Peydra, Quillian, and Murkat in the Great Hall

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, Isa, Vincent, Lois, and Persephone here.

Quillian is here.

Obvious exits:

Entry Hall Central Hallway North Corridor South Corridor

You arrive in the immense Great Hall.

Quillian

Skin this pallid can't be natural, or if it is, it requires an unhealthy lack of sunlight. In fact, this undersized teenager doesn't look all that healthy to begin with -- a bit scrawny, no real adult development happening, and slouching shoulders. Her -- it becomes apparent that she is, in fact, a she, though it's not easy to tell -- eyes are sharp and clear, a light, topaz blue, and her light blonde hair is irregularly trimmed to wisp, uncaring, about her thin face.

Plain, lightweight clothes don't hamper her movements, since she seems to hamper herself quite well, thank-you. A linen tunic drapes formlessly over hand-me-down leggings, redyed several times until they've become a shade of indeterminite grey-brown. Slippers are tightened to fit with a drawstring, and though they were made for someone larger, they won't fall off.

Quillian looks to be in her late teens.

Peydra

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.

Quillian sinks down into a chair tiredly, only then noticing Peydra. Shyly, she nods.

Peydra's brazen swagger contrasts rather sharply with Quillian's tired pallidity, but the contrast serves mostly to draw the brownrider's attention. She drops a nod to the younger girl, then crosses the room towards the food table. "Hello," she greets as she moves. "Have we been introduced?"

The girl shakes her head slowly, her eyes alone following the rider's movements. "N-" too quiet, she clears her throat and repeats. "No." She smiles, the barest change in features but with a remarkable effect on her overall demeanor. "I don't think so. I'm Quill- uh, Quillian."

"Ah." The rider nods aimiably enough to that. "I'm Peydra," she returns the introduction. "Brown Kinzhalth's." And now she is at the food table. She selects a pithcer of juice and a glass, raising her voice just slightly to maintain an audible volume while facing a wall. "Are you new around here, then?"

Quillian shrugs, not really an answer. "I don't get out much," she admits instead. Her strength gathered, she carefully stands and traverses the distance to the food table, picking and choosing barely enough for a snack.

"Oh." Peydra's head turns sideways as she pours, seeing as how that is now sufficient to see Quillian. Her forehead furrows slightly -- she noticed the half-answer -- but lets it pass willingly enough. "Are -- huh." Unfortunately, it's hard to continue the conversation without much background information. The brownrider changes the subject instead, as Quillian reaches for one dish. "Do you like that stuff?" she asks, a bit incredulous.

Quillian's slender hand pauses, frozen midair, and the girl tilts her head up, startled. "Oh. Um..." She looks at the item consideringly, then takes it. "Not really." She shrugs again. "You?"

Peydra's nose wrinkles: unconscious reaction. "Faranth, no," she says. "Ugh. I always figured /someone/ must, or they'd stop making it, but -- " She breaks off. "Why are you eating it, then?" She knew something seemed funny.

Quillian's shy grin appears again, and she looks down at her plate. "I don't know. It's supposed to be good for you," she tells Peydra as if repeating an oft-heard nursery tale.

"Well, yes," Peydra has to admit. "But. Well, there are other things that are good for you. Things that are..." She hunts for a word. (Edible?) "That are less...." (Putrescent?) "Less /that/," she finishes, a bit lamely. "I mean, bread. Bread is good for you. Broccoli. Herdbeast stew. That... well."

Quillian trembles with silent laughter. "You're right," she resolves, carefully replacing the distasteful, half-gelled something on the serving plate. "I think I'll have something else." With renewed enthusiasm, she studies the buffet.

Peydra nods in satisfaction. Another mother's training, banished thoroughly. Muaha. All this talk of food, of course, has made her realize that she, too, is in need of something more nourishing than juice, and thus she selects a plate for herself and begins ladling some of the aforementioned stew onto it. The mixture is a bit thick, it being past the standard meal hour, but still warm.

Quillian indeed chooses bread, greens, and waits her turn for the stew ladle. Her portions are small, but under the brownrider's influence, her meal might actually last her through the day. Warming up to the conversation, she smiles quietly as she asks, "Do you always watch what other people eat?"

"Only if they don't give me anything more interesting to talk about," Peydra responds cheerfully. "Shut up, Kin," comes the apparent non sequitor, and she offers a brief, rueful smile to Quillian. "My idiot of a brown, however, always insists I'm overeating, so I suppose it was inevitable, huh?" She moves aside to take a sizable hunk of bread, leaving the stewpot open.

Murkat walks in from the entry hall.

Murkat

A young man in his late teens. Red, straight hair falls across his face slightly covering one eye. He is constantly pushing it out of his face, but it never seems to want to stay there. Intensely examining everything around him are a pair of deep green eyes set into a face full of freckles. He has that tall, athletic build about him of one that is always on the go.

He is wearing a blue tunic that is just a little short in the sleeves and grey wherhide pants with a pair of boots tucked underneath. The clothing is not new but is apparently in well kept condition. A blue cloak is tied around his neck and thrown back over his shoulders to reveal a silver necklace in the shape of what appears to be a small flame.

Murkat looks to be in his early twenties.

Murkat wanders in looking for something to eat. Might as well seeing as L'lia might be a while. Wandering over to the table, he looks over all the things to eat. Selecting a plate, he nods to the two women in the room before selecting a piece of bread and some stew. Turning back, he looks around, trying to decided where to sit.

Quillian ladels a small bowl's worth of the warm stew, then slowly carries her meal to set it down at the closest table, her steps unsteady but effective enough. "You want something interesting?" she challenges, sinking into the chair with laughing eyes, "How about the bluerider who ended up in the storeroom with the kitchen drudge?" Oh... more people. She quickly closes her mouth, concentrating very innocently on her plate.

Murkat grins at the gossip he overheard. Walking over to the table and smiles. "Hi, I'm Murkat. Mind if I join you?" Juggling his plate, he extends his hand in greeting, waiting for her name and hopefully an invitation to join.

"Um, oh. No," The girl looks up, clear blue eyes studying Murkat with a hint of shyness. "I'm Quill." She takes the proffered hand, her grip firm but fragile.

Murkat sets his plate down, not sitting yet. He's decided he needs a cup of klah. "Can I get either of you ladies anything to drink while I'm up?" He looks first at Quill, then at the dragonrider who's name he doesn't know, the question meant for her as well.

"Which was that?" Peydra queries regarding the bluerider, following Quillian to the seat and nodding slightly to Murkat. Her eyes show recognition, but little warmth; she does not have the warmest of associations with some of the people with whom she connects the young man.

Quillian was about to politely refuse, but then realizes that she never did get a drink, so the shake of her head becomes a grateful nod. "Please. Just some juice, any kind?" She didn't really want to get up again just now. "Oh," she clears her throat softly, lowering her voice, "I think it was F'van. At least, that's what Gellia was yelling." Her eyes crinkle in quiet amusement. "And she was loud, she was."

Peydra coughs. Once. "My," she says simply. She tears off a bite-sized chunk of bread and stirs her stew with it, moving the thick liquid. She pauses another second for a wry smile, then consumes the bit. "I will never understand," she says, and leaves the statement without any sort of object.

Quillian ducks her head, hiding her grin in her stew. "You said you wanted something interesting."

Murkat notices the look given to him by the dragonrider, and knows it's in regard to Jyfer. Figuring he'd clear the air he nods back at her, "Jyfer and I are no longer together," unsure if they even were to begin with, "I'm now living at fort weyr with my mate, L'lia." He hopes to apease the dragonrider, knowing she...has issues with that paticular drudge, issues that are none of his concern. Nodding toward Quill he quickly walks over and pours himself a cup of klah and a cup of redfruit juice for her. Walking back to the table, he slides into a seat, handing her the juice.

Quillian takes the cup with a grateful smile. "Thanks, Murkat." She takes a long drink -- that must've hit the spot.

Peydra's eyebrows lift at Murkat's new bit of information. "Remind me not to ask for interest again," she says to Quillian dryly. To Murkat, she directs the question: "Why not, exactly?"

Murkat shrugs toward the dragonrider, his mouth full of stew. Quickly swallowing, he begins, "Well, we had a fight and she accused me of somethings..." he notes that Jy isn't the easiest person to get along with, "so that was the end of that. We're not on speaking terms still, and I've moved on." Dipping a piece of bread in the stew, he takes a bite before reaching for his klah.

A nod is Peydra's only response to that, and she has her juice glass halfway to her lips before it halts in midair as the brownrider backtracks. "L'lia?" she repeats. "Fort Weyr. Why..." She trails off, waving her free hand to emphasize the decidedly non-Fortian great hall.

Quillian grins suddenly at Peydra's comment, then returns to her stew; she seems to be taking all the information in, though she gives little hint of interest in it as she breaks her bread, chewing.

Murkat nods, grinning. It is a little unusual to see Fort people here at xanadu. Taking a sip of his klah, "Well, L'lia came to visit someone so I just tagged along for the ride." Never pass up the chance to get out and meet new people, especially if it means a dragon ride. He's still new to riding dragons and it hasn't lost it's appeal yet. "Figured I'd stop in here and grab something to eat while she's...where ever she is."

OOC: Quillian sorries and has to go; business. Thanks!

Quillian didn't have all that much to eat, and when she finishes, she take a deep breath and gets up. "It was really nice to meet you both," she smiles, far less shy than she was initially.

Quillian has left.

"Ah." All mysteries cleared? Peydra pauses a moment to verify, then nods firmly. "Oh. Bye, Quillian!" she calls after the girl. "Cute kid," she informs Murkat. "Needs to eat more."

Murkat smiles, waving to the departing Quill. "I noticed that." But then he's still getting used to the weyr life, where the cure for everything is to offer something to eat. He shrugs, must have something to do with all the hungry dragonriders. "Sorry, I didn't get your name.." He indicates toward himself with a piece of bread, "I'm Murkat."

"Peydra," replies... Peydra. (Imagine that.) "I'm brown Kinzhalth's. I've seen you around." And they already cleared up some of the side issues related to that.

Murkat nods, "Well met Peydra." He finish his plate of stew, pushing it away and picks up his cup of klah, sipping it slowly. "I used to be posted at Herder Hall." That was before he met L'lia and moved to fort with her.

"I thought so," the brownrider acknowledges. "I seemed to remember you and Karasa knowing each other, and Lasarah." She is perceptive, when she chooses to be. "Were you an apprentice there?"

Murkat nods again. "Yes ma'am, I /was/ an apprentice there. Yep, I know Karasa, we're friends" At her mention of Lasarah, he cringes. Seems his departure from Herder wasn't warmly recieved by her, or Lisel for that matter. Karasa's another matter.

Peydra catches the cringe, but presses anyway, taking less mercy on him than on Quillian. That frail demeanor is helpful, sometimes. "Did you decide the craft wasn't right for you, or was it just...?" Her hands sketch a crude hourglass in the air, universal sign-language for woman.

Murkat grins as she traces the figure in the air. "Well, herder wasn't really for me. Had a lot of problems with the animals. They didn't seem to like me, and I wasn't that great with them. But to tell the truth, L'lia had a lot to do with it." He hides his grin quickly by taking another sip of his klah, draining the glass.

"I'd guessed," Peydra observes dryly. "And the higher-ups weren't pleased with the reasoning behind it?" She wets her dry tone with a sip of juice, mixing metaphors dramatically and painfully.

Shaking his head, he remembers the meeting. "Well, the higher-ups weren't pleased that I was leaving at all, and even less please about some of the reasoning behind it. But in the end, they accepted my resignation, though Lasa almost threw me out of her office." He leans back in his chair, hands resting on his stomach.

Peydra nods slightly, spooning a mouthful of stew into her mouth. She swallows before continuing, observing: "Well, they do have something of an investment in all their apprentices. How long had you been there?"

OOC: Murkat sorries and just noticed the time...have to be at work...10 minutes ago.

OOC: Peydra eeps. Go, run. Thanks for the RP. Was fun. :)

OOC: Murkat says, "Thanks, I'll fill you in on the rest next time. ;)"

Murkat has disconnected.