January 14, 2004
Ainsley arrives, and Serriena makes a scene.

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You head through the narrow tunnel and into the bustling living caverns.

"To the hold, yes," Kiora replies, attempting to find an empty table someplace. "My aunt and uncle are cotholders, and I was raised with them. Dad's a Starcraft journeyman, and he's posted at the main Hold. Haven't been off the island since I was a baby, though I suspect that sounds sort of silly, especially considering it's easier for me to manage now. Have you -- err, are you very familiar with Ista? Or mostly with Southern?"

Emani comes up the flight of stairs from the inner caverns.

W'rik comes up the flight of stairs from the inner caverns.

Ainsley smiles kindly - tolerantly, or indulgently would also fit - towards Kiora as she continues to pace the young woman. "I'm afraid I'm not, no. Southern had me working more with High Reaches and Igen, but never Ista. Which is unfortunate or ironic, dependent on how you want to look at things."

W'rik follows Emani at an easy pace, hands still tucked into his pockets. He pauses at the top of the stairs and looks around before moving into the cavern.

Emani takes her time about sauntering into the cavern, glancing at W'rik just behind her. "Whether you want to stick 'round here or not, up to you." She angles her way towards the mealtable, just now taking the time to survey the crowds. Kiora gets a quick nod, but it's the blonde with her that's afforded an apprasing glance, knot included. Interesting. She continues on her way, stopping where the wine is kept to hunt through the skins.

R'hyn's dusty, dirty and sweaty enough to look as though he's been drilling; his shirt is plastered to his skin, and though he appears to have washed his face and hands, the rest of him plainly grubby. He ambles in from the Bowl, searching out a clean mug, which he fills with water, then turns to seek a seat somewhere. A seat, spied towards one corner, takes him closer to Kiora and the woman who draws a faint brow-crinkle from the young man - to the point where he hesitates. "Er, hello, Kiora, and--?"

Kiora waves at Emani, and though she smiles pleasantly enough at R'hyn, she looks a bit wary about his appearance. "Hullo, R'hyn, sir -- this is Ainsley, sir, our new Weyrwoman. Weyrwoman Ainsley, this is R'hyn -- he's a bronzerider. We were gonna go get some supper. D'you want to come, maybe?" She peers nervously at Ainsley, for a moment. "If, um, you don't mind. R'hyn's been around longer than me, so he probably might be more help."

Ainsley can appreciate that several pairs of eyes are on her, and flourishes under the pressure. Her shoulders pull back, her chin lifts and her expression schools itself. "No, of course I don't mind. R'hyn -- it's a pleasure. Although maybe he'd like to wash up before joining us?" It's offered as a subtle tease, but enough of a point lurks behind it to carry the message across. "You look to have been mining firestone all by your lonesome!"

W'rik shrugs. "As long as there's something good in there," he gestures a nod toward the skins, "I'm happy anywhere." He takes a moment to look around the cavern, noting the familiar, the semi familiar and the completely not familiar bodies. "Did you want different scenery?" he asks as an afterthought.

Emani grins over to Kiora at the wave, then arches her brows curiously. Maybe she'll hear more about all this later. She goes back to looking through the skins, but not before giving the new Weyrwoman another quick glance, her expression shading serious for a moment or two. Any gravity is gone when she holds up a wineskin triumphantly, offering it to W'rik to look over. "Good enough, I think. And yeah, let's get out of here. This place'll fill up soon, if I'm guessing right."

R'hyn, unmindful of his appearance for a moment, sticks out his hand at Ainsley. "I /thought/ so," he says, quickly - too quickly - smiling. "Welcome to Ista, Weyrwoman! I remember when you Impressed. I was down south, then, and I was back there for a sevenday or two not so long ago, but I suppose you wouldn't have remembered m--" he suddenly trails off, guiltily, his face overtaken by a blush, his hand drawn back quickly. "I, er, yes. Should wash up. Thank you, for the...um. I'll do that." Scarlet, he turns upon his heel.

Kiora looks greatly disappointed as R'hyn moves to depart. "Oh -- well, I don't mind -- um, come back quick?" Please. "I can go save places, if you want to go get something to eat, Weyrwoman. The tables are right over there." Kiora indicates the proper direction with a wave of her hand. "I recommend the bread. It's /really/ good."

Ainsley smiles most coy, watching the Blusher try to retreat. "We'll hold a place for you, sir," she calls after him. Don't worry! We can reminisce once you've knocked the chunkiest bits from yourself." A chuckle runs around her voice as she turns back to Kiora,. Giving the girl a nod, she glances in the indicated direction, already appraising the bounty. "I will, thank you." She makes no offer to fix something for the girl as she strides in that direction.

W'rik nods to Emani, apparently for several reasons. "Yup, good stuff," he agrees about the skin. He too glances new Weyrwoman-wards. "So that's her, huh?" he thinks out loud. "Yeah, lets get out of here," and he gestures toward out of here.

"Apparently," Emani answers W'rik, managing to sound fairly neutral about the turn of events; still, as the Weyrwoman calls out to R'hyn, she can't help but look a little impressed. "Onward, then." And she moves for the out-of-here, passing a crowd of wingmates who've already got the news and are in full-on gossip and stare mode.

Emani disappears through the narrow tunnel to the bowl.

W'rik disappears through the narrow tunnel to the bowl.

R'hyn scurries - there's truly no other word for it - across the caverns and down the stairs, his mug still in his hand, sloshing water over the floor. His return is made less dramatically, a short time later. He's cleaner, and wearing a different shirt, though it looks rather too large for him, and his blush has faded to a steady pink glow that may be hot-water related.

Kiora makes her way through the crowd, apparently not upset with the weyrwoman's lack of food offerings. She eventually manages to find an empty table, and plops herself down at it, looking out for R'hyn and waving a hand wildly to indicate her position once she spots him. "Here! Table. Got one." So happy.

Serriena comes in through the narrow tunnel from the bowl.

Ainsley helps herself to a host of foods: nothing dominating, more a sampling of Ista's cuisine. And once that's accomplished, there are shades of Emani as she starts a perusal of the wine selections. She finds a turn that suits her and takes up the whole skin, offered a goblet by a passing kitchen hand. It may not be one she'd have chosen herself, but it'll do. With another flash of smile, Ainsley turns to find Kiora again. The girl was around here not all that long ago...

Serriena doesn't look happy or content as she walks into the cavern. The Jr. Weyrwoman looks very worried. She has a bunch of hides in her hand. "Kiora," she states seeing the younger weyrwoman, "Have you seen the Weyrleader today?"

R'hyn takes several moments to register Kiora's frantic wave; he starts abruptly towards her, sinking into one of the free seats. Glancing up, to try and register Ainsley's whereabouts, he wonders-- "What's she like?" Serriena's arrival draws a short blink, then a brief smile, his mostly-empty mug raised in greeting.

"Over here, Weyrwoman Ainsley," Kiora calls again, turning a vivid shade of pink as Serriena appears. "I -- I just saw him a little while ago, um -- um, Serri, and I had to give you a message." She takes a deep breath, and states, "Thank you for your services and could you please get the Weyrwoman's records for Ainsley?" She points in the new Weyrwoman's direction appropriately. "Who arrived." R'hyn gets a very nervous look. "She's -- well -- she's. Um. I don't know."

Ainsley turns her head, following the sound of her name. She was going quite the wrong direction, so she'll have to first circumvent half the cavern before reaching Kiora and R'hyn. And now Serriena, though she's too far away to notice the detailing on her knot.

Serriena turns to face the woman who would be senior. Her expression is rather bland as she regards her replacement in a critical once over. "Well met Ainsley," Serri states. She looks at Kiora. "I'll get those records later. Hold off on your message," She moves halfway across the cavern to meet Ainsley, "Weyrwoman Ainsley it is important you'll need to speak with E'van about a serious matter regarding Ista Hold."

"You don't know?" repeats R'hyn, befuddled. He shrugs his shoulders, pushing his mug further across the table, then asks, "Well, what did she think of E'van, do you think?" There's a pink tinge to his cheeks, as though he's embarrassed to try and edge information out of Kiora - or at all. He comes short, peering after Serriena hesitantly, brow furrowed, though he makes no comment on the subject. "Anything you can tell me? Anything at all?"

Kiora looks mildly bewildered. "But -- that was my message." Kiora keeps a very wary eye on Ainsley's position, and attempts to think of something better to say to R'hyn. "She -- he -- I don't know if they liked each other. She's very ... um, charming, sometimes, I guess? But," Kiora lowers her voice as much as she can without her words being inaudible. "She and E'van both sort of make me nervous, and I don't feel any better now that we've gotten ourselves a Weyrwoman." She sits up abruptly, and looks mildly embarrased that she might've said anything construed as negative about -- well. Someone. "Anyway, I'd best go. Siramyth's not real happy right now. Make sure Weyrwoman Ainsley gets around okay?" And, that said, she skitters swiftly out of the caverns.

Ainsley's eyebrow arches into a haughty angle, her progress stymied by the would be messenger. "And -you- are?" She rakes her eyes over the other woman, slashing them across the tattletale knot as she stands over her. "Ah," her voice ripe with disdain. "You're Serriena. I suppose the lack of manners is understandable then. Well -- out with it. What must I speak to the Weyrleader about?"

R'hyn's too occupied staring confusedly after Kiora to catch any part of the exchange between Serriena and Ainsley -- his brow is deeply furrowed, expression registering him as lost in thought. "Well," he says, finally, to himself. "Interesting."

"Lack of manners," Serriena repeats half painstakingly, half upset, "I see E'van has been talking to you." She waves her hands. "Nevermind his stupidity. Niaryth has received word from Zineath, V'lin's brown, the watchrider of Ista Hold. Someone has closed up Ista Hold, some black guard. Nobody is getting in and nobody seems to be coming out." She reports the news with some alarm in her voice. "I would send riders out to investigate but since that is no longer my job, I will address the matter to you."

Ainsley tilts her head laconically, expression more than merely droll. She makes quite the point of their height difference. "Why should we send riders out to investigate what is clearly a Hold matter? It sounds most unfortunate though, I'll admit." Balancing her plate -and- goblet in the same hand, she uses the newly freed one to pop a green bean into her mouth.

R'hyn finally turns, as if realising that his companions all seem to have deserted him, and his gaze comes to rest upon Ainsley and Serriena. He's too far away to properly hear what they're saying, but he watches all the same, brows quirked upwards with shy interest.

"Probably because our tithes come from the Hold and we have relations there?" Serri reminds somewhat caustically as if she's dealing with a five turn old. "If you won't speak to him, I most certainly will." She feels it is a matter that needs addressing immediately from the tone of her voice.

Pulling her shoulders back, Ainsley looks down at Serriena firmly, all pretext of nonchalance thrown aside. "That isn't your place, nor is it necessary. You've reported to me, your duty is fulfilled. If you'd care to go over my head, feel free -- but you'll be answering to the Weyrleader's ire by that point. Our tithe is independent of any uprising at Ista Hold. It's more than a connivence, it's a fact of life. The new Lord will know this and will act accordingly. That is, if he wants Ista Weyr's protection. And I can't see why he wouldn't. Now, don't worry your dizzy head over this. I've trouble enough picking up the pieces you've carelessly dropped without you inventing even -more- headaches. If you'll excuse me." Considering the Junior dismissed, Ainsley steps around her and begins to proceed on R'hyn and Formally Kiora-wards.

R'hyn's eyes have narrowed more than a little bit in plain curiousness, as Ainsley - from this angle, it seems - dismisses Serriena and moves towards him. He folds his hands somewhat nervously upon the edge of the table, pressing a smile into service to cover his curiosity. No more than half a glance is spared towards Serriena; briefly, he considers her, before his attention turns immediately back to Ainsley.

Eyes narrow at the weyrwoman who has been harrowing and insulting her. "My place is to care for Ista as my home." Serriena states rather loudly, so everyone can hear. "And that includes all of Ista Island, even the Hold." She doesn't follow the current Senior Weyrwoman and in fact states, "I see now why E'van and Shiae chose you. Assuming things about me before you even know me. Fine. Two can play that game." She brushes off her jacket as if brushing off any courtesy. "You're as much a bitch as he is a bastard." Yes she always did lack diplomacy when it came to those she felt threatened the homeland. And now she makes her own assumptions. "I see we won't work well together at all." Turning without a so much as a by your leave or a farewell, Serri stalks out.

Serriena disappears through the narrow tunnel to the bowl.

Ainsley offers R'hyn a warm, engaging smile, her expression somewhat embarrassed -- for Serriena. "Boy -- is she always so grand standish?" But someone's missing. There used to be two, after all. "And what's happened to Kiora?"

"Err," says R'hyn, eloquence lacking as his head turns back and forth between Serriena - /that/ statement he didn't miss - and Ainsley. "Sometimes. Yes. Kind of. I think she was predisposed not to like you, and that probably didn't help much." He bites his lip, turning pink again. "She went to go see to Siramyth, I think."

"Ah," Ainsley says softly in an understanding tone. "It's alright. I'll catch up with her tomorrow, no doubt. Hopefully Serriena won't be as persnickety about the Senior's records. I'll /need/ those, her predisposition be damned." Setting her plate and glass down, she offers the wine to the bronzerider, assuming he'll do her the honor. "It's really such a shame, too. With Mechelle -and- Shiae at Southern, I've only Kiora and Serriena to count on. And Kiora's too inexperienced to fill Serriena's shoes. But, no matter." With a sigh, she selects another green bean. "I shall make due, no doubt." So put upon. Never the less, she finds it in her reserves to offer R'hyn another charming smile.

R'hyn opens his mouth to say something, hesitates, then blurts out, "She means well. She'll, uh, get used to you." There's a long pause, and, quietly, he adds, "Probably. She'll get the records, though," he assures the new Weyrwoman. "She's not stupid." The wine he accepts with a momentary expression of confusion; then, enlightenment dawning, he quickly pours some into the goblet with an unsteady hand. "Serriena had less," the bronzerider remarks, after another pause. "I'm sure you'll be fine, yeah. E'van's-- well, he'll-- you should be fine."

Ainsley chews thoughtfully, brushing her fingertips absently as she uses the same hand to reach out for her now filled glass. "She seems rather... high strung. Which is unfortunate. Well meaning intentions with little thought behind them rarely accomplish anything." Filling the pause with a sip, she peers over the rim almost coyly as she notes, "And weren't you her Weyrleader? You may remember me from my Impression Day, but I only know your name as a Southern "defector" who went on to catch Ista's senior."

R'hyn sets down the wine again, looking a little like a small animal caught in a bright light. "Um," he says, shrugging intelligently. "I guess. She does okay. I-- I was, yes." He manages a little smile, there; it's well and truly obvious that Ainsley intimidates him, quite a bit. "I didn't defect! I was called home. Mother needed me. But that was a while ago, and E'van was her Weyrleader, too, for a while."

"Yes. I caught the 'bastard' remark she was screeching across the cavern." Again, Ainsley flashes embarrassed for the other woman's absent benefit. But that's unpleasant, and R'hyn is far better company. With a wry grin, she reaches out to take up a cheesy puffy thing. Her wine glass she keeps in her other. "Traitor," she teases, nose crinkling. "Come over to mum and, whoops, just happened to catch the Senior? Who do you think you're fooling."

R'hyn's cheeks are pink, as he ducks his head into a nod. "She's had a tough couple of turns," he says, after yet another of his pauses, fingers playing with each other sweatily. He opens up his mouth to object - or so it seems - then halts, and smiles shyly. "Well... It /was/ a few turns later. And he caught her before then, too. I certainly didn't /mean/ for it to happen." His nose wrinkles, head shaking quickly.

"Ah, the trials and tribulations of the bronzerider. You don't have to -want- something for it to happen anyway. Especially when it comes to golds taking to the skies." Something innuendo-ish lurks around Ainsley's phrasing, but it's a bit too obscure to be made plain. Never the less, all sorts of lascivious vibes roil off the goldrider towards the redhead. "What do you do now? Besides blush profusely, R'hyn."

"No truer statement," agrees R'hyn, eyes lowered away from Ainsley's face - he's somewhat edgy, ill at ease in her presence. "I ride in E'van's wing." The blush darkens, predictably, and as if to direct his attention towards something specific, he finally takes up his mug, sipping at the room-temperature water. "Life's much simpler without the bigger knot."

Ainsley swirls the wine in her glass when answering. "I'm too new to mine to know that for sure. I'll get back to you in a fortnight, maybe. Of course, if -all- of my staff is going to blow up at me, I might be pressed to agree with you." That's a lie that anyone half awake could see through. She was -born- to that knot, and she knows that for a fact. And wears it as such. Still, to be conversational... "Just what /have/ you people done with this weyr to embitter it's population so?" It's a rhetorical question at best, though one clearly in need of an answer. "Everyone is so edgy, distrustful. And apparently even the hold's on the brink of disaster. Crackdust." Interrupting the miniature whirlwind of wine, she punctuates her reflections with a healthy swallow.

R'hyn allows a half-hearted smile to respond to Ainsley's remark; he's not fooled, though he plays to the game. "I'm sure you'll settle in to it. Most Weyrwomen do." His mug is released, though he pushes it about with one finger, a nervous habit - a need to do /something/ with his hands. "We've grown something of a distrust for... outsiders," he opines, finally. "E'van is not well liked, not after the Fort debacle, turns back." He keeps his voice low, and adds, "You'll have to win respect. What's up with the Hold?"

"Oh," Ainsley says with a wave of her hand. "There's apparently an insurrection in progress. It's terrible, to be sure, and my heart goes out to Ista Hold for her safety -- but I'm not about to send a wing down there to bang on their brass doors. That's a /hold/ affair, and last I checked -- we were a weyr. I'll call council tomorrow to assess our tithing situation, obviously, but I'm not going to be the island's nanny. I'm surprised Serriena even suggested such a thing."

R'hyn makes an open-mouthed 'oh' sound, then nods mutely, biting at his lip again. Finally, he remarks, "It would be a-- a /nice/ thing, to show support for the Hold. Many members of the weyr have ties to the Hold. It's close, after all." Flushing furiously, he halts, head shaking. "I apologise. It's night my place to make suggestions."

Ainsley reaches out to lay a reassuring hand on the man's fidgeting fingers, her expression sincere as she searches to make eye-contact. "No, it's alright. I appreciate your input. But until we know for sure what's even going on, our hands are bound. I can't just stamp into E'van's weyr and demand he launch a wing down to the Hold without any facts. We've a watchrider down there; if anything absolutely /terrible/ was happening, I'd assume he'd alert us immediately. As he hasn't... What are we to do but wait and see?"

R'hyn's fingers slow to a halt as they're touched, and his head lifts, eyes meeting Ainsley's for the first time in quite a while. "That's true," he says, finally - if heavily. "Have to find out what has actually happened, before we can do anything. But it is our duty, to protect them. If we... can, or need to. I don't know." He sounds slightly troubled, though he makes an effort to smile.

Ainsley presses her advantage, loosely taking his hand in her own as she rewards his efforts with an encouraging smile of her own. "We're bound to protect them, yes, but not intercede on their behalf. Hold, Hall and Weyr are autonomous. To shatter that is to shatter the very foundation of Pern. We'll wait and see, and do what we can -when- we can. But we can't overstep ourselves. We have our place too."

Again, R'hyn manages a hesitant nod - and that self-conscious smile. "Of course. That's the way of it. I'm just," he pauses, and smiles more brightly - if somewhat falsely, "too much of a bleeding-heart, I guess. Hate that things go wrong. Part of why I was a hopeless Weyrleader." His eyes fall back towards that hand, holding his, and finally, he draws it away. "You'll have to excuse me. I have, ah, things to do."

"Of course," Ainsley says softly, her hand left to cradle the echo of his. "It was an evening well spent, R'hyn. I hope we have the chance to share others." Again she smiles encouragingly. Nothing pushy -- not yet, not anymore. Just... a little smile. "Well met, R'hyn."

R'hyn, flushing pink, stands up and backs away slightly, watching Ainsley - not warily, but certainly not comfortably, either. "Er, yes. Welcome to Ista, Weyrwoman. I hope things go well for you." Then, he's gone, turning and walking quickly towards the Bowl, expression so much a mixture of different emotions that it's impossible for anyone to really gauge what he's thinking.

You head out through the narrow tunnel to emerge in the bowl.

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