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Trampled underfoot by many taloned feet, the landing field is little more than a patch of brown within the verdant green of Xanadu's lush fields. Multiple gouged marks in the ground bear witness to the many times dragons have extended talons to gain friction before lifting up into the skies once more. As the days continue to get warmer with the approach of the southern summer, the smell of the heavily scented flowers and early fruits combine to leave the air almost cloyingly thick with sweetness. You see Sahrinth and Timoth here. Obvious exits: Courtyard Weyrling Training Area Forest |
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A solidly muscular build cinches Peydra's steady androgyny: broad shoulders support a heavy frame with little fat. At five foot, nine inches, she stands well above average for a woman, her mass imposingly laid out. Thick arms and legs have the bulk of muscle considered appealing on a man, but less attractive without the Y chromosome. Her dirty blond hair is slowly growing, a riot of curls held back and tamed via a visible clutter of hairpins. Still not quite long enough to reach the collar of her shirt in the back, it is sufficient to obscure the brownrider's vision. 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 short blue tank top covers most of Peydra's torso, leaving a few inches of her stomach bare. Well-defined shoulders and biceps are left uncovered by the simple shirt, and a clear tan line marks her biceps halfway down. Her shorts are a light brown in hue, just a few degrees north of tan, and end several inches above her knees, bearing legs that cannot be called shapely, though they do have definite shape. Peydra looks to be in her late teens. |
With a wooden practice sword held easily in one hand, Peydra slips through the quiet paces of a practice routine. Step, slash, and bring the sword up to parry in a point-down gesture which slides into a twirling sidestep and a new slash. Not yet at the stage where her weapon has melded into a part of her, she dances with it like an unfamiliar partner -- knowing the steps, she is nonetheless unfamiliar with the particular intricacies of her mate.
The weapon whistles, falls, lifts with Peydra's arm as she paces through her routine, its wooden balance and heft cording the muscles in her arm as inertia builds and flags. Her eyes focus on a point a bit ahead of the tip of her sword, always, her whole head turning with the sweeping motions.
A thin trickle of sweat slices through the invisible sheen of dust on Peydra's temple, washing it to settle in thin dark lines on either side of the trail. Her breathing is even, and the quiet dance of her routine is evidenced perhaps more than anything else by the way her breathing slips into the rhythm of her footfalls and motions, a type of unspoken, percussive ballad of woman and weapon.
As Peydra's breath begins to quicken, she forces it to slow again, keeping her steps and air intake solidly meshed with her beginning rhythm. Lift, step, swing. Turn, parry, step, swing. The motions blend into one another with greater agility as the brownrider's hand gets the feel of the sword, sliding its wood into the nerves of her arm.
A swing of the practice sword brings its hilt to Peydra's left hand, and she adjusts automatically to a neat 2-handed grip. Her elbows bend and pivot for a parry which she converts into a full-body swing, shoulder and torso following the motion to arch the blade back up, its flat there to catch and divert the force of another imagined attack; with a side-stepping turn, she lets the weapon lower to slice low at an illusory opponent.
With a rhythm that moves her neatly across the field, Peydra continues to follow her blade, letting the swings of the weapon guide her as she directs them, a sharing of the man's role leading the dance. The tempo of her motions picks up somewhat, the urgency building as she pivots and steps, her gaze following the sword, with the periphery always active and aware.
The sword comes down in an arching stroke which culminates with the quiet release of one hand from the hilt as the brownrider slides back, balanced lightly on the balls of her feet. Still her breathing falls into the smooth rhythm of her motion, or the motion conforms to her natural rhythm of breathing. The triangle between her shoulderblades is darkly damp with her sweat, but her routine persists, unfaltering.
With a slash and a pivot, Peydra's balance finally fails her, and she half-stumbles, catching herself after no more than half a step. However, she takes the moment of weakness as a sign of sorts, and pauses, resting the tip of her weapon on the ground for a moment and contemplating her physical condition. Enough work for the day.
Move to Great Hall:
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Elaborate paintings and elegant tapestries hang on the walls of the vaulted hall, scenes of Weyr life both old and new depicted on them. Sturdy chairs, benches and well built tables are set all over the huge room, for the comfort and enjoyment of the spectacular view. Large window with ornately carved lintels are carved into the walls, protective shutters flanking each one, able to be close to protect from the chill of the night or the blustering of storms. When open, they allow any breeze, however slight, to blow into the Hall, cooling it off during the heat of the mid day. Centered along each wall, sets of double doors are inset into the walls, each ornately carved and polished to a deep shine, usually propped open to allow for better air circulation. The hall is always busy, no matter the time or heat of day, as weyrfolk and riders alike come and go to partake of refreshments and meals or simply to gather and talk on any number of topics. You see Shiny Brass Watermelon Trophy, Wineskin, Bebe, Isa, Persephone, Gazali, and Psychotic here. Jyfer and K'les are here. Obvious exits: Entry Hall Central Hallway North Corridor South Corridor |
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Jyfer is approximately 5'5. She has brown shoulder length hair with blonde and red highlights from the Southern sun. She has grey-blue eyes that are the color of the sky before it snows. She has a dark tan showing she has been living South for quite sometime now. She has a dimple that shows on her cheek when she gives her common smirk. She speaks with an accent that many who don't know better would place her from Fort, but it has a slight drawl in it which would account for living in the borders of Fort's neighbor Ruatha. She has an average build which shows she eats well, but leads an active lifestyle. Jyfer is wearing a faded shoulder knot of violet and silver that shows she is a Xanadu Weyr Resident. Jyfer is wearing a grey tunic that goes to her mid-thigh. The tunic is of a soft silk like material that accents the soft greyness of her eyes. It is slightly baggy but doesnt do much to hide Jyfer's more female features. It has an intricate design of blue thread around the neck line in the shape of dragons, and thicker cloth at the shoulders for whenever Breeze or Mischief decides to land on her. Jyfer is wearing a blue leather belt around her waist and attached to the belt is her dagger and a small grey pouch. She is also wearing soft baggy blue wherhide pants that go down to her ankles, and blue wherhide boots under the pants that go to midcalf. Jyfer looks to be in her early twenties. |
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K'les is of average form, medium of height and build, though her few turns as a rider has trimmed her form to the athletic side. Wide set eyes are bright with intellect and humour; little escapes their notice. A dainty, well shaped nose, fine lipped mouth and a firm chin, all set in a heart shaped face, combine for a subtly pleasing effect. A light tan across her cheekbones and nose, and a smattering of pale freckles add color to her fair skin and emphasizes the green in her darkly hazel eyes. Curly chestnut hair with highlights of sun-streaked gold frame her face in a short cut, and a long thin braid, woven with Pfelth-green cloth and tiny bells hangs from the nape of her neck. K'les' shoulder knot identifies her a Xanadu wingrider, Garabaldi wing. K'les' riding leathers are of a deep 'Pfelth' green. Wher-hide pants are snugly fitted at the waist with enough fullness in the legs to allow for freedom of movement. Wide criss-cross black stitching strikes a pattern down each outside seam. Tailored riding jacket is a fine fit across shoulders and torso, flareing at the waist to fall mid-thigh, the same criss-cross pattern running down each full sleeve. Matte black boots, heavy soled and fleece lined, run knee high, with a matching leather belt pounch hanging from her belt. Calm, cool and collected. K'les looks to be in her mid twenties. |
Peydra walks in from the entry hall, sweat tracing thin linses down her temples and inscribing a curved diamond with points at her shoulders, between her breasts, and between her shoulderblades. In her right hand she holds a wooden practice sword, gripping the weapon in the middle rather than by the hilt. Her breathing is heavy but even as she moves to pour herself a cup of juice.
Jyfer glances up as Peydra enters, and gives a nod of greeting to the scary rider that isn't quite so scary to her anymore. She keeps on with her mending, finishing one piece and grabbing another in her goal of finishing the task. She stops though, swearing under her breath as she stabs herself accidently, before quickly going back to her work.
K'les nods, really interested now. "Yeah, I heard about that... what /was/ all that about?" K'les deigns to mention /what/ exactly she heard, perfering to get her gossip straight from the source. Eyes stray to Peydra, who appears to be armed with something a little less deadly today. A little. Nevermind the gossip she's heard about Pey lately!
Peydra lifts her cup in her left hand -- her right being occupied with the faux weaponry -- and crosses to settle in a table and eavesdrop shamelessly. She lays the sword out across the tabletop and lifts her cup to her lips. Little sips.
Jyfer coughs slightly, blushing a bit. "I umm...well... got involved with someone I shouldn't have." she shrugs and keeps sewing. "Lets just say I am swearing off men for a little while." Unlike other people...and a quick glance cast Peydra's way.
K'les nods in agreement. "Probably a plan, Jyfer. I hear that the holding cells at Xanadu are.. unpleasant. At least that's what my sister tells me. Told me. While we were still speaking." K'les suddenly remembers her bad mood, and refills her goblet. Family. Nyah.
Peydra's eyes flick to Jyfer at that statement, and she offers a brief, predatory grin. You wanna spread the gossip? Muaha.
Jyfer grins a bit noticing Peydra's look. She finally got on that brownriders goodside. She isn't going to risk it, though she does chuckle at a memory as she works. She will never look at swooning the same way. Her focus goes back to K'les as she works. "No they aren't pleasant, though the headwoman was nice enough to clean one a bit for me...during my um...extended visit."
K'les notices that predatory grin, and turns more fully towards the brownrider. "What? You swear off men too?"
"Oh, you know me," Peydra replies nonchalantly. And what precisely is that supposed to mean? Has she been gelding them?
Jyfer just keeps to her work, ignoring the words of the riders for now. She does put her mending down to rise and pour herself a glass of juice, sipping it as she returns to her table.
"Oh, come now. You gonna leave it at that?" K'les prompts. After all, a grin like that must be hiding something. Far be it form K'les to leave well enough alone.
Peydra pauses with her cup half-lifted, aiming for a mysterious gaze over the top of it. She misses. "Of course," she replies. "Where would the Weyr be if everyone reported their /own/ gossip?" She flashes a brief grin, dispersing all signs of the mystery. "All the stories would be much less interesting, for one. Ask Jyfer. She knows."
Jyfer raises an eyebrow at Peydra and shakes her head as she sips her juice. She sets her glass down to start mending again, grabbing a child's trous from the pile.
K'les inclines her head, conceeding Pey's point with a grin beofre turning back to Jyfer. "Well Jyfer? What's the latest gossip on Peydra and men?" This should be most interesting... and probably requires another fortifying sip of wine.
Oh, definitely more interesting. Peydra leans back, a vague smile still toying at her lips in a vaguely sinister show of amusement as she regards Jyfer.
Jyfer coughs and glances at Peydra before saying "Well, I'm just a drudge, though I was there when Peydra happend to swoon for the headman Eriol? You know the arrogant one? Well... It was a lovely swoon I must say and Eriol was quite taken with it. Only thing they fought about after that was who was going to carry who to her Weyr." She shrugs and smiles. "After that I dunno, rumor is both were quite pleased afterwards, but then..." She shrugs again "Its only rumor, and you can't trust everying you hear from a drudge." Smile.
"Ooh! Is that so?" K'les looks impressed with this piece of gossip, and turns to Peydra for confirmation of facts. "Well... she does look pleased enough, I must say... has anyone seen Eriol since? I mean, he /did/ survive, didn't he?"
Peydra arches her eyebrows slightly. "Well," she says in mock-reproof. "That was disappointing. Honestly, Jyfer, you're a drudge. You're supposed to be better at gossiping than that. Nothing about me threatening to make a tunic of him, or threesomes with T'on, or any of that interesting business? Just the swoon? Tsk. Tsk."
Jyfer chuckles at Peydra. "Sorry, I'm still new to the whole drudge thing. Umm, He came in drudges bowing before him and demanded Anki measure him in her best bathing suit, and when Peydra objected by threatening to make him riding straps for Kinzalth, he sang her a love song, and she swooned into his await arms, then she carried him off to her Weyr? Is that better Peydra?"
Peydra waves a hand back and forth, demonstrating improvement, but still room for more. To K'les, she notes: "I threatened to make a tunic out of his hide, he said I just wanted to be close to him, I said, 'Yeah, right. I want you, I need you, take me," he kissed me, and I told him if he didn't come up to my Weyr after that it was a definite insult to my femininity." A faint smirk fleets across her mouth. "I still think he was afraid I'd challenge him to a duel or something."
K'les leans back in her seat and just laughs. "A tunic! Well where was I when this was going on, I'd like to know! I miss all the good stuff!" She grins, and arches a brow at Peydra. "Well... I hope you gave him what he deserved, Pey."
K'les leans back in her seat and just laughs. "A tunic! Well where was I when this was going on, I'd like to know! I miss all the good stuff!" She grins, and arches a brow at Peydra. "Well... I hope you gave him what he deserved, Pey."
Peydra's eyebrows arch right back. "Depends what you think he deserved." She /is/ pretty good at this gossip thing; helping it grow, spread, develop... and what /did/ Eriol deserve, anyway?
Jyfer smiles and nods to Peydra. "I guess I'll have to work on it them." She chuckles and grabs the last item in her basket. Another dress. Maybe Peydra's? Nah probably T'ons too.
Right. Peydra in a dress. Ha ha ha ha ha. Around the time that the Rukbat collides with /Jupiter/.
K'les shrugs, a smile stil playing on her lips. "You still never told me if he survived. I assume he didn't deserve death?" She peers about the hall, as if hoping Eriol might suddenly materialize.
Jyfer chuckles. "I think he might still be in there, tied up somewhere." Where she doesn't say. Innocent ears remember?
"Oh, come on, K'les," Peydra says brightly. "Do you really think I'd /kill/ someone for sleeping with me?"
K'les rubs her chin thoughtfully. "Well..."
Peydra beams.
Jyfer fights laughter.
"Most men can use a little abuse, I always say." K'les states as a matter of fact. "Or a lot, for that matter."
"Probably true," Peydra agrees readily, but uninformatively. "So, how's your love life been?"
Jyfer looks back at the dress in her hands, going back to work. Let K'les answer this loaded question.
K'les eyes roll ceiling-ward as she reflects. "Hm. Well... I wouldn't exactly call it a /love/ life... "
"Sex life?" Peydra suggests brightly, leaning back with her cup. She's danced her waltz for the voyeurs; it's someone else's turn now. And she votes for K'les.
"Yea, that's the word!" K'les snaps her fingers. "You know, when you have an itch, you scratch it?" Or him. Whatever.
Jyfer coughs and wonders how long it should take to finish this one dress, trying not to laugh.
"Right..." Peydra says. "Um, well, no. I don't generally itch. That way." She shrugs. "But it's good that you scratch." Wait. That sounded wrong... or maybe right, given the sweet smile she angles at K'les.
"Yes, scratching is good." K'les agrees, examining her neatly trimmed nails. "Or maybe 'branding', is a more appropriate term." Felines mark their territory by clawing, no?
Or urinating. "And who have you marked as your territory, then, K'les?" Peydra queries lightly. "And does it work?"
Jyfer finishes her last dress, and puts it back in the basket with the rest of the mended clothes. She puts the sewing kit away and takes a sigh of relief, grinning as she glances over at K'les. She then takes her glass and sips it, relazing after her chore.
Well, enough male bashing for now. After all, the real fun will begin once Pfelth is in for dishing out abuse too. Which may be in the not too distant future. K'les sighs, and places her empty goblet on the table. "Let me know when Eriol shows up, will you? I want to be here to see you swoon, Peydra. See you later!" K'les pushes up from the table, taking her leave.
Jyfer watches K'les leave and sighs, rising herself. She gives a nod to Peydra and takes her basket, heading back to the washrooms.
K'les exits the room for the smaller entry hall.
Jyfer has left.