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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, Hamlett, Roller, and Psychotic here. Merdan, Riain, Lyllya, and Madailynn are here. Obvious exits: Entry Hall Central Hallway North Corridor South Corridor |
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Of moderate height and weight, and having no distinguishing features, this young man stands straight and looks directly at all to whom he speaks. His hair is soft brown, and cropped close to his head above the ears, and at the top of his neck. His bangs hang down to just above his eyebrows, which are thin, but full, and highlight the deep green of his clear and large eyes. His nose is thin, but not over long, while his lips are full. His neck is short and his shoulders rounded, his arms long and strong, and his fingers long, with neatly trimmed nails. His chest is a bit rounded, but he is not overweight, and his legs are thick for someone his size, while his feet are quite normal. He wears a single loop knot of purple, silver, black, and white twisted together, indicating his status as a candidate at Xanadu Weyr, originally from weaver craft. He wears a thick, loose tunic of a light material colored in a medium green, embroidered with vines and leaves of pale green and white on its square collar and at the ends of its mid length sleeves. The tunic extends down to his hips, hanging loosely over his belt, which is of black leather, and has a simple wooden buckle. Trous are made of a heavy material colored in a darker green, also hanging loosely to his feet, which are shod in black wherhide boots with thick soles. Filled with delight in his love, and happy to work hard at his craft. Merdan looks to be in his early twenties. |
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She's sarcasm embodied, but hides it well within the vapid and sparse-lashed stare. And for all of her classic coloring -- bright gold hair and near-flawless skin to match the bright blue gaze -- she'll never be a beauty, and her slow gain on promised height has not eliminated the chubbiness of her prepubescent curves. If there's something elegant within that frame, its the twin lengths of her braids, grown to reach a widened waist. Her knot is the exception to her customary black -- the silver, purple, and white of a Xanadu Weyr candidate. Black, black and -- yes! -- more black: scuffed boots lace up to her knees, hiding the part of her ripped stockings that isn't covered by the pleated skirt, topped by a tight camisole. That is craddled in Riain's arms. Riain looks to be in her late teens. |
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Soft auburn hair falls down her shoulders and past her waist in a flow of gentle waves. Green eyes gaze out from under thick lashes, contrasting with her pale skin that is only interruped by a soft blush and a scattering of light freckles. Her mouth is small but not thin and set above a rather angular chin. She is not tall, standing at 5'1 and carries just a touch of baby fat while still remaing rather slim. Her arms and legs are proportional to her height, with long fingers on her slender hands. She wears a simple knot of purple, silver, black, and white twisted together, indicate her status as a weaver and candidate at Xanadu Weyr. A sturdy, lightweight tunic of faded emerald hangs loosely from her shoulders, puffing out a bit before a thick belt of worn wherhide pulls the fabric close at her waist. The remainder skirts out slightly, resting at mid-thigh in an ocean of folds. The squared collar has been decorated in a stylized chain of embroidered wild flowers, the cuffs of the somewhat short sleeves and the thick band of the hem carrying the same motife. Her trouse are a bit roomey, the legs a bit baggy and patched in places, and the cuffs turned up so that they rest against the ankle portion of her well used boots. Rogue perches on Lyllya's shoulder. Lennier perches on Lyllya's shoulder. Elior perches on Lyllya's shoulder. Lyllya looks to be in her early twenties. |
One broom and sweeping board retrieved, Merdan moves to intercept the nearest pile in a somewhat surreptitious way. He tentatively sweeps the mess into a pile and scoops it up, taking it to the barrel and looking around before depositing it in the empty container.
Riain walks from the south corridor entrance.
Merdan moves back to another messy area of the floor and cautiously sweeps, watching for any sign anyone might step in the room with a knot other than one like his. He begins to gather the dirt, food and other drops into a pile and bends to pick it up, finally noticing Riain. He quickly moves to dump the board off in the barrel and puts the broom next to it, with the pan on the cover. He stands blocking the view of his tools and waits.
Riain eyes Merdan, eyes his knot, and relaxes. "Hello." It's not a polite greeting, rather curt and slightly antangonistic, but she's at least happy that he won't assign her chores. "What are you hiding? I saw that."
Lyllya makes her way over to the sideboard, pours a rather large glass of juice, drinks it down, and heads back for the entry hall, looking rather pallid and not at all happy.
Lyllya exits the room for the smaller entry hall.
Merdan shruggs "Nothing, just standing here, after doing my chores is all." He walks over to the food table and avoids the growing piles of fetid food, the stench and the squashed bits of all kinds of mess. Taking up a plate he asks "So, how about you, what kind of chores have you been doing?"
"I see." Riain is dubious, but doesn't push the issue yet. "Chores. Let's see. Everything bad that I could be forced into." Her tone, as normal, is distincly displeased, and her smile turns sour as she continues. "Because a rider thought that I talked back, I was assigned stable duty. And today because of an innocent statement, I was made to wash a dragon. Which is why I'm still damp." And she is, for her skirt and shirt both drip water and her boots sound squishy as she walks. All the events, of course, are her version of the events.
Merdan smiles "Oh, you got nice chores. I was cleaning the waste barrels out into the midden, and I suspect they will have me cleaning that soon also. At least you didn't have to clean the privvies." He smiles at her and says "What was your affiliation before you came here? I was a journeyman weaver."
Riain frowns in reply, and shrugs vaguely. "I'd prefer the midden and waste, all in all. They can't punish me for things that I say." Wringing water out of her braids onto the floor -- with this mess, who will notice it? -- she continues, "And I nearly got into a a 'lesson' about staff fighting." But, finally, she has to stop complaining. "I was a smith apprentice. But I spent most of my time in the stables working off my punishment anyways." But that's enough of that -- a single finger points out the bucket he left of supplies.
Riain * --> /bucket/barrel
Merdan looks at Riain with a journeyman's eye "If someone said you talked back, and your actions in the crafthall got you extra and unplesent chores, than on first guess I would have to say that you did talk back. Besides, your attitude toward those who are above you in rank, and here - everyone - is above you in rank, is one of the most important things you have to watch. Attitude is everything. Being responsive in a positive way to those above you is the first rule, especially when safety is involved. And being a dragon rider is very unsafe. I heard a story of a weyrling who was not paying attention, went between and never came back again. Do you want to have that happen to you miss?"
Lyllya walks from the south corridor entrance.
Lyllya enters once again, looking a bit cleaner and only slightly less shakey. Another glass of juice taken and the mess on the flour skirted as the weaver candie chooses a table. "Hello," is directed to the others in the room, the greeting coming almost as a sigh.
Oh dear. He's one of them. Riain mutters, under her breath, something about the poor weyrling better off there without the lectures; but, in a louder voice and one of complete innocence that slowly becomes drenched with sarcasm, "So, if I protested being forced onto bread and water rations for a month as unproper punishment for missing one lesson, then I should be forced into a month of stable work. If that's the case, I'd rather talk back. Authority? Rank? That doesn't equal being a better person than me." A Pernese anarchist? Indeed. "And forcing someone to be positive when it isn't what they are feeling isn't right."
Merdan shruggs "Suit yourself. But what does how you feel have to do with how you treat those who are responsible for what you do? Or didn't you realize that when you misbehave it affects the way your journeyman or master is perceived by others?" He looks then at Lyllya and says "Out in the water too? Riain here had to clean a dragon today."
Lyllya winces slightly, paling again at the mention of dragon baths. "I helped," is stated flatly before another gulp of juice. "Helped to oil too." Shudder. Clearly, this was not a good thing. "Somehow, I ended up with rancid fish oil and.. well.. I was dismissed to go find another chore." Gulp.
Riain twitches an eyebrow, faintly, but spares a slight smile for Merdan. "And what about that journeyman, such as you, not addressing the real problems of apprentices? You just changed the subject. That's ignoring the problem." And just blinks at Lyllya, in surprise -- for once. "Whose dragon?"
Merdan lifts a few bits of this and that from the food table and puts it on a plate, he then pours some juice and then stops, looking at Lyllya "You put rancid fish oil on a dragon? And the dragon didn't complain? Oh my." He chuckles for a bit and then moves with his food to a table "Well, why don't you two join me?" He motions to the other seats near by and adds "And if you are meaning that apprentices are the bottom of a craft, and must obey everyone above them, then you are obviously not going to be anything but an apprentice, or holdless for the rest of your life." unless she can convince some cotholder to wife her.
"No so," Riain smoothly replies. "My family are seaholders. I could have worked on the fishing boats, or in the hold, or stayed at Fort Weyr with my sister." A pause. "Well, not at the Weyr. But life isn't about crafts. It's not about being forced to be subordinate to people of lesser intelligance because they've worked for twenty five turns." No seat, though, for her -- she's content in stand in her slowly growing puddle, one hand still wringing out a braid. Or still trying.
Lyllya bobs her head at Merdan's question. "He did. Quite forcefully, at that." Riain's question is given frown. "Peydra's." Gulp. "Neither were too happy." Merdan is given another frown. "Oh, I'm sure she'll do alright, it takes someone forceful to be a master..as long as they aren't overly forceful." Which is probably why Lyl never made it to master.
Merdan shakes his head "What does intelligence have to do with your position? It is knowledge which comes from the crafts, and the proper use of it is what it taught. If you believe you are superior to others, then you will certainly never fit in anywhere but with those who feel inferior." He shrugs then and says, "Why not go bathe and get cleaned up, before you get another chore, just because you are all wet." Grinning at Lyllya, asks "So, I take it you are not on the rider and dragons bad list?" He settles down to eat his meal.
"Peydra." Riain immediately starts twitching. That's a name that scares her. That's a person that scares her. "I'm so very sorry. Are you alright? You look intact, at least." In reply to Merdan, however, she just raises an over-plucked eyebrow in disdain, and slowly looks at her puddle of water. "It fits. I see no need to get clean, given that I'm staying here. I'll think of it as creative camoflague."
Peydra walks in from the entry hall.
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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 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. |
Speak of the devil?
Lyllya just eyes Merdan. Candidacy is really twisting him. Riain is given a nod. "Better now that I've had a moment to settle." Peydra's entrance is noted and the rider given a quiet greeting in the form of yet another nod, though this is one candie who is definately not going to making any quick moves.
And she shall appear. And suck out your immortal soul. Painfully. Muaha.
Peydra moves into the room, rubbing her hands together a bit distractedly. Her attention flickers up to the candidates in the room, then lower again to her hands. She tracks an even path over to the beverage table, where she claims a mug and pours into it from a pitcher of ale.
Merdan takes a couple of mouthfuls of food and washes it down with juice. He points at the piles of food by the tables and comments "It's getting messier by the day. I saw folks droping things earlier, with no reason. Leave a mess, and people will just treat the whole place like the midden. And it's starting to smell in here. Not the most plesent of scents either." He ignores any further comments from the smith candidate, letting her set her own fate.
Lyllya has pailed again, her glass remaining on the table. Forgotten. Peydra's actions are watched with a great deal of trepidation, though the gaze is hidden well by an errant lock of hair. Merdan gains her attention and a rather wide eyed expression. "It was an order, though."
Merdan softly replies, in as close to a whisper as possible, "What no-one sees, no-one knows, and the health and well being of the weyr is at stake. I would rather risk the punishment for my actions than see anyone ill because of the mess, or injured."
Riain eyes Merdan and Lyllya, and just looks rather grouchy. She's not close enough to overhear, and her hearing isn't good enough to eavesdrop, so she just watches.
"Oh, come off it," Peydra snaps, turning around to level a glare at the Merdan she doesn't know. "If you're worried about getting sick, sharding take your food and eat it elsewhere. Or go home; no one's forcing you to stay." She kicks aside a toppled stool, sending it skittering across the floor, and carries her ale mug through the space it just vacated to settle at a mostly clear table.
Merdan looks at the rider, and watches her actions in silence. After she moves off he looks at Lyllya and asks in a polite tone of voice, "I know that was a rider, but who was it? Do you know?"
Lyllya turns and whispers something to Merdan and then looks up at Riain. "So, how are you settling in?" No, she wouldn't usually make small talk but it does serve to cover up her nervousness and fear. "Gotten to know the other candidates?"
Merdan pales and looks at Lyllya without a word. He takes up his utensils and goes back to eating. Quickly, and without stopping, until he has finished, and begins to drink down his glass of juice in one, long gulp. He sets the glass down and just looks at the table top, saying nothing, doing nothing, just looking.
"Not really." Riain doesn't sound that sad about it, either, but smiles at Lyllya; for some reason, Ri doesn't feel hatred at first sight for her, unlike many. "I've been mostly working. But I guess I'm settling in fine. You?" After the fact, she extends one -- wet! -- hand. "I'm Riain."
Peydra takes a long swig from the ale, turning her attention to the candidates again, eyeing them in silent scrutiny.
Lyllya extends her own hand, slowly. "Lyllya." A shrug is given at the question. "As well as can be expected." She does have to sleep in a mixed barracks, after all. Peydra's scrutiny is noted and it appears that this weaver candie would simply slip under the table, if she could do so without being noticed. Did she mention that the brownrider simply terrifies her?
Peydra has that effect on a lot of people. Strange. "Lyllya," she calls to the candidate. Eep. Her ale mug pauses above the surface of the table, not quite up, not quite down.
Riain spots Peydra, and starts at her twitching fit once again. This time, it's a mug that recieves the brunt of her furious attention, as one finger scrubs randomly at the rim. She's not going to say attention, or do anything, that could make her a victim.
Lyllya pales completely and looks up. "Yes?" If her voice could get any closer to a squeek, she'd be a rodent. Slowly, /very/ slowly, the ex-weaver stands, stepping away from her seat in the off chance that she might actually have to, gulp, get closer.
Merdan buries his eyes in the tabletop, seeking to fit his body in between the cracks made by a variety of knife cuts and carvings. His body tenses and his back arches slightly, but still he does not move, nor speak.
"Kin wanted me to apologize for him. He overreacted a bit, and said it probably set me off, too." Peydra? Apologizing? Well, apologizing for her dragon. That's acceptable. Barely.
Madailynn glides in from the entry hall.
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Short tight curls swirl around and consume this fair skinned girl. Bouncing when she moves, and bouncing when she's still. Claret they are, melding with a soft color of topaz to take a bit of the bit from the short locks of color. Eyes, large optics that can't be ignored, even when a stray ringlet decides to show up. Orbs of hazel, bronze, and cinnamon, all blended together in a swirl of shimmering color. Slender face, slender body, everything about her making her look like a child, nothing helping her to look her age. Height only bringing to a scant five feet two inches, not a centimeter more. And by the looks of her she couldn't weigh more then, not much anyway. A new outfit had to be made once she figured out just what her calling was, and by the look of it, this outfit is definitely new. Miles of cloth seem to whirl about her body, rose, ruby, and a pale cream, all of which collide to make the perfect arrangement of colors. It's a dress -- for only she would never be caught wearing anything less -- one of the finest you can have made. And how the Nanny got it is even more a mystery then why on earth she wears such a thing caring for all the messy brats. The collar of the dress makes her more then modest, curling up he neck and then out in a thin - almost translucent material - sleeves are made of the same stuff it seems, stopping at her wrists for a few more ruffles. Elegant she is, but not overly so. It just looks as if she thinks she's better then everyone else, and she honestly thinks she is. A ring of gold and silver sits upon her finger, time seems to have claimed said ring, marring it with spots of tarnish and wear and tear here and there. Beautiful, and meaningful, no matter how you look at it. A very hesitant look draws deeply upon her face... very wary to be back in the place she started out so many turns ago... Almost afraid... Madailynn looks to be in her early twenties. |
Lyllya gulps once again, attempting a slight smile that looks more like a stretching of lips into a thin line. "It's alright. I'm sure that, if I had been thinking, I would have lifted the lids and found out what was in there." Of course, she wasn't thinking. Her chair is regained and the protection of the table put between herself and the rider once again, though the girl does seem to relax just a bit. Madailynn's entrance gives an excuse for her attention to go elsewhere, and is given to the nanny, though no verbal greeting follows.
Madailynn isn't a nanny though... look! No knot ma! Madai looks more then happy, and it isn't just because she's wearing no knot, but it's for other reasons. "Hey Peydra, you can tell Kinzhalth that he won't be able to scare me again like last time." Well... maybe he could if he tried to pounce her, but it'd need a new tactic instead of just asking a question in her mind. Lips spread widely across her face, and her smile could be nearly seen as infectious to some--perhaps. "And I'm free!" Okay, sort of, not really.
Merdan unbends visibly, and picks up his plate, utensils and glass, moving to the receptacle fur the used, he places them in it and turns, looking about the room with frustration playing all over his face. Silent. Stealthy and careful, he surreptitiously moves to recover the broom and board he had utilised earlier and makes a fast grab for them, moving directly toward the broom closet.
Peydra simply eyes Madailynn for a moment at that, then drily offers: "Congratulations?" She lifts her mug to her lips and drinks deeply from it. Her eyes note Merdan's movement, but she doesn't comment. At all.
OOC: Riain hugs and runs.
Riain goes home.
Lyllya gives a worried glance toward Merdan. "Make sure you stay clear of.. his mess." Somehow, she just can't bring herself to say the name of the rider. "Remember, it's orders." Didn't he just give Riain a speel on following orders? "Wouldn't want to get into trouble."
Madailynn nearly trips over some form of debris in her rout in and frowns angrily. "Someone should clean around here you know..." Amber eyes knock down from a bit of their once happy selves and Peydra gets one of those looks. "I washed a dragon." Mind you it wasn't the destine 'big goldie mama' dragon, but it was a start. Still, she expects that that news would somehow shock some kind of reaction into the brownrider. Or maybe not... "Wait... his mess? orders? What's going on?" Blink.
Merdan opens the door and puts the broom and pan back, turning and replying to Lyllya in a calm voice, "Sure, I just forgot to put these away before." But he isn't saying how long ago he took them out either. He walks over to his fellow weaver now candidate and stands near by, as if waiting to find out what will happen next.
Lyllya has to explain. Lovely. "T'on. We were ordered by the weyrsecond that we are not to clean it up. He has to." Shudder. "So.. we're leaving it alone." And so, it would seem, is T'on. Merdan is given a nod and a look of relief. She's had enough trouble for one day, thankyouverymuch.
"Right," Peydra says, her tone dry, addressing... who knows? Her gaze isn't quite focused on anyone as she says it. She pushes to her feet and rakes a hand through damp hair, finishing her mug of ale and depositing the mug in the appropriate bin.
That didn't help to lift the poor young lady's spirts, and with a bit of a sniff Madailynn turns around and walks back out the door from which she came. "No matter what you do, you can't even get a reaction out of anyone. This is pointless." Is the grumble before she disappears.
Madailynn exits the room for the smaller entry hall.
Lyllya simply blinks after the ex-nanny and settles back into her juice drinking. "Oh my.. I should probably go report for chores." Sigh. Work being able to take ones mind off of things. The other two are given a slight wave as the girl heads off, depositing her glass in the appropriate place.
Lyllya walks through the wide archway into the South Corridor.
Peydra heads out of the room towards the stairs up to her weyr.
Peydra has left.
Merdan looks around and sighs "Me and my big mouth.", turning to the entrance and walking out.
Merdan exits the room for the smaller entry hall.