February 4, 2004
Shiae attempts to pry information from R'hyn, who is also introduced to Jorli.

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

Shiae lifts a shoulder. "Either. Both. But if it's only been a few seven-days, that would explain things. The Weyrleader's kept me... well, 'hopping' is the wrong word, but 'busy' is too dull. You were born at the Weyr, then?" She and Jorli are seated at 'her' table - the one between the infirmary and bowl covered with hides that Ismaye frowns at whenever she passes.

R'hyn's got a towel over one arm, and his hair - and his shirt, it seems - are pretty damp, while his feet are covered in sand and leave footprints as he goes. He slopes through the cavern, heading around the edge on the infirmary side, though his eyes are upon the serving table, and food.

Jorli smiles and nods. "I think I understand what you mean. And yes, I was. But when I was about three or so my mom sent me to live with my aunt and uncle at Sibren. It's near Bitra."

Shiae says, "Sib...? Ah, that would explain that." Her eyebrows, expressive things that they are, flick up again as R'hyn passes. "Afternoon, R'hyn," she calls, slightly louder than necessary. "How is Arisvath?"

R'hyn, who has thus far been oblivious to other people in the caverns, jumps, nearly dropping his towel. "Oh! Shiae. Same to you. Arisvath's good -- really good. How's Carianth?"

Jorli grins slightly at Shiae's reaction and glances up to see who it was she called to. She looks at R'hyn curiously, apparently not someone she's met, but it seems as if the name sounds familiar.

Shiae nods toward an unoccupied chair on the other side of the table. "She's fine. Hovering, as usual. Come sit? ...Put the towel down first, or Ismaye'll come drag you off by your ears." There's a half-full pitcher of juice on the table as well, but no extra glasses. "I wanted to ask you about B'myr."

"Of course," agrees R'hyn, glancing at Jorli and giving her an uncertain smile, and a bob of his head. "Oh, all right-- B'myr?" Shaking his head, he does as he's bidden, returning with a glass in hand, and no towel.

Jorli looks over at the trail of sand R'hyn left with an expression of mild, well not quite annoyance, but close. But, when she returns R'hyn's semi-greeting it's with a perfectly polite smile.

"Nhiameth, actually," the greenrider acknowledges before ordering loftily, "Jorli, I hereby order you to ignore that mess." Pushy, isn't she? Back to R'hyn. "Her flight, if you want specifics. I heard that Nhiameth was caught by some Fortian bluerider?"

R'hyn glances at the floor in surprise, as if he hadn't even noticed - which seems likely enough - and blushes a lovely shade of pink. "Oh, sorry about that." He busies himself pouring juice, and avoiding Jorli's eyes; he's noted her knot, now. "Er, yes. A Fortian bluerider. Dunno if I remember his name, though. He seemed really scared-- shy, really. F'nah, maybe? Something like that."

Jorli chokes down a laugh and manages a somber nod at Shiae. "If you insist." Which it seems she has, so Jorli quite pointedly ignores the mess, she's quite good at following orders. She looks satisfied at R'hyn's blush and thus makes no comment to him about the mess she's just been ordered to ignore.

Shiae's not shy, not when it comes to gossip. "Come on, R'hyn," she presses. "That's /it/? I saw the man myself. Tall." A glance flicks to Jorli, and away. "Very tall. B'myr's... doesn't want to talk about it yet. That leaves you." R'hyn would likely remember how intent the greenrider can get when she wants something. Well, now she wants details.

"Well," says R'hyn, a little disgruntled, "What is it you want to know, precisely? He didn't seem to realise that there were, you know, Fort issues here. Had a message for E'van-- I /do/ wonder what that was about." He sips from his glass, concluding, "Seemed like a nice guy. For a Fortian."

Jorli doesn't know enough about Weyr politics or gossip so sips at her juice and just listens, though not looking over to read Shiae's hidework this time.

Shiae flicks her fingers. "Details. Anything. I don't want to pester B'myr." Left unspoken is the fact that she has no qualms about pestering -R'hyn-. "I know he's tall, I know he's rather, hmn, shy. What's his blue like? Do we have to worry about him hanging out here, bothering B'myr all the time? Conversely, what if B'myr has a crush? Will we ever see him again, or are /we/ going to be left dealing with B'myr's broken heart?"

R'hyn sets his glass down with a light thud. "Shiae, I don't know. They were here for all of ten minutes before Nhiameth went up-- that's not really enough time to get to know a person. And during the flight? You know as well as I that none of us manage to keep many straight thoughts in our heads during a flight - particularly about a competitor. We'll just have to wait and see."

Jorli frowns slightly as she just catches up on something. "Wait, he...flight...male..." she shakes her head and holds her hand up. "No, never mind, I'll figure it out." Some re-writing of cultural norms is obviously in store for the Holdbred teen.

Shiae's hazel eyes flick toward Jorli again, but she isn't about to stop for the morals of one Holdbred girl. "I don't -want- to wait and see. I'd rather be prepared in case B'myr decides to chuck it all and transfer to Fort. While I'm sure E'van would laugh himself silly, that's a scene I'd rather not be subjected to, all right? Now then. What do we know about this F'nah? I know he apologized to E'van for being late. And -you- say he was here shortly before Nhiameth's flight. So I /suppose/ it's possible he went home and returned the next day..." She trails off thoughtfully, eyes gone vague.

R'hyn glances at Jorli, almost sympathetic, frowning. "Er? Yes. It's-- really less complex than you might think." His attention returning to Shiae, he shrugs his shoulders. "Maybe he stayed all night, too - it's not as though that never happens when there's no relationship to come. F'nah-- whatever his name is, seems like a good sort. He's not going to break B'myr's heart, least not intentionally, and this may be like just about any other flight and mean nothing." R'hyn's turning a little pink, however. "Do you worry this much over /every/ flight?"

Jorli doesn't look so much embarassed as confused. "And no one cares?" She asks, once she's ran through what she'd heard a few times. "I mean, you don't care about the rider's gender?" Apparently she at least gets what flights are all about.

That question derails Shiae's next question; she turns to regard Jorli in some surprise, blinking. "Well, no. Should I? It's just... hmn." The girl gets another half-breath's study before she turns back to R'hyn. "No, I... sorry. I'm fretting, aren't I." It's just... I care about the boy." Who can only be a few Turns younger than herself. "I'm... I... well, /shells/. I don't /want/ to wait until he's sharding ready to talk about it!"

"It's a flight," supplies R'hyn, quickly. "It's different. You don't really care, until it's over, and even then, not always. And some people prefer their own gender, even." He listens to Shiae with most of his attention, nodding finally. "I can see that you do. Well-- I can't really help any more than that. He'll come round, or maybe he won't, but he'll be all right, anyway. B'myr's strong."

Jorli considers this and to Shiae answers, "To some people it matters. I don't think I care, never thought about it. Still..." she waves off whatever she was going to say and chooses something else. "I've never cared before about who people sleep with at the Hold, I guess I shouldn't care about this." Right, if she keeps saying it eventually she'll start to believe it.

Shiae simply regards Jorli with a, "yeah, right," expression. "I suppose you're right, R'hyn." She finally tears her attention from the girl in order to fasten it on her juice instead. "I just don't... Shells. I can just see this turning into some huge /thing/, and, well. I'd rather try and stuff Carianth back into her shell, thanks."

R'hyn allows a sort of comforting smile for Jorli, noting, "You do get used to the idea, eventually. Even /Ismaye/ has-- she even, if the rumours are correct, slept with a brownrider whose lifemate occasionally caught greens with male riders." Glancing back at Shiae, he shrugs. "I don't, but maybe I don't know B'myr all that well. You can't stop it, anyway."

Jorli shrugs and smiles at R'hyn, "Thanks." She picks up her now empty glass as well as her own hides that were sitting on a chair to her and stands. "It was good to talk to you, Weyrsecond, but I should get back to these." She gestures with the hides and gives a nod of leave taking to R'hyn, before heading towards the stairs out of the cavern.

Jorli heads down the stairs, deeper into the Weyr.

Shiae eyes R'hyn as she tries to work out that little bit of trickery. "Ismaye has slept with a brownrider whose lifemate has caught greens ridden by males? What's that supposed to mean?"

R'hyn rolls his eyes. "Ismaye is a prude; ergo, that she slept with anyone is surprising. Moreover, that she was okay with her-- boyfriend, whatever-- sleeping with other /men/, is saying something. Of course," he concludes, blushing slightly, "That she no longer is sleeping with said brownrider may say something, too. I don't know. It was an example."

"A confusing example!" Shiae retorts, but she's laughing. "I suppose even Ismaye has to turn somewhere when golds go up. So I, um..." Usually blunt Weyrsecond drops her eyes and fiddles with a nearby bit of hide. "Rumor has it you also have been spending time with a brownrider whose lifemate likes to chase greens."

"Rumour says Ismaye wasn't concerned with the golds going up-- that she was more than happy to do it on her own accord." R'hyn's eyes nearly dance - surprisingly - and they don't stop at Shiae's apparent discomfort. "I'm surprised that's not been confirmed a hundred times over already."

Shiae says, "Not by one of the main players!" but again, she's laughing, mostly at herself. "Arisvath's not the jealous sort, is he? Because if he is, I'll try to keep Carianth away from him. Viasseth, I mean. Those two are disgusting."

R'hyn smiles around the rim of his glass, amused. "No -- he and Niaryth have had a thing for turns. I didn't realise that Carianth and Viasseth were like that, too."

Shiae merely nods. "You should have seen them at the pool when I finally got back. You'd think they'd just mated, instead it being... hrmn. However many Turns ago it was. Of course, the fact that they /hadn't/ made it far easier to talk to Cardixa!"

"Yes, I'm sure," agrees R'hyn, setting down his glass again, though he keeps his fingers wrapped loosely about it. "I admit, it surprises me. Carianth's usually so..."

"Irritable?" Shiae supplies helpfully. "Grumpy? Foul-mouthed? Resentful?"

R'hyn coughs. "Er. Yes, those."

Shiae grins widely. "What, none of your own to offer? C'mon, R'hyn, I know you've thought of one or two. Carianth's a..." She trails off encouragingly. "You can do it."

R'hyn thinks for a moment. "Shrew. Carianth's an irritable, grumpy, foul-mouthed, resentful shrew."

Shiae applauds lightly. "I knew you could. And people wonder why I'm so, um..." She trails off again, eyeing R'hyn. Will he fall for it and supply the missing end?

R'hyn opens his mouth to conclude the adjective, then stops short. "So what, Shiae?"

A slight head tilt hints at a wry 'oh well'. "Just curious. I wish sometimes that Carianth would talk to other people. Candidates, mostly. Show them that Impression isn't all flaming dragons and eternally-loving lifemates."

R'hyn hesitates briefly, then nods his head, slowly. "True. They're so starry-eyed, and it makes them ignorant. Mother tries to talk to them, but most of them dismiss it as stupidity, not something that could ever happen to them."

Shiae says, "I tried to tell Mechelle, and look where -that- got me. Us." She's quiet for a moment, as she sloshes her juice around in the glass. "How about you, R'hyn? Were you one of those starry-eyed Candidates? I wasn't; I was too busy being blinded by my own, by my own plans to really think about what Impression meant. Or means."

Evening twilight disperses and the true darkness of a summer evening settles in fully. A light wind ripples the air, chasing a few stray clouds across the sky. Being summertime, it's humid and uncomfortable. (76F, 24C)

R'hyn glances down at his own juice, nodding his head. "I-- I was a pretty mixed up candidate. It was a relief, in part, because I didn't want to be a Harper, and the older I got, the more pressure there was. My voice hadn't broken yet. If I'd waited it out a little longer, it would have, and I could have been more obscure. But no." He lifts his head again, a half smile. "I expected to Impress a blue, if anything. It's what my family does. But even with a family of riders, I didn't think about what to expect."

Kiora comes in through the narrow tunnel from the bowl.

Shiae and R'hyn are sitting at the table she's claimed as 'hers' - it's the smallish one halfway between the infirmary and bowl. It's also the one habitually strewn with hides, much to Ismaye's chagrin. "I don't think they -can- know what to expect, or even... hrm, suspect it. Even if they do come from a family of riders. Still. Impressing Carianth was one flaming good wake-up call. I just wish there was some way to... buffer people. You know?"

"Yeah, I do," agrees R'hyn. "It's such a difficult thing - because once they're in, they're stuck on, and most won't want to get out, because our lifemates do make things worth it, mostly, but... I've known riders who hate it. And it's frustrating, because we can't fix it."

Kiora putters in sleepily, making her way towards nothing in particular. Trundle. "Graagh." Ki meanders irritably towards wherever there's a bakset of bread, and looks as presentable as Ki ever looks ... which is to say, of course, barely.

There's no bread at Shiae's table, but there is a mostly-empty pitcher of juice. "If it were an interval they could be put to doing something else," the greenrider agrees, her attention drifting toward Miss Alertness. "Afternoon, Kiora," she calls over before finishing her juice. "Eh, this is something for Weyrlingmasters, not Weyrseconds and... wingriders." Yes, there's a slight hesitation between the ranks.

"Only another thirty-seven turns," remarks R'hyn, counting on his fingers, nodding. "Afternoon, Kiora," he echoes, glancing at the goldrider; then, with a parted-lip smile, he nods, "Indeed. There's no need for me to worry about such things in the least - and you only slightly more."

P'lok comes in through the narrow tunnel from the bowl.

"Hullo," Kiora replies, looking in the wrong direction as she does so -- then she sorts it out, and putters towards the pair's table. "Oh. Ah. Hullo, then -- worry? What're you worrying about?" Blink, blink. "Somethin' happen? Nobody told me."

Shiae and R'hyn are sitting at the table she's claimed as 'hers' - it's the smallish one halfway between the infirmary and bowl. Kiora's nearby, and the three are talking.

Shiae says, "Nothing's happened, Kiora; we're just talking. Could you be a dear and hand me my canes?" She points; her canes are on the floor close to her chair. "You're welcome to sit down. I need to go supervise Carianth's eating. Faranth knows I need to be under her eye at /all/ times." She rolls her own at this edict.

"Just being old farts talking about young people," agrees R'hyn merrily enough. "See you, Shiae. Don't worry about-- er, who we were talking about before. I'm sure it'll all be fine."

"Right," Kiora replies absently, doing as Shiae's asked and handing her the canes. "'kay, then. So long as I didn't miss anything important." Apparently not quite up to finding a better table, she plops down in an empty space at theirs with a beam. "Thanks. And. Um. Okay, then -- bye?" Squeak.

Shiae, after a few moment's juggling getting the canes arranged to brace her, stands. "I'll try not to, R'hyn. Though any news you could pick up would be appreciated." She bestows a - is it? yes, an almost fond smile on the goldrider. Shiae's gone senile! before asking idly, "Did you talk to Ainsley?"

R'hyn nods his head quickly, hand wrapping more tightly about his glass so that he can pick it up, drawing it close to his lips before he agrees, "I'll see what I can do."

P'lok enters somewhat wearily, though not unhappily. The sight of other people in the Caverns (who'da thunk it?) causes just a moment's pause near the entryway before he trudges toward the serving tables, making a vain attempt at smoothing his unruly blond hair as he goes.

"Not yet, ma'am," Kiora replies, blushing faintly. "But -- I went to visit some of the other crafters, so now I can tell her about those, too, all at one time." A sage nod, and she waves down a drudge passing with some rolls. "Soon, though. I can't dawdle."

Shiae sidesteps away from her chair, leaving it open. "R'hyn, could you hand me that pile ? The one at your elbow? I'll look at those while Carianth's feeding." Under her breath, a mutter. "...something /useful." "--Well, you two, I'd better be going. Clear skies, and my regards."

R'hyn tidies up the pile and hands it over, though not without a rueful grin. "Glad they're not /mine/ to deal with," he murmurs, head bobbing to Shiae. "Same to you, of course." He stretches out, feet on the chair opposite him, glass in hand.

Shiae drops R'hyn a nod and tucks the hides securely - or as securely as possible - under one elbow. It's tricky to walk with double canes when one arms snugged tight to your chest, but the greenrider manages it without dropping anything. At least while she's in the 'caverns, anyway.

Shiae disappears through the narrow tunnel to the bowl.

Before much of any interaction with other humans can be made, P'lok suddenly stops, slaps his forehead in a classic gesture of forgetfulness, turns, and scurries out, muttering curses.

P'lok disappears through the narrow tunnel to the bowl.

"What kinds of things were you talking about, sir?" Kiora asks nosily, waving after Shiae. "Nothing bad, was it?" Just to make sure, even though she already asked once.

R'hyn balances his glass in his hand, wondering, "Will you ever remember not to call me sir, Kiora? I'm just a rider - just call me R'hyn. No, we were just talking about how we wish there was a way to properly warn candidates about what being a rider can involve, before they Impress."

"You're older than me," Kiora says, attempting to justify her frequent slip-up. "My mom taught me it was proper to call your elders sir... oh, really?" She quirks an eyebrow, looking mildly concerned. "Well ... I guess that's a good thing to worry about. But it's hard to do, sometimes, I guess. I dunno if my group worried much about it."

"Yeah, but you don't have to remind me that I'm old," R'hyn is quick to respond, though he stumbles over his words a little. "Your group was lucky, then. I just see a lot of people getting into something they don't understand -- and sometimes, they regret it, even having found a lifemate."

"Sorry si --" Kiora manages not to say it, this time, and instead picks at a roll. "I didn't mean to say you're old, just that you're older'n me. Which is true ... well. I dunno if my group was lucky 'cause we didn't know, or if we've just been lucky 'cause no one's been hurt. Worst injury I know of that happened recently --" As the first Fall doesn't seem to count. "-- is A'raz gettin' hurt on his wrist."

R'hyn sets his glass down again, and explains, "No, you didn't, but it reminds me, is all. Aside from which, I got too much 'sir'ing altogether when I was Weyrleader. I'd rather be free of it, now." Head tilted to the side, he wonders, "A'raz hurt his wrist?"

Kiora bobs her head, looking just a bit sad. "Got a small 'score. It's not bad, but -- y'know. Threadscores aren't ever nice, I suppose ... and I'll try not to call you sir anymore, if you really don't like it. S'just a hard habit to break, I guess."

"No, they're really not," agrees R'hyn, rubbing at an old scar that runs across his palm. "Thanks, Kiora. I do appreciate it. I know it'll take a while, but... I'll call you ma'am until you learn, shall I?"

Kiora grimaces slightly. "No. I'm glad I'm okay so far, though, and Sira too. I dunno what I'd do if she got hurt." A worried sigh, and then she grimaces again. "No no no. I already told Shiae not to call me ma'am, and I don't want you to, either. That just seems silly, to me."

"Hence," remarks R'hyn, though not without a smile, "why I'll do it to remind you that I, too, have a name, Ma'am." More seriously, he adds, "It's not fun, to be sure."

"R'hyn," Kiora whines. "I /know/ what your name is, but -- but I'm just not used to /calling/ you your name. I'll get it soon ..." She pauses, and after a couple of moments, nervously asks, "What's it like, sir? Being 'scored."

The corner of R'hyn's lip quirks. "I know you will, ma'am." He half-shuts his eyes, thinking. "It hurts. It burns - a searing pain that goes right through you. And keeps going, because it feels like it's eating right through you, which it kind of is, until you go between and it does. But it still hurts after that, because of the cold as well as the burn."

Kiora rests her arms on the table, and props her chin on them. "It doesn't heal well, either," she says idly, more for lack of anything better. "I wish it did. It can't be nice to have that scar there forever ..." A brief pause, and she clears her throat awkwardly. "Sorry -- um, sorry, R'hyn. If y'don't want me asking about it."

R'hyn shakes his head, running his fingers over the scar again. "It takes a while, and it hurts the whole time. It does stop hurting eventually, though, but, yeah - still there. At least, you know, it mostly doesn't disfigure people or anything." He shrugs his shoulders, smiling gamely. "No, no, I don't mind."

Kiora watches his fingers with mild interest. "I can't wait 'til the interval comes. Sometimes I'm sad because I don't want to have to worry about Siramyth and me and everyone in Fall -- but I guess that's just how it works."

R'hyn pushes his mug around with one finger, remarking, "At least you and Siramyth aren't on the top layers - you'll have far less chance at being hurt. And the rest of us? We're well trained. We do our best. Thirty-seven turns, and then we'll all get our rest."

"That's true," Kiora murmurs, sitting up straight again. "That's a long time, though, 'specially considering what we do, top layer or not."

R'hyn nods, quietly. "Not all of us will make it. It's a sobering thought, isn't it? In thirty-seven turns I'll be sixty-five, and maybe not even flying thread anyway, come to think of it, though."

Kiora considers this for a few moments. "I'll be ... fifty three. Or fifty four, I guess, close enough. That's not too old, I guess. Some folks live a long time. Maybe when the Pass is over, we can all move to Southern for a long time and sit in the sun and gossip like aunties and uncles do."

R'hyn laughs, leaning back in his chair. "We could do that just as well here, and then we wouldn't have to leave home!" Shifting, he draws himself to his feet. "I ought to get some things done. I'll see you around, I'm sure."

Ainsley comes in through the narrow tunnel from the bowl.

Emani comes in through the narrow tunnel from the bowl.

Kiora blinks, then nods, beaming pleasantly. "Alright then, sir ... um, R'hyn. Have a nice evening."

"You, too," agrees R'hyn, picking up his glass to carry with him - there's still some juice in it. He heads towards the door, bobbing his head quickly towards Emani and Ainsley as he goes.

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

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