Ilesyn for a moment. "You can't hardly Impress another, and that's the only way to really make a comparison..."
Ilesyn's head is shaken several times. "I realise that. Faranth, /one/ is bad enough - never try it, I promise you. But I can use him, to learn about others."
"My chance came, and was turned down." Rhys reveals with a shake of his head. "All in all, my Aeri and myself are entirely enough feeding and washign and oiling."
Ilesyn's eyebrows raise. "Then you did better than I, though I swear my exceptance was for a purpose -- and that purpose had nothing to do with Impression." She draws her hands into her lap, adding, "You've a firelizard." Not a question.
"Green," Rhys says simply. That explains it all. "So why /did/ you accept, then, if you had no intention of Impressing? It seems like alot to gamble ith, to me."
"Mmm," says Ilesyn, somewhat disapprovingly. "Research," she explains. "Mostly, anyway. I was studying candidates, and the effect of candidacy upon their psyche. It made it much easier, when I was among them. Everyone seemed to think I had no chance -- I /knew/ I had no chance. But..."
Rhys nods, not bothering to state the obvious. "So you were studying the psyche of candidates - what did you discover, if I may ask? I've often wondered what posesses the lot of them to indulge in their craziness. Purple dye, and that."
Ilesyn's head is tilted to the side, as she raps her fingertips - cut short, and somewhat bitten - upon the tabletop. "They're insecure -- and when they're not, they're overconfident, which really amounts to the same thing. Most of them don't really have a clue what they really want; search is an easy out. Most of them don't /get/ what being a rider is really about, either. There's a lot more than that -- but I haven't had a chance to write up my notes, have I."
"I suppose not," Rhys chuckles "Not much time for anything with - I don't believe you told me his name - not much time with him to care for, in any case."
"Not much time at all," agrees Ilesyn, again failing to provide the name. "And drills, and lessons, and everything. But we'll graduate soon enough, and I might get some time, then."
"Well, I'll be interested in reading them whenever you see the time to have them finished." Rhys offers, then downs the last bit of wine and apologizes. "I'd better get a bath and get to bed - morning comes early." Standing he offers a short bow and a "Ma'am,"
Ilesyn's head is inclined forward. "I'll keep you in mind, when I do." Her toothy smile draws wider still, as she bobs -- "Sir. And don't forget to pop past some time. When you've the... time. Or inclination. Sleep well."
Rhys winks silently and abandons the Cavern, pausing only long enough to retrieve his coat from a chair.
Posted by Louise at January 29, 2003 05:06 PM