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The Great Hall
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, and Persephone here.
Jyfer is here.
Obvious exits:
Entry Hall Central Hallway North Corridor South Corridor
Jyfer
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.
Carrying:
Jyfer's dagger (#2276)
Peydra
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. Paegalia perches on Peydra's shoulder.
Peydra looks to be in her late teens.
Carrying:
Paegalia (#1204)
Jyfer is sitting at a table with a pitcher of klah, and a no longer steaming cup. In front of her, open lays an old records book. Her head... learning the facts by osmosis as she takes a nap.
Peydra moves into the great hall with a smooth pace vaguely feline in its rolling fluidity of gait. Her eyes brush the room once, in search of something that does not materialize. A solid nod marks satisfaction with that absence, then she crosses to the tables where food is to found, disdaining the more solid options in favor of the liquid grace of ale. She pours herself a stein, then crosses to seat herself by a window, gazing at the heavy shutters which protect the interior of the hall from the fury of the storms without.
Jyfer continues her peaceful slumber on the dusty old hide. An occasional snore issuing from her as she sleeps. Her clothes for once are clean, indicating she didn't spend the day with beasts for once. Her hand twitches, and then she rubs her nose, mumbling something incomprehensible in her stupored sleep.
Peydra's eyes remain on the window, her hands curled around her mug. Silence reigns over her part of the room, though a few conversations dot the room. She pays no attention to them, focusing rather on the faint sounds trailed by the weather. Her drink is unsipped, a comfort in the hand rather than in the gut.
Jyfer mutters again, hand flying out in a dream, sedning her cup of klah flying. She awakes at once, feeling the cold liquid, and swears. She tries to clean the klah from the hide, mumbling under her breath about sharding records and why does a stable hand need to know this stuff.
Peydra's flick briefly to Jyfer at the upset klah mug, her expression vaguely disapproving. However, her attention passes quickly, moving back to the window.
Jyfer gives a quick glance around the hall, hoping no one noticed her little accident. She quickly flips the book shut, and goes to throw away the rags she cleaned the hide and table with. She returns to her seat and refills the cup, sipping it slowly.
Peydra closes her eyes for a moment, taking a long, slow breath -- in through the nose, out through the mouth. Her eyes reopen after a moment, and she makes a face before lifting her mug and taking a long draught from it.
Jyfer continues to sip her klah, glancing around the hall. Not seeing any of her friends she gives a slight groan and reopens the records book. She scans a page mumbling, "Ferge sired Tirf on Gef. Tirf sired Seyt on Neu."
Elisa steps gracefully from the central hall.
Elisa
Silver frosts the copper and gold of her hair as it brushes the nape of her neck, waves and curls more telltale with the short length. Tiny lines crease the corners of large, deep indigo eyes, a hint of exotic in their slight tilt. Skin a dusky bronzen hue, it also hints at a bit of weathering. Soft rose red kisses her lips, brushes her cheeks, in natural coloration. Grace in her bearing is spoken in the way she carries herself. Callouses upon her slender, long-fingered hands tell of her familiarity with labor most would consider beneath her station. Equally, shapely legs that give her the sometimes foreboding height of 5'10", her demeanor softens a potentially imposing aire.
The twining of purple and silver, the colors of Xanadu Weyr, is outshown by the vibrant ribbon of brillian red gold woven between, the multiple loops and tassles representing her position as Senior Weyrwoman.
Cut from the vibrant heart of midnight, inky wherhide coats the long body of the goldrider, the darkness countermanded by asymmetrical coils of solar flares spiraling up her arms to her elbows. Shimmer obsidian embodies the legs of the flying gear, blending into flames that spin up to her knees from the mid-calf jet and gleamingly polished boots. Unblemished onyx take in the snug gloves and riding helmet that complete the ensemble.
On a thin chain, a gold pendant in the shape of a flying dragon clutching a faceted red stone hangs, glittering as it catches the light.
Elisa looks to be in her mid thirties.
The weather continues to rage outside, and Peydra, in her window seat, listens to the muffled fury through the heavy shutters. One finger traces small, absent circles on the side of her stein, and the other hand drops to toy with the lower hem of her shirt. Motionless save for that, the brownrider could almost pass for an unusual sculpture -- her form is not one of beauty, to inspire duplication.
Jyfer continues her mumbling of breeding records. "And Seyt sired Furt and Fert on Hem." She chuckles and mutters "Must have been a good year..... and Furt sired Golp on Jeu." She groans and slams the records book shut having enough. She glances around the room. Still none of her friends. She rises and strides to the table filled with food, grabbing a meatroll then returns to her seat.
Elisa walks in from the main hallway and pauses on her way to the klah as she looks at Jyfer. "Lasarah let you have those?" she asks curiously, nodding to the breeding records. She doesn't wait for an answer. Klah is a lot more necessary. She looks at Peydra in the window, tilting her head slightly in quizzical puzzlement.
Peydra's gaze flicks over to Elisa as she hears the goldrider's voice: she's not that distracted. The glance comes in time to catch Elisa's puzzled expression. Her head dips slightly, an understated gesture of greeting and respect, before she speaks. "The weather is wild out today." Hence the closed shutters and the echoing call in the heart of the rider who bears traces of that natural savagery within her own soul.
Jyfer starts to respond, then shrugs as the rider continues on her way. She mumbles something, then sips her klah, going back to her hide. She takes a bite of her meatroll, and continues scanning the page.
Elisa smiles at Peydra as she raises her mug of klah to her lips, taking the quick hurried sip of someone willing herself to ignore the sting of hot liquid. "Aye, I've noticed. Zivath's thrilling in it." Fire colored water sprite. The winged contradiction. Back to Jyfer, she watches the stablehand as she hitches her hip onto the edge of a table. "I believe those are the Weyrherder's property," she states again. "As a matter of fact, I am certain of it." My, she has gotten rather proprietary lately, hasn't she? Something to do with the new Weyrleader she refuses to acknowledge?
Peydra's lips twitch upwards briefly, and some silent addition to the conversation gives the expression full bloom into a smile. She shakes her head slightly, glancing to the window for a moment, then back at the Weyrwoman's comment. "You spilled klah on the Weyrherder's records?" she asks, incredulity in her tone.
Jyfer turns her gaze up to Elisa. "Aye Weyrwoman, and that same weyrherder is the one I work for. She wants me to learn the breedings records of the beasts we use as stock to breed the dragon's meals. It is easier on her if during a mating they can be recalled quickly, and since it is too nasty outside to work with the beasts she is having me do this today." She shrugs and goes back to her book, trying to ignore Peydra's comment.
Elisa shakes her head. "No, you work for the Weyr, not the Herders." She taps her own shoulder and flicks her fingers at Jyfer's. "Unless I am mistaken and you wear an apprentice's knot." Klah is sipped as she turns her head slightly towards Peydra, then looks back with narrowed eyes. Messing up records? That's sacreligious! "Journeyman Lasarah did not inform me that she required assistance. Why did she not request an apprentice from the Herders? They need to learn about breeding records far more than our stablehand does." My, she is testy, too.
Peydra fades back into the background: damage done. She lifts her mug to her lips, taking a long sip from the ale inside. Her eyes rest on Jyfer and Elisa, eavesdropping unabashedly but remaining out of the discussion.
Jyfer groans slightly looking at the book. "No I don't wear an apprentice's knot, and she has no need for apprentices. She has me and a few of the other Weyrfolk helping her out." She shrugs. "I just do what I'm told, if you don't want me memorizing records talk to Lasarah, she is the one who told me to do it."
"You can be sure I will," Elisa states in curt words. "This place has gone to the Red Star," And here most of the fire lizards squeal and vanish, "in a handbasket since Sabria stepped down. Everyone running around doing everyone else's job but /mine/." And who wants Elisa's job. "Weyrfolk doing Herder's work, Fortians thinking they can /waltz/ in here and take over /my/ Weyr." Oh, yes, she is in a mood. "And I do not believe Lasarah would have asked the Weyrfolk to do more than some of the little details." She holds her hand out. "I'll be sure to return those to her."
Peydra pushes to her feet at that, her chair scraping against the floor with a harsh cry of protest. "So stop whining at us," the brownrider snaps at the Weyrwoman, "and do something about it. You sharding well have more control over this that we do." Her own patience has clearly been strained by the whole thing. "Hard to blame the Fortians for taking over, when they seem to be doing such a better job of governing than us."
Jyfer tries to control her anger at this turn of events. She abruptly slams the book shut, handing the dusty, heavy thing to Elisa. "Maybe it has become that way because of those who run it.." she remarks snidely, glaring at her cup of klah on the table, anything to keep from looking at the goldrider at that point.
Elisa takes the book and sets it next to her on the table, her glare cold. Peydra, however, is the first to get a response. "I never asked to be Senior, Peydra. No one knew who would until Zivath decided to rise." And that gold has been hellbent on not 'announcing' anything like proddiness. "What do you want me to do? Name my /own/ Weyrleader instead of by flight?" Hey, there's an idea, huh? Tradition has already been bucked. "And you," she turns on Jyfer. "I don't care if sharding S'ord became Weyrleader. /You/ will show respect." Or else.
"M'lan is /not/ Weyrleader," is Peydra's only response. "If S'tan is so dreading this whole position, let him sharding well take his idiot bronze back in time or just plain between. If he didn't want the job, he should've stopped Masagoth from flying Zivath." The brownrider shakes her head, then finishes draining her mug. "I need some air," she says. In this weather? Yes. She plunks the empty vessel down on the edge of a table.
Jyfer glares at the woman. "Will I? Why should I show respect for someone I /don't/? What are you going to do feed me to your dragon?" Seems someone hit on Jyfer's fuse, the one all her men find much more easily then others. "If you don't want to be Senior, step down like Sabria... though the last thing we need is another crazy leader." She raises her cup to her lips to sip it, eyes still a fierce grey in her anger.
Peydra turns slowly back to Jyfer at the comment, then crosses the room towards the stablehand. She reaches down to the shorter woman with her left hand, grabbing for a handful of her tunic to haul her to her feet. Her right hand hovers near her eating knife. Quietly, she says: "You will retract that statement. And you will do it /now/."
Jyfer doesn't struggle as she is pulled to her feet, eyes cold as she looks at the brown rider. "I'm not stupid enough to fight you," she sneers, keeping her hands well away from her own belt dagger. No need to send the whole Weyr in an uproar. She turns her cold eyes to Elisa. "I'm sorry /Weyrwoman/." She turns her gaze back to Peydra. "Put me down /now/," she hisses.
"Peydra!" The word is snapped loudly as the hall falls dead silent as amazed weyrfolk and riders just stare at the tableau. The Weyrwoman crosses the room and rests a hand on the brownrider's shoulder. Not a timid touch, but not one to provoke a physical reaction. "Jyfer is free to express her feelings, just as you are." However... "Just as I have the right to say who will and will not reside under the Weyr's roof. If you think it is easy to just tell two bullheaded men what to do, you are /welcome/ to try it." Fixing Jyfer with a stern look, she states, "You will gather your belongings. Now."
Peydra doesn't do so immediately, waiting instead for the Weyrwoman's command. When it comes, she adds a shove to the release, freeing Jyfer in a motion designed to inspire a stumble. Her jaw is tense, and real danger lurks in her eyes, a kind of barely contained violence, restrained or released at the Weyrwoman's command here.
Jyfer stumbles a bit as she is shoved, but gaining her balance before she can fall. She fixes a hateful look at Peydra, then turns her gaze to Elisa, eyes losing their anger as the realization kicks in. "You are throwing me out?"
Elisa stabs a finger in the vague direction of the council chambers and behind them the records room. "For Turns, I have done my best for this Weyr. Sixteen turns! You were likely still messing your pants when I earned my knot as a full rider. I have endured sly commentary and all manner of insult from holders and crafters, all for the benefit of /this Weyr/. And you. A resident of Xanadu, /dare/ to insult me under this roof? Am I kicking you out?" Fingers curl into a fist as the Weyrwoman growls in a manner reminiscent of a certain gold dragon who of late was the nastiest creature ever on the Sands. "Do you want to ask me that again?"
"Leave now," Peydra suggests quietly, but to the point, joining in solidarity with her Weyrwoman here. She may be disdainful of certain other leaders, but she has respect enough for them not to say it to their face. "If you need a ride somewhere, I'll provide it." If you trust her.
Jyfer looks at the floor shaking her head. "No Weyrwoman." She starts to leave, walking around the two riders, head hung in shame. As she passes them her eyes flicker to the door, before turning back to Elisa, pausing her steps. "I'm sorry, I don't know how long you have been a rider. I don't know what you have endured. And I am sorry, but this is the only home I have... I have no where else to go." She stops, shaking her head at the futility of her words and turns back to the door.
Elisa does not relent, though she is a sight calmer. The room is still dead silent with wide eyes. Is it safe yet? "Then before you decide to insult someone, I suggest you understand who it is you are insulting. Zivath was not shelled yesterday." Neither was Fabrinath, for that matter. "I am sure someone will be kind enough to provide you shelter." She pauses then grins faintly, though without. "I am sure the Weavers would welcome you."
Peydra remains silent now, watching Jyfer without pity or animosity or... well, emotion.
Jyfer continues walking, only to stop at Elisa's words. "I guess I should give you this then." She walks back up to the Weyrwoman and takes off her knot, handing it to her, before turning back around to leave. Her face is stone, refusing to let her emotions show at this point.
Elisa accepts the knot without a word, having finally released the brownrider's shoulder.
Jyfer leaves for the dorms to collect her things.
Jyfer reenters a few minutes later, belongings in her bag. She casts one last look around the Hall and with a sigh heads for the doors. Her face is still stone, yet her eyes show the emotions running through her at this moment.
Peydra watches Jyfer's motions impassively, a tension in her jaw betraying her anger, but little else. As the no-longer-stablehand departs, she half-turns, her words clipped faintly as she speaks to Elisa. "Forgive me, Weyrwoman, for my words earlier and my actions. I spoke out of anger. I was out of line."
Elisa is not exactly the picture of compassion at the moment, her spine stiff as she crosses to the table to retreive her cold klah. The room is offered that cold look. "Are you looking at something?" she demands loudly. A clammer of excessively loud eating and drinking ensues. Turning back to Peydra, she states. "You were," she agrees. What to do about the brownrider, however. "I would speak to you privately. Later." Right now, there's one irritated gold dragon she's trying to temper back down.
Peydra's head jerks in a stiff nod, accepting of the reprimand and the request. "Yes, Weyrwoman," she says obediently, though her tone is still a bit short. The mood is directed elsewhere. "I am at your disposal." Her head dips, an almost wolfish signal of submission; Elisa is the pack's leader, and the brownrider is in error. And since her jugular has not yet been torn from her, she is encouraged.
Jyfer stops and turns, hearing Peydra's words. "Why is she to be reprimanded privately while I was publically humaliated and thrown out? Just because she is a rider she is better than me?" she asks, truely confused at why there is such a double standard here.
Peydra's hand curls into a fist at Jyfer's words, every knuckle cracking sharply and audibly. She says nothing, however.
Elisa turns to regard Jyfer. "No. Because you are not a rider, you have options that are not open to you. Whether you are forced to leave or whether you willfully go, there are doors that are open to you." She waves a hand at Peydra, at another table of wingmates, over there a rider just sitting down to eat, albeit gingerly. "Where would a rider go that they are welcomed?" There is usually a small matter of a large dragon to contend with.
Jyfer turns to gaze at Elisa. "So where would you have me go, back to my home I ran away from to escape the control of my parents who cared nothing for me? To a craft I have no love for? /This/ has been my home for over 2 turns. So thats it isn't it, the holders have turned against you, so now you will turn against the non-riders in retaliation, thats not how to show them their mistake." She shakes her head and turns back to the door, knowing the war is lost, yet still fighting the battle.
Peydra's jaw tenses, but she manages to avoid either pursuing Jyfer or spitting a nasty remark in her direction. Her gaze flickers to Elisa.
Elisa snorts at that. "There are more non-riders in this weyr than riders." Usually thanks to the efforts of the riders, but hey. "Don't count yourself unusual. We take in any number of runaways who feel oppressed. /But/," she states, stalking closer to Jyfer to hiss at her as an echoing rumble outside the doors. "We are under no obligation to endure insults and insolence within our own walls. You expect us to cater to your whims? Do you think we are slaves to your needs? We /all/ have our part to play in this Weyr. When those who do not fulfill those parts, that is when we have problems, but it is not so easy as telling a person what to do." She narrows her eyes. "Did you obey your parents without question? I think not. You would not have been here to begin with. Do not get uppity with me, girl. You have not earned the right!"
Jyfer turns to look at Elisa one last time. "I was not being uppity, and /I/ did my job, and now I am going as commanded, I always listened to what I was told to do here, even when I didn't like it." Thats said she leaves, nothing else left to say.
Jyfer exits the room for the smaller entry hall.
Peydra watches Jyfer leave. Again. Then her attention slides back to the Weyrwoman. Her head dips again, and quietly, she requests: "May I be dismissed?"
Elisa nods once, a sharp movement as her jaw tenses. "Zivath," she hisses, and part of the rumbling outside subsides. Back to Peydra, she verbalizes the request. "You may be dismissed, Rider."
Peydra dips her head again, then executes a precise about-face and moves away, out towards the raging weather.