|
|
|
Bright shining sand stretches down the beach before trailing off into jungle growth along the shores of Lake Caspian here in this small inlet. Less frequented than the weyr beach, piles of flotsam tend to gather near the high-tide line. The sloping landscape rises up onto small dunes, behind which, the jungles of the Southern coast rise up. A tropical wall of greenery surrounds this small inlet, a quiet escape and the frequent nestiing grounds for firelizards. Strong storm winds lash Hold, Craft and Weyr, bending trees and making conversation outside impossible. High up in the sky the winds whistle by blowing the storm clouds south and causing a many difficulties for dragonriders in their flights. With the south at the height of its stormy monsoon seasons, animals take refuge where they can and even the fish have left for calmer waters. You see OOC Firelizard Hatching Rules (l rules) and Ceara here. Anki is here. Obvious exits:
|
|
Peydra can hardly be accused of delicacy; at five feet nine inches, her form has filled out with the solid bulk of muscle. Broad shoulders sport the well-defined muscles considered far more attractive on men, and her arms and legs continue the pattern, built for sturdy functionality more than grace or charm. The slight flare of chest and hips confirms her femininity, but do not come close to dominating her appearance. Dirty blond hair has been close-cropped for comfort and simplicity; its natural curl is subdued by the short length. A few freckles spatter her nose, and vivid blue eyes reflect light and moods with equal ease. Silver and purple twine on Peydra's shoulder; the mating of threads into a declaration of position: Wingrider of Xanadu Weyr. The strand of brown that laces through the ensemble marks her lifemate's color. A light tunic of tan cotton has been loosely belted around Peydra's waist, just tight enough to avoid obstruction without granting her much shape or cutting off the brush of air against the skin underneath. Her pants are long but loose and thin. Her thick boots are the only rebellion she makes against the heat; supremely practical in their durability. Peydra looks to be in her late teens. |
|
A longish plait of dark black falls unevenly to her waist as thick as her wrist, the uneven tips just-just above the curve of her behind. It serves to keep the abundant black strands away from a face ever so slightly oval, contrasting darkly against pale skin. Darkest brown eyes shine underneath perfectly curved eyebrows, shadows deepening them to black. They're placed an even distance away from a thinnish nose that arrows down to a smiling mouth, botton lip too full for perfection. She walks proudly upright, body tall and somewhat gangly with age. Still, enough curves persist to give her a slightly vulpine look. Fingers are long and thin-boned, callouses showing at the base of each. White and lavender coils exquisitely in this betasseled masterpiece of a senior journeyman's knot, Fort's twin colours lightly woven through it. She is draped in a long tunic dyed a wash of pale to mid-greens and comprised of generous pleats and folds, belted at the hip for dramatic effect. Greys, white, and silver coil around one another in a knotwork design around the neck and along the tunic's trailing edge. Its sleeves are snug at the upper arm and flare at the elbow, cunningly fashioned to imitate the practical. Slender calves are sheathed in conifer-green leggings crosshatched in a range of off-whites, klah-dark ankle-high boots beneath, the finishing beneath, the finishing touches on an entirely impish design. Anki looks to be in her early twenties. |
Peydra walks along the beach, moving into the little inlet slightly more protected against the weather. Though the monsoons have paused for a bit, the winds still whip in a cacaphony of directions -- fairly mild, though, for a Xanadian winter. She spots the weaver and lifts one hand in greeting. "'Lo," she calls, her voice pitched a bit more loudly than it needs to be, warring with the weather outside of the tree-wall keeping out the natural forces.
"Hi there." Anki, ensconced in a little nook between brush and dune, is pensively watching the leaves rustle about her. "Come sit down, the wind's quite mild here." She skootches aside to make space for the brownrider, reaching up to tug a twig out of her braid. "Thought you would escape the weyr for a bit?"
Peydra crosses over towards the weaver willingly enough, settling into the protected hidey-hole and rubbing her fingers through her hair to brush loose gathered sand. "Yeah," she says. "Not for too long, though. Elisa's got some things for me to get done this afternoon." She pauses for a minute, quirking her head to one side. "Did you hear about that?"
"Only a little. I never did get the full story. Spill?" Anki turns those black eyes on you and waits, perfectly content to wait out the storm and yank the tale out inch by inch.
"Oy," Peydra says eloquently, turning her eyes up towards the gaps of blue overhead. "Full story. Well." She pauses to order her thoughts, leaning back on her elbows. "From the beginning's probably easiest, right? Well, you know about my issues with everything that's been going on with the leaders of the weyr, right?"
Anki nods solemnly, hunching down over her knees to protect her tummy from the wind's teasing. "You don't like it. Really don't like it. That's what I heard. Further than that, I can't really tell." She perches her chin on one kneecap. "Is it really that bad?"
"It's... frustrating," Peydra decides. "Everyone's acting like children, and these are the people we're supposed to be trusting with our day to day functionality." Beat. "Well," the brownrider continues. She pauses for a moment, as if distracted by the emphatic continuation, then relocates her train of thought. "Right. Well, Jyfer was in the great hall with the Weyrherder's geneology charts. And Elisa started going on about how everyone in the weyr seemed to be doing everyone else's job. Weyrfolk acting like herders and Fortians acting like Weyrleaders. And I told her /she/ ought to do something about it, and Jyfer implied it was Elisa's fault. And so Elisa told Jyfer to show some respect, and Jyfer said something along the lines of: 'Why should I when I don't feel any? If you don't want the job, step down; the last thing we need is another crazy person as a leader here.'" Peydra pauses in her account, both for dramatic purposes and to regroup.
"Right, right, I heard a little of this part. Elisa blew her top or something, right?" Not that Anki wouldn't have; Jyfer'd be neck deep in the vats if she spoke like that to her, as any of her poor apprentices knows. Staring at you, her lips pinch shut. Listen to the story first and ask questions later, weavergal.
Peydra's lips twist upwards into a reluctant smile. "Well," she admits, "I kind of blew my stack for her. Grabbed Jyfer and demanded she apologize, which she did /really/ snidely. Elisa told me to let her go, so I did, but then she told Jyfer to get out. Said that the Weyr took her in and was providing for her, but that she obviously disn't appreciate it. So Jyfer left. And Elisa said she'd deal with me later. And she did." The brownrider does not immediately say how -- some storytelling instinct jumps to the forefront.
Squiggle, squiggle, squiggle. Anki shift-hops closer, ducking underneath a hostile twig. "Serves her right from what you tell me. Still, she was there yesterday, I thought she came to grovel." One foot sweeps a little area of sand clear before her, just enough space to watch as she listens.
"She did," Peydra says. "And so Elisa let her. Grovel. And then made her sit and wait while she dealt with me -- by making me her personal assistant. I'm now helping her with all kinds of things that she doesn't have time to deal with. And I got to start by letting Jfyer back in -- but as a drudge, rather than a stablehand."
"Ugh. You poor fish. That's what you get for being caught in the crossfire. Now you'll have to work with all the mad ones for Faranth knows how long. You'll be mad too before too long." An elbow digs lightly in your side. "How about that? Next time I see you, it might be you flinging the knot back and forth over the Great Hall."
Peydra laughs slightly at that, shaking her head. "No," she says, mostly serious, "I really thing this works out fairly well. Yeah, it's annoying and stressful, but at least I'll be doing something productive. And who knows, maybe I can actually help a bit with the problem this way. If Elisa's not so overburdened, she might be able to do something about the fact that this place is falling apart."
Anki lightly grins. "To look at the place, one would think that everyone's letting the heat get to them. Don't they care that the place is falling apart? Or is it only that each one figures everyone else will pick up the slack?" She gives a vague handmotion. "You should... you know. To S'tan."
Peydra snorts vaguely. "Yeah, well S'tan didn't want the job, and when everyone treats him like a child, he acts like one. Really, I think Kym might be worse than him, in some ways. Her attitude is making everyone's job harder, all the way down the ranks."
Terac walks in.
|
He is tall with pale whiteskin. He has blonde hair combed neatly accenting his exceptional good looks. His pale blue eyes reflect teenage happiness with a touch of sadness. On his left hand rests a small scar suggesting faulty knife work and clumsy fingers. His sly smile rests upon his dashingly handsome face. He has small wiry shoulders and is as thin as a rail. His hands look strong and his ears are keen-looking. He has a little bit of muscle on him but not much. Also, his smile never fades no matter what happens. He is wearing a plain black tunic with black pants. He is also wearing a pair of plain black boots. Upon his shoulders is a black cape with silver fastenings. He is also wearing a small (1 inch) pendant of a dragon made of silver. The pendant is tied on a black cord around his neck. Terac looks to be in his late teens. |
Terac says, "Hi""
Anki rubs a grain of sand out of her eye. "Well, it gets the work done, doesn't it? No one wants to be miserable, so they just buckle down and do their work, instead of cavilling about it." She sighs. "I still can't figure out what's wrong there. You need a nanny in there sometimes." She nods to Terac from her leafy shelter. "Hello."
"I wish," Peydra responds, a bit bitterly. "Buckling down seems like the sensible thing to do, rather than trying to divide the Weyr between who's with S'tan, who's with M'lan, who's with Elisa, who's with who... This place really is going insane." Her attention flickers to Terac, but she doesn't verbalize a greeting.
Terac says, "Hi?"
Anki snorts. "You have a point there. Far too much division and far too little work being done there. I wish you luck." Frowning slightly, she peers out at the youth standing outside. "I said hello," she murmers somewhat testily.
Terac says, "Bye""
Terac goes home.
Peydra's eyebrows lift as she watches the stranger leave. "I think I've seen him before," she murmurs back, lifting a finger to wave little circles around her ear in the universal signal of 'He's loopy.'
"And how," Anki mumbles, eyeing the quick-filling row of tracks the stranger left. "I thought he was a resident at Fort, though. Could have sworn I saw him up there. Wonder what he's doing down here anyway?" She wrinkles her nose. "Seems like there's a rush of mad Northeners coming down to live here. Can't imagine why, the weather's atrocious right now. I'd've stayed until spring down here, at least."
Peydra lifts her right hand to scratch idly at the nape of her neck, where drying sweat and humidity congeal into an itch. "Well, it is the nutcases that seem to be coming down now. Makes sense that they'd choose the insane weather, right?" She flashes a grin at the weaver. "They probably followed you down," she says. "Anki, he's in love with you."
Anki buries her face in her knees. "Don't be silly, you wretch. I'm not /that/ popular up north." She bats at your shoulder. "They've likely heard of the legendary beauty of the maidens around here, as it were. Healthy, tanned, toned, that kind of thing. Should I introduce you to him? He didn't look half bad and mad's gotta be better than Eriol?" A sly grin. "Or isn't it?"
"Ugh," Peydra responds, wrinkling her nose. "You found that attractive? He was so... overdone. It was like the smell of composting vegetables -- yeah, it was sweet, but it made me want to vomit." She ignores the mention of the steward as beneath her attention.
Anki has never been one not to rub things in. In the light of that big brown thing that might just decide to dribble on her should she annoy you further, she abstains this time. Lucky Peydra. "Not my type, but very attractive, yes. I like them a little older and with broader shoulders than that. I'm not interested in /boys/."
Peydra's grin returns, this time with a more mischievous overtone. "Oh, Anki," she says. "I always knew that you were pining for me in secret. And you've finally come forward. I'm touched, but not interested." She braces for the attack she's sure will soon follow.
"For that, little Pey-pey, you're going to suffer." Anki sniffs and sits back, obviously quoting from some scene in front of her mind's eye. "Eriol dearest, I've been keeping my pasison from you secret until now. Still, I tire of hiding everything and scorning you openly..."
"Faranth, Anki, you will d--" Peydra breaks off abruptly, her gaze focusing on a point somewhere southeast of Anki's cheek. "Oh," she says lightly, softly. "Oh, I am a /horrible/ person..."
Blink. Blink, blink. That did not have the effect she was waiting for. Anki, frowning, eyes you worriedly, one arm moving to let a hand rest lightly on your shoulder. "Hey, wait a moment. I was only joking, you know. You're not a bad person. Quite nice, actually."
"No, really." Peydra's eyes snap back to meet the weaver's. "I am /horrible/. Okay, think about this. Annoying Eriol-quirk number one. He thinks that every woman loves him. Completely, totally, and without fail. So.... if I /pretend/ to, he won't even /consider/ the possibility that I'm faking it, right? Won't even cross his mind. And then -- well, there's got to be a way to make him look like an idiot using that, right?"
"Peydra!" Anki pulls her hand back, frown increasing. "You nut, you had me worried for a moment there. Why's it so important to you to get back at Eriol? Just ignore the man, it'll be much easier. Sides, he looks a clever one. You don't want to turn out the butt of your own joke, do you?"
Anki eyes. "Peydra, my darling, that's what you have a kneecap for. Use the darn thing, don't just flop about with it." Growling at the sand trying to shift into her boots, she dusts them off. "I didn't hear that though. Tell me more about it?"
Peydra's cheeks, inexplicably, flush. "It just -- well, I was trying to go outside, and he didn't want to let me leave. So he grabbed me by the arm and didn't let me go until I threatened him." Yeah. Right. End of story. Ahem.
Anki sighs and shakes her head. "You're not telling me the whole story, are you? You're blushing like a maiden that just got her first tumble in the wheatfield." What a delightfully piquant Anki-ism. "Spill. What really happened?"
"That's all," Peydra insists stolidly. "That's what happened."
"Yeah. I don't believe you. Give over."
"It's /true/," Peydra retorts. "He told me not to leave, I said he could eat me, he grabbed my arm, I said to let go, he said no, I said now or I'll stick you. And he let go."
Anki shrugs if off. "Maybe he really likes you." Maybe, just maybe, there's a situation here that needs Anki's ever so delicate touch. Oh ho ho. The Lhuuuuuve Weaver is back in town.
"Oh, yeah, that's likely," Peydra says. "First off, he did that when we'd known each other for all of six minutes. Second off, he's incapable of actually feeling anything more than lust for /anyone/. Third off -- well, I'm not his type, you know?"
Anki blinks at you. "Oh, come on! And you didn't give him the knee? I'm disappointed in you, Peydra!" She mulls the rest over, brows beetling into a frown. "Hmm. Hmm-nmhm. What is his type? The ones whose legs spread as soon as they approximate horizontal?"
Peydra snorts faintly. "Well, yeah," she says. "I gather. Them and the more feminine sorts. Ilyassa. He seemed to think she was fairly interesting." Beat. "Poor girl. Me he just considers a worthy adversary or something."
Plans circle through Anki's hear, gaze far off. "Ah. The ones built to last through a famine," she mentions sourly. As willowy as a...willow herself, she's always envied those types. "At least you know he respects you intellectually. No one considers another an adversary if they don't think them clever enough."
"But you see why I can't give in?" Peydra's question has a slightly pleading overtone to it. "He's the type of person that /needs/ to be put down. Often. Because if they aren't, they become /completely/ insufferable."
"What? Oh, yeah. You have to squash them like lice. But..gently, you know? Otherwise you squash all their spirit out and nothing's fun anymore." Anki, giving no hint as to where /that/ statement came from, shrugs. "I'm sure you'll figure it out. You're all of...what now?" She peers Peydra-wards. "How old are you again?"
"I'll be eighteen in a few sevendays," the brownrider says, the first mention of the fateful turnday that she's made this turn. Peydra isn't the sort to fling it into people's faces.
Anki counts on her fingers. "Hrm. Just about more than two Turns younger than I am. Oh, don't look so disgusted. I had to live through it, I'm sure you will as well. It's not really that old. You still have a /lot/ of time to play with him."
Peydra's lips twitch upwards again, and she looks up at the clouds roiling overhead. "The only question is how," she agrees. "I can't believe he's steward. And I thought Inyshe was bad, back at Fort Hold."
Whamba arrives from the northern end of the beach.
|
Whamba is a short, blonde-haired, brown-eyed male. He has a small but muscular body. His hair shines in any kind of light and is almost to his ears. His ears are not big but not small. His arms are skinny and his legs are strong and short. He has freckles on his nose and over his cheeks. His nose is small and narrow, and his mouth is also small. A grey shirt with black trousers with holes at the knees, and new leather boots. Whamba looks to be in his late teens. |
Anki sighs and stretches out. Hopefully her toes won't get wet from the incipient rain. "Well, there always seems to be one in every Weyr and Hold and Hall. One person that you can not, for your own life's sake, get along with. Guess that's him. Pity, he seemed really nice from what I saw. From an aesthetic point of view, you understand."
Peydra's nose wrinkles. "You found him attractive? Faranth, why? He was really fairly replusive, to my eyes." And that's probably not a good sign; how does one spell denial?
P-E-Y-D-R-A. Anki snickers faintly at your response. "Well, he's too young for me, you understand. Rather young for the steward's job too, but that aside, not bad. What precisely is it that you find so repulsive about him, Peydra? Try to be specific?"
Peydra blinks at Anki. "Specifically?" she says, a bit taken aback. "Well... his eyes. They're flat, and make him look -- yeah. And they don't match him. And he's... well, he's too skinny. And his hair is... messy." Oh, brilliant. Brilliant.
Anki is /not/ convinced here. She settles to pulling that ever so fascinating explanation to shreds. "His eyes are flat and they make him look...yeah?" She grins at you. "Well, you could always feed him up and comb his hair for him, you know." Nice going, Anki. Nice going indeed.
"Yeah," Peydra defends herself against the first comment, without much art. To the suggestion, she says: "Hah, hah. Yeah, funny. Thanks so much for the advice. Faranth, whyever didn't I think of that? Other than the fact that he's an incurable prat?"
"Oh, come on. There must be other things that put you off him. Is he snide? Superior? Arrogant? Impossible?" All words she's used before to describe her loves. "You have to admit that for an objective woman you're finding a lot at fault with him."
Whamba walks over and sits down in the sand next to the lake. Just letting the water touch his warm little feet as he slaps them in it. He notices Anki and waves not trying to be rude and stop their conversation.
"Oh," Peydra says. "I thought you meant physically. Personality-wise? Well, let's see. He looks at women as if they were slabs of meat. He talks to people as though they were children. He thinks he knows more than anyone else, and is completely stupid about most things." She pauses. "Really, that's about it."
Whamba is carried off by Noteth.
Anki mms. Those are better problems, ones she'll actually have trouble dismissing. "Well, he is still a teenager. They grow up more slowly than we do. 'Sides, you have Kinzhalth. That helped you a lot." Not that Anki ever remembers little Peydra being much but grave.
"Well, he should have grown up before he took on the position of Head Steward," is Peydra's judgement. "I mean, really. Like the Weyr doesn't have enough immaturity in the high ranks already?" And so they come full circle.
Anki tut-tuts, finger waving. "Immaturity in the ranks? Shame on you, Peydra, to speak so of your glorious leaders." Not that Anki's going to run and tell, indeed not. "Mmh. Perhaps I need to think of a reason to be at the Weyr more often, I never hear all these juicy bits up North."
Peydra's lips twitch into a smile. "Yeah, maybe," she says. "Look, I ought to go. I've got some stuff to do for Elisa, like I said earlier. I'll see you around, though."
Anki tosses you a cheery salute. "Off you go then, Assistant Peydra. I'll see you later." She makes space with her legs, enough for Peydra to get out of the shelter with. "Take care and don't let him get to you."
Peydra clambers out nimbly enough. "Yeah, I won't," she agrees. "Bye." And she treks back with the wind towards the Weyr.
Peydra has left.