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Harper's Tale 2 - Saturday, May 18, 2002, 5:00 PM

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The Vor Imperium

Grey granite vaults upwards to form the high cathedral's ceiling of the main part of the weyr, cool and solid, undecorated but for the sparkle of light refracted from quartz veins streaking the walls: an ancient weyr, but one carved partially by the hand of man, and not the forces of volcanism. The standard large, raised couch is located off to one side, away from the short entry tunnel to the ledge, all the better to block winter winds with. Across from it sits a massive 'hearth', a braided rug and a quartet of elderly chairs in front of it, with neat pegs and shelves alongside. Near the back, the cavern arcs downwards, ceiling height dropping rapidly to form the demarcation between human areas and draconic, a series of heavy 'curtains' patterned in a conservative blue and silver available to provide privacy to the 'inner weyr', drawn back partially to permit glimpses of the mystery within.

The ancient and cool tang of stone mixes with a warmth of rich leather, accented with faint traces of some dusky cologne and the barest hint of fine whiskey. Decidedly masculine, like the blue who lives here, and with only a few touches of the clean sharp scents of citrus and redwort to indicate Wyn's contribution to the atmosphere of the weyr.

  It is an autumn midmorning. 

On the ledge, you see a blue dragon.

You see Grey Leather Satchel and Old Marble Chess Set here.

Obvious exits:

Ledge

Vorkoroth> Zhesteth soars in for a landing.

Vorkoroth> Lhana turns sideways and sliiiides down Zhesteth's conveniently-placed forelimb, landing on the ground with a soft *thump*.

Lhana glitters in from the Vorkoroth's Staging Area.

The steady rasp of sandpaper on wood can be heard filling the silence of the new weyr.  If one follows it to its source, one will see the petite form of Wyn, and a quartet of chairs that have seen better days, all arranged on an old sheet on the ground.

Lhana steps into Wyn's weyr quite abruptly, stepping in out of the crisp autumn air to take in her surroundings with a quick glance.  Finally spotting her clutchsib, the ex-haircutter lets out an excited, "Wyn!  I love what you've done with the place!"

Wyn looks up with a start, mentally sending a raspberry towards Vorkoroth for not tipping her to new arrivals.  But, she smiles warmly enough, for Wyn, as she straightens and brushes some hair from her face.  "Ah, thank you, Lhana.  Really haven't done much... I do prefer the simple look, you know.  But I found these chairs in the stores, and couldn't pass up the chance.  Wonderful lines, hmm...?"  Good Faranth, is Wyn using Decorator Lingo?

Lhana nods, grinning as she looks around.  "Well, it's certainly better than Zhesteth and mine.  We've got nothing but my clothes and things and a cot right now."  And speaking of cots, Lhana scruples not to wander on over to Wyn's and lounge upon it, following her customary habit of loafing about and watching other people work.  Ah well.  Some things never change.  "Personally," she says, yawning slightly, "I'm rather afraid to discuss decorating with Zhesteth.  And the fact that she's so eager to bring it up only makes me more nervous."

Wyn twitches slightly as her bed is invaded, but, muses that if she didn't want folks seeing it, she should have closed the drapes.  And returns to sanding as she chats.  "Hmm... I suppose I can see that.  Vorkoroth and I at least have the fortune to share similar tastes in matters of design.  But you really ought to poke around in the old storage caverns.  Whatever's there is free for the taking..."

Lhana nods, fingering the edges of Wyn's blankets now.  The woman really has no respect for other people's belongings, it seems.  "Good idea.  I'm just terribly afraid of what she'll make me pick."  She sighs.  "Zhesteth's ideas of 'pretty'...Well, I don't know where she gets them."  Certainly not from anyone she knows.  "And it doesn't help that the older greens gave her so much approval on the straps."  Well, Imbri and Vesp did, anyhow.

Wyn mentally meeps again.  That's her favourite duvet that Lhana's fingering, shipped in from Benden by her brother just the other day.  Grumble.  She needs to get these chairs fixed up.  Amusement traces her features as Lhana recites her tale of woe.  "Pretty... so how does the dear green define it, then?"

Lhana rolls her eyes, missing any subtle hints to keep her hands off of Wyn's things.  "I have no idea.  She likes things that are mixed together, like how all the colors on her neckridges are really not green, but from a distance they look green."  Then she sighs.  "From what I can tell, she likes to take the most inharmonious blend she can find, put it together with as many other, clashing blends as she can find, and call it good."  Even if it isn't.

Wyn winces, quite visibly, as she conjures images of just what that might look like.  "Urgh, yes, I can certainly see why you'd be leery."  she allows.  "Well, I suppose that could make going hunting for your furnishings even more advantageous, as she'd not be able to lean on you, like she would were they custom made...  And having had a most unsettling experiance last night, with leaning greens..."  she trails off, plying the sandpaper again.

Lhana nods.  "Right.  Good idea."  She rolls over on the cot, draping her head so that it hangs upside-down over the side facing Wyn.  She raises an eyebrow (or perhaps lowers it, depending on if you're rightside-up or not) at the mention of leaning greens.  "Leaning greens, eh?"  She searches her memory for any of this latest news.  She hasn't been down to any of her usual gossip centers as yet, however, and the reference escapes her for the moment.  "Leaning greens...?"

"Vespurath, to be precise."  notes Wyn, looking dryly amused.  "Who was apparently determined to play 'Healer' with Vor, or something similar.  Dear Faranth, and the worst thing was, she wasn't glowing in the least."  A shake of her head.  "Poor lad..."

Lhana is more than just dryly amused.  The story rather throws her into a sudden fit of giggles, instead.  "No way!"  She rolls over again, now facing the right direction.  "That's hilarious!"  Legs are swung over, and she sits with them dangling off the edge of the cot.  It might be noted at this point, as well, that the bedding can be found in considerable disarray on acount of the lounging.  And Lhana shows no intention of fixing them, either, as she hops off of the cot and goes into pacing.  "Sooo..."

Wyn finishes sanding her chair, and then drops the paper in favour of pacing over to the bed, and straightening the duvet and the pillows in her anal-retentive fashion, before perching birdlike on the edge of the matress.  "Oh, in hindsight it was amusing.  At the time... it was bloody well terrifying.  I thought she was going to, ah, attempt a ground-based flight at one point."

Lhana quite shudders at that, though she's giggling at the same time.  "Oh, that's funny."  Noticing that Wyn has finished sanding and whatever other trifles she may have been involved with before Lhana graced her with her shining presence, the greener smiles.  Yees.  Eeexcellent.  "Say, Wyn..." she pauses, tilting her head charmingly, "I'm bored."  As if you couldn't already tell.  "You wanna...I dunno...do...something?"  What, she hasn't exactly thought of yet.

Wyn continues to perch on her bed.  "Bored...?"  she inquires deadpan.  "How odd... I don't see any holes..."  Let's just hope she sticks to puns, and doesn't move on (or down) to limericks.  "But I might be so inclined to do something.  What do you want to do?"

Vorkoroth> Sidramuntalath soars in for a landing.

Vorkoroth> Sii'kyn slides down the black hole -- that is, slithers down Sidramuntalath's neck to thud lightly on the ground.

Vorkoroth> Sii'kyn strides purposely to the Weyr.

Sii'kyn strides purposely in from the Vorkoroth's Staging Area.

Wyn and Lhana are perched in the inner weyr area, chatting. ('l iw')  Meanwhile, a collection of four chairs sits in the middle of the main weyr, sanded down and stripped of paint, ready for refinishing.  And currently being ignored.

 A small space, one perhaps might even term it cozy when the curtains are drawn closed to wall off the massive outer weyr, leaving a cool blank wall of the off-white sail canvas.  Furnishings are simple, but with a calm elegance that speaks of good taste, even in the complete absence of ostentation.  A bed rests in one corner, designed for two, therefore leaving its single petite occupant ample room to sprawl.  The thick mattress is covered with linens in a crisp white, edged with black piped ribbon and topped by a duvet in a ghost-grey cover.  Pillows are abundant and fluffy, and underfoot, a soft carpet in greys, creams and blues shields feet from cold stone floors, as small glows in wall sconces provide a muted, intimate glow.  A dresser and endtable are clean lined, wood covered in black laquer.  The entire space is crafted as a somatic delight, a carefully selected indulgence by its ascetic owner.

Knock, knock, knock. With a merry whistle and a jaunty step to his stride, a familiar brownling just barrels on in. Mhm. He's holding something high - a basket. With tempting smells emitting forth. And, of course, a few 'skins of some liquid. Sii'kyn whistles. "I've got fooooood," he calls out. Mmm.

A soft rattle of curtain rings attracts attention from the back of the weyr, Wyn's head appearing around the edge of the blue-and-silver drapery.  "Mmm, then by all means be welcome to my abode, Ike.  Come, my chairs aren't finished yet, but I've a rug down over here..."

Lhana grins, waving to Sii'kyn as he enters.  "Ike!" she calls joyfully.  Wyn is lucky.  When Lhana entered, there wasn't even a knock.  "Wynnie dear, Ike is here," Lhana says, as if she didn't know already.  She strides jauntily over to the brownrider, drawn by the enticing smells.  "Mmmm!  Sii'kyn, how did you know I was hungry?"  She peers curiously at the basket, making herself a perfect nuisance.  "Wha'd you bring?"

Sii'kyn shifts towards the 'inner weyr', and plops down. He eyes for a long moment, before plopping down on the rug and heaving off a sigh. "It's this new thing that all the bakers are just cajoling over. It's a flat bread with a red sauce and toppings." Pernese Pizza. Voila. "And, stickybuns." Beam. "And some Gar Cider." Grin.

"Don't call me 'Wynnie Dear',"  corrects Wyn, but her tone is absent, interest focused instead on Ike's offerings.  "Intriguing..."  is her comment.  "So one eats it with their hands...?"  The Gar cider is eyed cautiously.  "Who'd you manage to get that off of, Junior Weyrling Ike?"  she queries, amused.

Lhana ignores Wyn's corrections thoroughly, going straight for the flatbread stuff.  "Hm."  Sounds interesting.  "What does it taste like?  Have you had any yet?"  Her attention then quickly shifts to the cider.  "Oh Ike," she gushes at sight of it, "You are a dear!"  Wyn just gets an eyeroll.  "Oh come on, Wyn.  We're practically Senior Weyrlings, after all."  And that's just as good...right?

Sii'kyn snickers idly. "Wyn," he admonished. "It's non-alcoholic. It's like.. klah. Only a tad bit potent." He bats his 'lashes at her, before breaking out in a roguish grin. "But, yeah, y'eat it with your hands." He nabs a slice of the flatbread, and gazes at it with interest. He takes a bite, and chews it thoughtfully. "Wow. It's good."

Wyn selects a slice of the 'bread herself, nibbling inquiringly, before smiling and taking a large bite.  "Mmm."  she notes around a mouthful.  "S'delishoush."  She then swallows and shakes her head at Sii'kyn and Lhana.  "Very true... but you two go on ahead and enjoy it.  Whatever tolerance for Gar cider I once had is gone after about 2 turns of no drinking whatsoever."

Lhana eyes the flatbread warily for a moment, before reaching out and snatching a slice.  She looks it over for a moment, then takes a nice, big ol' bite out of it.  "Mmmmmmmmm!" she exclaims, upon getting a taste of the yumminess.  "That is so good!"  She grins, between bites.  "I so have to have some of this at my weyrwarming party."  Wyn's comments about cider earn a shrug from Lhana.  "Suit yourself.  Though it would be interesting to see how much of a tolerance I still have..."  Since she never had much tolerance for alcohol in the first place.

Sii'kyn quietly observes Lhana. "So, how is the weyr going? Yours, y'know." He snickers randomly, pops open a skin, and proffers it at Lhana. "Torne did mine. He owed me." Mhn.

Lhana dismisses the subject of weyrs with the wave of a hand.  "Oh, I haven't even started on it yet.  I'm just so desperately afraid of what Zhesteth will make me do to it."  Lhana may be a controlling, spoiled brat of a woman, but she's simply no match for Zhesteth's exuberance.  The skin is taken gratefully, and she takes a swig.  Ciiiiiider.  Yum.

<Local> Vorkoroth senses that Zhesteth lounges for only a few moments before throwing an impatient glance back over her shoulder at the three riders inside the weyr.  She wants to do something!  Neon, fuzzy greens interlace the general bored blue of her tangy thoughts as an idea seems to begin to form in the back of her mind.  << Hey, Sidramuntalath...has your lifemate furnished your weyr yet? >>  She needs to be sure her rider is the only one putting it off, y'see.

<Local> Vorkoroth senses that he offers a little bubble of silver doziness.  <<Don't be too eager to get yours furnished... My Wyn had me fetch and carry all of her furniture up myself.>>  he allows, sounding vaguely amused.  <<The drudges that she coerced into helping were... rather amusing, however.>>  Read: Scared of dragons.

<Local> Vorkoroth senses that Sidramuntalath gives off an aire of carelessness. << He didn't do it. Apparently, there was a bet... That trader - the one who did the images on Vesp? Yeah, him - uh, he did the weyr. I haven't seen it yet. >> Snicker.

<Local> Vorkoroth senses that Zhesteth stirs, giggling in naive shades of pink.  << Yes, Lhana made me carry all her things up already.  She says it isn't time to decorate it yet.  But everyone else is already done... >>  She trails off into a sort of a whine, wanting only so badly to get the place all colorful and preeetty.  At Ram's comments, she stirs.  << You haven't?  Do you want to go see it now? >>

<Local> Vorkoroth senses that he thinks << Vespurath.>> intones Vorkoroth.  <<Is exceedingly odd at times.>>  And he's saying nothing more on that subject until weyr gossip gets around.  Yup.  <<But I'd not be averse to an excursion over to you ledge, Ram, if we're to be taking one.>> >>

<Local> Vorkoroth senses that Sidramuntalath wafts crimson colors and smokeless tones. << Kyn says that it's not time, yet. I do not understand it, but... >> A slight sigh. Then, a snicker. << But if we all leave, they cannot really follow us, right? >> Heh. << We could go, >> he thoughtfully rumbles.

<Local> Vorkoroth senses that Zhesteth brightens, something that always seems impossible until she does it.  Bright just has no limit for her, apparently...  << Really??  We should go!  They won't miss us, after all. >>  They've certainly done a nice job of ignoring them up until now, at any rate.

<Local> Vorkoroth senses that he offers a sudden shimmer of blue-silver.  <<Indeed.  If we're quiet about it, and get back before they wish to go, I see no reason why they'll ever have to know.>>

<Local> Vorkoroth senses that Sidramuntalath snickers. << Well, then, follow me, >> he deigns, shoving off from the ledge.

Vorkoroth> Sidramuntalath takes off.

Vorkoroth> Zhesteth takes off.

**Travel Spam**

Vorkoroth> Hephaistos IV

Vorkoroth> A vast expanse of rock, it's smoothed and worn from turns of service - the size of this ledge shows that it's not just a sunning spot for a goliath-sized dragon, but a porch for the weyr itself. The ledge, itself, is an arid stretch of dusky tan, conflicting with the darkness of the weyr itself. Hides, patched together until seamless, allow for the luxury of a draw-down 'door' that leads to the couch, and beyond, the weyr.

Vorkoroth>   It is an autumn afternoon. 

Vorkoroth> Brown Sidramuntalath is here.

Vorkoroth> Obvious exits:

Vorkoroth> Weyr     Above the Training Grounds

Vorkoroth> Zhesteth soars in for a landing.

Vorkoroth> Sidramuntalath steps precisely to the weyr.

Vorkoroth> Zhesteth prances on long, graceful limbs to the weyr.

Vorkoroth> You go to the Ram's Event Horizon.

Vorkoroth> Ram's Event Horizon

Vorkoroth> A slab of black stone, polished to a high sheen, is as clear as obsidian, and large enough to encompass a bronze dragon -- though it's not really neccessary. Whorls of silver color the edges of the slab, with a misty reddish tint to the stone. Straw is scattered over the large slab, mused and ruffled over to perfect consistancy. One end opens up to the inner weyr, while the other - typically covered by a net of black hides - leads out to the ledge.

Vorkoroth> Wafts of oldspice, ash, and red-hot-lava tinges the air just slightly, along with a slightly musky scent, and the floral twinges of oil.

Vorkoroth>   It is an autumn afternoon. 

Vorkoroth> Brown Sidramuntalath and green Zhesteth are here.

Vorkoroth> Obvious exits:

Vorkoroth> Ledge

Vorkoroth> Sidramuntalath peeks his head inside the inner weyr, looks around, and gives the equivalent of a draconic whistle, before backing away from the inner weyr.

<Local> Vorkoroth senses that Sidramuntalath is all poofy white clouds slashed with red, now -- << It's.. amazing. >>

<Local> Vorkoroth senses that he offers a slow mental nod, the spirals of his mind polarizing, then reversing.  <<Most impressive.>>  Niiiiice pad, man.

Vorkoroth> Zhesteth prance-skips in, eyes whirling with ever-increasing swiftness. She checks out every edge of the room before poking her head into the inner weyr, backing out of that, and rumbling excitedly. She likes!

Vorkoroth> Vorkoroth simply selects an appropriate vantage point, and takes in the decor, offering a smooth rumble of approval. He likes too. But prance-skipping like Zhesteth just wouldn't be properly manly, y'know?

<Local> Vorkoroth senses that Zhesteth is all blaring brightness and tangy-sorbet approval of the room.  << I like it!!  This has got to be the best weyr ever, Sidramuntalath. >>  Never mind that she'd say that for anybody.  Not that it isn't sincere, mind you.  It's just that, in her mind, they all really /are/ the best weyrs in the Weyr.  Scary, no?  << Not that yours isn't just as great, Vorkoroth.  I haven't seen the inside yet myself, but the images I get from Lhana are magnificient.  I can't wait until I get to do mine! >>  Note that /she/ plans on decorating it...not Lhana.

Vorkoroth> Sidramuntalath snickers draconically. He doesn't even contemplate hopping-prancing-skipping - or whatever it is - that ZhestyBaby's doing.

<Local> Vorkoroth senses that Sidramuntalath curls a pool of hot lava around Zhesteth. << Thank you, >> he murmurs assent, << But I did not do it. It is rather comfortable, however... >>

Wyn continues to munch on her 'pizza', commenting in between bites with a gamine smile that "You really just ought to go and redecorate it while she's off sunning somewhere.  Fait accompli or whatever that archaic phrase is."  The flatbread having left her mouth dry, she swallows a few times, before eyeing the cider wryly.  "Oh... why not, a little.  Pass the skin, Lhana?"

Lhana shrugs, not really knowing what 'Fait accompli' means, and not caring to ask.  "Good idea.  I'll have to wait until she's asleep, or something."  Then she sighs.  "She'll end up with it the way she likes eventually, anyhow."  At Wyn's request for the skin, Lhana brightens, grinning.  "Sure thing," she says, passing it over.

Sii'kyn pauses, and snickers, and quietly gazes. "Asleep? We could get Vor and Ram to engage her in conversation, and then decorate it?" Mhm. Good idea. He snags another piece, and munches thoughtfully. "Or you could just hire someone else to do it." Like what he did. Kinda.

Wyn takes the cider, tilts the skin above her mouth, and nips off a neat mouthful, not spilling a drop.  Heh.  Old habits apparently die hard.  "A good pressing,"  is her comment before passing it along the line.  "So, say we distract Zhesteth for you, what look are you hoping for?"

Sii'kyn raises an eyebrow at Wyn, before shaking his head ruefully. "A very good pressing, indeed," he murmurs. "And I get it cheap, too." A slight grin. Uhuh. Lhan's pose. Mhm.

Lhana grins, taking the skin back and swallowing a hearty swig of it.  Mmm.  "Really?  Who do you get it from?"  A lock of hair is idly twisted around her forefinger.  "I've got to stock up for my weyrwarming."  She grins.  "I'm waiting to hold it until after graduation, so we can drink officially."  She winks, taking yet another sip of cider before offering the skin to whoever happens to want it.

Sii'kyn pauses. "My uncle is a Vintner Master. My cousin is a senior apprentice - this is his freshest pressing. I can get you good vintages, cheap, if you're looking to procure any Vintner product." Yup. He's got an inside factor. "I'm having mine... in just a few days." A pause, and he finishes off his last piece. "Mmm. I've gotta talk to Damia about getting those made daily. That was good." Mmm. Delish.

Wyn gives a slight nod.  "Generally the best route to take,"  she agrees, intercepting the skin for another drink before offering it to Ike.  "I'm not planning to have much of a weyrwarming,"  she notes.  "But... I'd not mind the odd skin for my private reserve."

Vorkoroth> Zhesteth is still prance-skipping, exploring every edge of the weyr. She even goes so far as to stretch out on the straw for a few moments. Yupyup. Niiice and comfortable. She casts a glance from one brother to the other, her eyes whirling spastically.

<Local> Vorkoroth senses that he clucks his tongue consideringly, before reaching out a tendril of midnight smoke to tickle teasingly at Zhesteth, older-brother fashion. <<I believe you'd say that about all of our weyrs, Zhest.  And mean it for each one of them.  But... this is certainly a worthy place for you, brother.  I need to see about getting Wyn down to Ista to speak to some Weavers about a couple tapestries.>>

<Local> Vorkoroth senses that Zhesteth will compliment it all the same, no matter /who/ did it.  << Oh.  Well, it's still fantastical.  I think you'll really like it. >>  Vorkoroth's teasing just gets a sort of draconic shrug.  << Well, they all have their good points.  Oooh, tapestries will be simply lovely for your weyr, Vorkoroth!  You have such -wonderful- taste. >>  Any more compliments she needs to dispense, while she's at it?

<Local> Vorkoroth senses that Sidramuntalath twines out his own, ash-colored smoke tendril to tickle at the other side of Zhest. << As is yours, for you, >> he replies to Vor. << Tapestries? Mn. I'm not a big fan of them, but I do think that - from what Ike has shown me - they will be... lovely within your weyr. >>

<Local> Vorkoroth senses that Zhesteth goes into a little, draconic pout now.  << I wish Lhana would let me... >>  Suddenly, she stops, a chartreuse idea bubbling up through her thoughts.  << Hey.  I have an idea. >>

<Local> Vorkoroth senses that he offers a silver-sparked laugh against a backdrop of midnight.  <<Thank you, Zhesteth,>> he replies, bemused by the compliment.  His reply to Sidramuntalath is cut short at the green's announcement of a thought.  <<Oh?  Going to share, milady?>>

<Local> Vorkoroth senses that Sidramuntalath curls curiosity around a smoke-ring, and sends it towards Zhesteth. Sensor probe. << An idea? >> His low rumble is just this side of wary - greens and ideas don't typically blend that well.

Lhana grins, nodding.  "Awesome!  I'll have to remember that for when I get to stocking up."  Which she'd better be doing...soon.  Her own flatbread slice is just getting finished, and she nods emphatically to Ike.  "Oh yes.  I'll have to have lots of them for my party."  Wyn just gets a sort of...look.  "You're not?  Why not??"

Sii'kyn stares at Wyn. "You're having a weyrwarming," he announces. "Even if you aren't going to have everything - Harpers 'n' all, you've gotta have /some/ semblance of a weyrwarming." A shake of his head. "And you have to come to mine." A grin, before he ammends, "And Lhana's, too, when she actually decorates."

"Well..."  protests Wyn.  She has to protest, you know.  It's in her contract.  "I'm just... not really a very good hostess at all.  And my weyr honestly isn't set up to handle large groups, and..."  Meep?  She changes tack to nod.  "Oh but of course I'm going to yours... if you want me there."

Sii'kyn stares dubiously at Wyn. "Not a very good hostess. Oh, come on." A shake of the head. "It doesn't have to be a huge affair. Just some of the clutchmates and whoever strikes your fancy." Not like the party he's planning. (Post-graduation weyrwarming. Can't get any better than that...) "And of course I want you there. And Lhana. And Tevya. And Fyria. And... but no V'der or N'zgul or.." He cringes, "..S'titch." He brightens. "Maybe I could send someone for Seilyn!" Oooh.

<Local> Vorkoroth senses that Zhesteth has an idea, yes.  Not just any idea, either.  This is a great idea.  A real dooooooozy of a Zhesteth thought.  << Yes!  Yes.  We should decorate my weyr for Lhana. >>  A pause, as her mind begins whirling in a swirl of rainbow colors.  << Yes, yes.  I'm sure the only reason she hasn't done it is because it'd be so much work for her. >>  Of course...  << And the three of us could get it done so much quicker.  Maybe we could even find a humanperson to help us! >>

<Local> Vorkoroth senses that Sidramuntalath twitches. <<A humanperson? Pray tell, who? >> He's not totally against this idea, but isn't totally for it, either. So, he sits there in easy neutrality.

<Local> Vorkoroth senses that he is just going to hang back and examine these new tactical computations.  <<And, ah, have you considered how you plan to decorate it...?>>  Foresight, planning... always good things.

Lhana nods vigorously.  "Oh, of course you have to come mine, Wyn.  It's going to be so much fun!!  As soon as I get it decorated, of course."  Wyn's protests on her own party earn a dubious look.  "This," she says, gesturing to the large room and vaulted ceiling, "Isn't up to large groups??  Of course it is!  And I'm sure you're a wonderful hostess!  There's nothing to it, you just have to be your wonderful little self." 

Wyn still looks dubious, although Sii'kyn seems to have reassured her somewhat.  And she's already pondering the amusing possibilities of having S'titch gatecrash.  Dubious look returns at Lhana's words.  "My wonderful little self...?  Lhana, you've met my wonderful little self.  The only time I'm cheerful and outgoing is if someone's bleeding and needs my help..."

Sii'kyn snickers. "Your wonderful little self," he emphasises. "You don't have to be cheerful and outgoing, Wyn, to be a good hostess. I'm a horrible host, and look how outgoing and cheerful I am." Beam. And then, he catches some sort of gleam - or aura. "You're not bringing S'titch to my weyrwarming," he warns her, "Or I'll tie you up and leave you with It in a small, confined area."

<Local> Vorkoroth senses that Zhesteth is far too busy being excited over her current idea to worry about planning or foresight.  Trifles, really.  << Oh, We just need to get lots of paint, and any old humanperson will do. >>  All they need is their hands, after all.  << It will be so much fun!! >>

<Local> Vorkoroth senses that Sidramuntalath ducks out of this scheme. << Zhest.. I would love to decorate, but... paint? I know what happens with paint. It's not pretty. >> And of course, he's vain.  

<Local> Vorkoroth senses that he still isn't giving up on this scheme entirely.  He'd just like a few of the contingencies mapped a little better.  <<What colours of paint...?>> is his next query.  <<You wouldn't want to... clash... you know.>>

<Local> Vorkoroth senses that Zhesteth just gives Ram the mental equivalent of an eyeroll.  << Oh, we wouldn't have to paint.  I mean, not if we didn't want to.  That's what the humanpeople are for! >>  Notice how she just expanded their number of human helpers to several.  As to colors...Zhesteth doesn't believe in clashing.  << Oh, I suppose...just a few.  Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, purple. >>  Never mind that she just named every color of the rainbow.

<Local> Vorkoroth senses that he seems mollified.  Or perhaps he simply wants to see what happens.  In any case, the blue is silent a long moment, before noting that <<Wyn has said that weyrbrats like painting things.>>

<Local> Vorkoroth senses that Sidramuntalath now backs off, fast. << If you think I am getting within a foot of a weyrbrat, you are mistaken. I know what they can do. Believe me, Zhest, you don't want weyrbrats doing your decorating. >>

<Local> Vorkoroth senses that Zhesteth beams appreciatively Vor-wards.  << Really?  Oh, they'd probably be wonderful, then. >>  Ram's warnings just get a sort of mental blink.  << You don't like the humanlings?  I think they're very cute.  And I'm sure they can't be that bad, Sidramuntalath. >>  Not that she can believe anything is particularly bad at all.  << But if it'll make you feel better, we can take big people, too. >>  Exactly where she plans on finding all these people, we don't exactly know.

<Local> Vorkoroth senses that he does allow a logical tinge of grey to streak his starscapes.  <<It is quite true that they can be... disconcerting...>> he agrees to Ram.  <<But there are exceptions.  My Wyn was a weyrbrat, you know.>>  

<Local> Vorkoroth senses that Sidramuntalath edges his tone with the faintest of crimson. << My point exactly, >> he lightly ribs Vorkoroth. << I am sure your rider was a hellion when she was just clutched. >> A pause. Now, his Kyn, of course, was angelic. Of course. << Disconcerting? Try desecrating. >> He doesn't like them. At all.

<Local> Vorkoroth senses that Zhesteth, for her part, doesn't know what descrating means.  Therefore, she's going to ignore the comment.  Zhest-logic is wonderful, isn't it?  << Well, we've got to get someone, and we got to hurry!  Come on! >>  And with a heavy dose of urgency added to that heaping helping of infectious enthusiasm, Zhesteth starts on her way.  

<Local> Vorkoroth senses that he offers a bit of midnight caution.  <<Easy on, Zhest.  An operation of this magnitude should move slowly.  After all, we want to be able to finish everything before your rider wants to return, right?  If we go to work now, we'll likely not even be properly started.>>

<Local> Vorkoroth senses that Zhesteth could care less about that.  And she's too impatient to possibly move slowly.  << Why?  We already know what to get.  Paint and people.  And if we don't start soon, then it won't be done before Lhana wants to go back. >>  She pauses.  << Perhaps I should tell Urzketh to tell his rider to get us some things, hm?  I believe they are out and about, and he won't tell our riders. >>  Then she pauses, her attention shifting about once again.  << But we should gooooo. >>  Once she gets an idea into her head, she wants it happening /now/.

  Lhana beams at Wyn.  "It's true!  You just have to be yourself.  Guests around here are notorious for being able to entertain themselves."  Wink wink.  At mention of S'titch, she commences laughing hysterically.  "Oh Faranth!  You have to invite S'titch.  I am dying to see him drunk!"  Now there's a mental image.

  Sii'kyn glares at Lhana, and shakes his head. "To Wyn's. Not to mine." Shudder. Drunken S'titch and Drunken Sii'kyn could end up very dangerous. "Uhmn." S'mrfle.

  "Good Faranth no."  interjects Wyn quickly.  "Can you imagine what he'd do to this place...?  He hates simple lines."  Wyn may not discuss her tastes much, but they're apparently quite firmly developed.  Lhana is eyed with surmise.  "What about your weyrwarming, though?"

  Lhana promptly goes into a fit of giggles.  "Okay, okay," she says, between little giggles.  "If you won't invite him to your weyrwarmings, he is so coming to mine!"  She giggles again, imagining just what drunk S'titch would be like.  "Not that he should keep any of you from coming," she adds hastily.  "And I'd be sure to keep him away from you, Ike."  At least...at first.

  Sii'kyn glares at Lhana. Openly. "For Entymeth's sake, I would not kill him," he says, tone clipped, "...but that does not mean, if intoxicated, I wouldn't try." Yup, he's definately got this hatred thing down pretty well, don't he? "I shall keep away from him." Shudder. Sip.

  Wyn lifts a steadying hand.  "Don't worry, Ike,"  she assures.  "If things get too bad with S'titch, I'll threaten to either burn his lace patterns, or sleep with him myself, and therefore let the fright of that send him into a dead faint."  Her expression is perfectly, completely deadpan.  She's even managed to get her eyes more or less under firm control.

  Lhana can't stop herself from grinning, though she does manage to suppress a giggle.  "I really can't imagine why you hate him so, Sii'kyn.  I just find him terribly funny."  Maybe it's because he's never hit on her.  Or because she doesn't mind getting hit on.  Hm.  Wyn's deadpan remarks set Lhana off into yet another giggle-fit, though.  "See?" she then says, abruptly pulling her expressions back into more of a deadpan herself, though her eyes are dancing.  "Wyn'll take care of him, if things get too out of hand."

  Sii'kyn stares at Wyn. "Burn his lace, yes - I'll help. But sleep with him?" His body shudders involuntarily. "Please don't." Wince. "Lhana, dearling, if he hit on you and suggested you wear lace... you'd hate him too."

  Lhana goes home.

Vorkoroth> Zhesteth goes home.

  Wyn shivers.  "Ugh... I'm kidding Ike,"  she notes.  "I'm not so weyrbred that I don't have any sense of taste in bedmates.  Ugh.  Although he and N'zgul seemed to be hitting it off... No.  Not thinking about that."  A steadying pull of cider prompts a hiccup, and she looks wry.

  Stare. And then Lhana runs off. Sii'kyn shakes his head wryly. "S'titch and N'zgul." A very unmasculine giggle escapes his lips - must be the cider. "They deserve each other," he snickers.

  Wyn snickers.  "That they do."  she notes, in between hiccups.  "A match made in the stars...  Although Vorkoroth is too fond of Entymeth for my liking.  Do me a favour and lock me in the catacombs when she starts to glow...?"

  Sii'kyn pauses, briefly converses with Ram, and grimaces. "You're not the only one with a dragon that enjoys Entymeth's presence. Ram doesn't like her as much as 'his Pixie' --" This time, his snicker is stifled; "...but he likes her. Okay. I'll lock you.. and me.. and Fyria.. and Tevya.. and everyone else that rides male in our clutch in the catacombs. That'll work." A brief nod. "N'zgul and S'titch." A slight snicker.

  Wyn nods, looking dignified in the extreme.  Which isn't unusual for Wyn, but this state of dignity is slightly cider-induced.  Told you she had no tolerance, even if she's decidedly far from dead drunk.  Wyn, after all, weighs little more a decent sack of firestone. "Keeps N'zgul from staring down my tunic when he's supposedly reading one of my scrolls,"  she allows, before dignity is ruined by a snicker.  "Hee.  We ought to have both of them show up at Lhana's party... they'll amuse themselves, and probably be quite funny to watch."

  Sii'kyn looks faintly annoyed. He's got just enough of a buzz that he's let down a few of his guards - like that giggle. "Next time N'zgul tries to stare down your tunic... yell at me. Or Ram." He pauses. "An' we'll tie him up. Mhn." Okay, so maybe he has a bit more than a little buzz. Cough. "S'titch and N'zgul?" His nose wrinkles, at that. "Not funny. Disgusting." Shudder. "They're both horrible, aren't they?" He takes another sip from his 'skin.

  Wyn catches the annoyance and looks somewhat quizzical.  "S'okay,"  she assures, usual precise diction easing somewhat under the influence of another swig of cider.  She returns to looking solemn.  "The last guy as attempted to do anything more than look when I didn't want him to, I dropped him."  A snicker.  "Broke a Healer Oath there, I guess, but it sure felt good.  S'don't worry, Ike."  She snabbles a piece of the cooling flatbread.  "But yeah... S'titch and N'zgul.  But you know, I guess out of twenty pairs, two aren't bad.  An' Entymeth's a dear."

  Sii'kyn snickers. "Broke your Oath? Isn't that.. bad?" Swig. "Entymeth's the only good one out of four," he deliberatly states. And shudders. "I mean, good Faranth. N'zgul scares even me. S'titch is insane, by all accounts, and Ringwraith.. well, just the name. Too much of a coincidence." Can you feel the hairs rising up on the back of your neck? Ike still feels 'em. "So." Shuffled glance. "Well, it's a better match than, like... P'rru. And anyone." Shudder.

Wyn snickers again.  "Yeah... But there were..."  Pause, concentrate. "Mitigating circumstances.  And he wasn't going to rat, 'cause he was breaking apprentice rules by kissing me."  She trails off into silence, before adding consideringly.  "Of course, I did sleep with him a couple months after that, so... Ooops.  Sorry."  Another snicker.  "This is why I don't drink, y'see.  I ramble."

  Sii'kyn pauses, and snickers. "You slept with an apprentice? Oh, bad, bad Wyn." He giggles another unmasculine giggle, and shakes his head, wryness twisting lips into a grin. "That is why I drink fast. I giggle." He smothers another one of the stupid sounds.

  Wyn snickers again, now starting to edge towards a chortle.  And she takes another sip of cider.  Fortunately, she's in an excellent position to just land on her bed when she finally passes out. "Well, I was an apprentice at the time too, you know."  And then she does chortle.  "The masters never found out.  S'all about being discreet."  she intones, suddenly grave.  Before snickering again.  "Giggling's not bad.  You don't twitter at least, like a certain greenrider we won't name."

  Sii'kyn can't help it. His mouth twitches a few dozen times, before he belts out with laughter. Hearty, full-bellied laughter that he rarely allows out; "Twittering," he gasps, "Is a rather adept word for it." He composes himself, after a moment. "Discreet, heh? We'll have to be discreet about this, then, I suppose," he mutters, hefting his nearly-empty skin of cider. "

  Nix that last ". However it got there, I have no clue...

Gremlins.

Evil nasty gremlins, my presciouusssssssss... (Still not Weyrlingmaster.) Dang, I think that some of this drunkeness is transferring itself into /me/...

  Wyn gives a nod, grave once again.  Even as she slowly flops sideways to land amongst her pillows. It's a... dignified... flop.  And if you've never seen one before, you've obviously never lived in a university dorm before.  "Discreet."  she notes with preturnatural solemness.  "Is to be our watchword.  Think I'd proll... probl... probably better not have any more of that cider.  Don't want to be hungover at Graduation, y'know."

  Sii'kyn would walk towards the door, but he's afraid that he can't make it. Wouldn't do to crumple into laughter from any odd thought. "Discreet. Hungover." Mournfulness enters silver orbs. "Hangovers suck," he vehemently states. "An--where--whoa." He pauses, and straightens himself. Whoo. "Okay. Raam. Ram's.. gone? No. He's just--" Blink. "At my weyr." He's confused, now, and settles, blinking at the among-the-pillows Wyn.

  One of Wyn's stock of fluffy pillows arcs over from the bed, on a collision course with Sii'kyn.  "Have a pillow."  she offers gravely.  Before blinking.  "Ram's... over at your weyr... I guess I could give you a lift over on Vor...?"  Muzzily, she quests outward mentally, only to blink.  "Vor's at your weyr too."  she intones in puzzlement.

  Sii'kyn attempts to catch it on reflexes alone, but it still manages to smack him in the face. "Ooof," he mutters. Before sprawling on the rug, head propped up on the pillow. "I wonder what they're doing." Another giggle. "I'm sure they're not having as much fun as we are."

  Wyn giggles at last, triggered by the sound of Sii'kyn getting smacked in the face by a pillow.  Yes, her sense of humour is warped.  "I dunno... Plotting something, if Vor's mindlink is right."  An unseen pout, playful.  "But he won't tell me."

  "Plotting something? In my weyr?" Ike groans, and eyes Wyn. "You've got a twisted sense of humor," he grumps for a moment, before snickering. "I think it has something to do with... Zhest. He's got that whole 'patience' thing happening, and he only uses it on Zhest or Vesp." A faint snicker.

"Positively warped," agrees Wyn cheerily, dispatching another pillow.  "Have another pillow."  she snickers, before sobering.  "I think you're right that it's Zhest, though.  Vor's been planning to hide from Vesp ever since she tried to get him to show her his... parts."

  Ahh, and right when Sii'kyn was getting comfortable - drawing up one leg, lounging; yet another pillow whaps him on the face. "Ooof. Would you stop doing that already?" He whine-mumbles this. Then, he waits a skip after the 'parts' sentance, waiting for the punchline. And then, he heaves with laughter. He laughs so hard - that no sound is to be heard, just faint wheezes. "Oh... Faranth," is wheezed.

  Wyn giggles.  "But I've got lots of pillows up here... Just wanted to share?"  she snickers, picking up another pillow and hugging it to her chest instead of tossing it.  Because, after all, if she tosses enough to Ike, Ike'll have enough to start tossing back at her.  She giggles some more as Sii'kyn laughs, a light, girlish sound that's probably not been heard from Wyn in /turns/.  "Yeah..."  she notes.  "Poor guy was doing all right, until she offered to let him see hers, if he'd show her his.  He didn't know what to say."

  "Uh..huh. Sharing, my cute little as--" Sii'kyn sniffs, catching himself idly. And then blinks, turns his head, and stares at her legs. That's all he can see of her, thanks to the pillows - "You just giggled," he informs her, his tone just a tad bit slurred. And then, he giggles, himself. Again. "Oh, poor Vor. I bet that's the ultimate Vespian thing to do to stop an argument..." Snicker. Giggle. Slurr.

  "Cute little... Asthma?" inquires Wyn gravely, peeking over the edge of the bed at the Ike-on-the-floor.  "You should really get that looked at, y'know."  And then she giggles again, at her own wit.  Before looking serious.  "I did not giggle."  she states.  "I'm Wyn.  Wyn can't giggle.  S'against the rules of the game."

  "No, no, not asthm--you should really get that looked at, you know, your imperilous wit." Twitch. Then... "You did it again! Again! See? You giggled." Sii'kyn smirks, grabs his second pillow, and carefully aims it. Unleash the houn--pillow! It arcs Wyn-ways. "I'm going to go over there, steal some of your pillows, and pelt you with them," he seriously states.

  And the pillow arcs inwards, and catches Wyn full in the face with a soft *phump*  She blinks.  And then giggles again.  "No I didn't!"  she insists, giggling more.  "Ask anyone in the bowl if I giggle.  N'they'll tell you that I don't."  she assures.  Oh, what N'sync would likely give to see her now..  She peeks up again, and clutches at the pillow in mock-horror.  "No.  Not a pelting with pillows."  she intones, drunkenly dramatic.  "Anything but that."

  Well, Ike's now in that illusive category of People Who Have Heard Wyn Giggle. So, he crawls over towards her, snags a pillow, and tosses it haphazardly at her. Pelt-pelt-pelt. He's in drunken hysterics, snickering and giggling and guffawing.

"Eeep!  No fair!"  manages Wyn, curling into a little ball of blueling at the barrage of pillows.  And giggling hysterically.  She manages to uncurl, and spread herself across the remaining nest of pillows, cutting off the ammunition supply while she regroups.  And then staggers dizzily to her knees to return fire.  "Ha!"  

Sii'kyn giggles just as madly as the blueling. Pillow fight! However, after a few barrages smack him in the face - more - he ooofs and crumples. Whether he's just playing possum or really passed out is anyone's question...

[OOC:] Sii'kyn notes.. that with that, he must be off. Ike just passed out in your weyr. Congrats. ;)

Sii'kyn has disconnected.