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Harper's Tale 2 - Sunday, June 02, 2002, 7:05 PM
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Living Caverns
The rough-hewn majesty of this cavern far outpaces any delight in the multitudes of curves that form its enclosure. The glabrous grey granite is shot through with translucent obsidian, lending subtly-veined sparkle to the walls and the foot-trodden smoothness of the floor that shows centuries-old placements of the scarred trestle tables; carven hollows give homes for the glow baskets and the coat-pegs that line the walls. No mosaics, no painting, no tiles: just a few well-done tapestries mark the pathway that lead to the kitchen to the north and the inner caverns to the west, and frame the nighthearth's stew and snacks, while a heavier strip of oiled canvas shields the unwary from the wind in the bowl.
Scattered about in various perches and niches are forty-six firelizards.
You see OOC NOTICE (look sign), Thief, Vtol, Clothes Mixup Note, It, and Llaammaa here.
Daeyn and P'rru are here.
Obvious exits:
Bowl     Kitchens        Inner Caverns     Crafting Area

P'rru is already camped in here. In front of the hearth. In his beanie and scarf and big wooly socks, wriggling his feet towards the fire. Mmmm, warrrrm.

Wyn skulks in from the bowl. Or, at least a black cloaked figure of the right size and shape to be Wyn skulks in. No, it's not the return of the Prankwraiths, just someone being decidedly careful to leave her hood up and her face properly shadowed as she goes and aquires some lunch and a mug of klah, passing by the hearth and offering a standard bland greeting of "Hullo, Purr," before taking a seat. The greeting ought to give her away.

Aten comes down from the workrooms above.

Daeyn steps in from the caverns, her palms covered in dust. Slapping them off on one side of trousers - it would seem apparel is one of the things the brownrider spends little attention on - she directs a nod to a handful figures. "Evening, all ... P'rru," she murmurs a greeting to the one face she recognizes.

P'rru glances over from his pile of pillows. "Wyn? Dear girl you don't sound your usual...verbose self, really." he notes, before his eyes flicker to another brownrider. "Ah, evening to you too, Daeyn. How fares Anwyllth?"

A muffled snort of a laugh escapes from under Wyn's hood, her rather warped sense of humour still in place. "Oh, don't worry Purr," she assures dryly, giving a little wave to Daeyn bafore sipping her klah. "I simply have the first hangover I've had in approximately five turns, and I'm going to lock myself in the catacombs the next time Vespurath rises." A pause, and a "How are /you/?"

Daeyn lifts one shoulder in a mild shrug. "Anwyllth is well. Idalyn has him quite worn out ..." Dragons: the best kind of babysitter. She coughs softly at Wyn's words. "It could be worse, surely?" she inquires with a quirked eyebrow. Then again ... maybe not.

P'rru smiles at Daeyn, yes Dsalth does come in handy with his child-minding skills quite often. But his eyes revert to pondering Wyn. "I am quite glad that Dsalth was far enough away not to take any interest in Vespurath rising. Do be warned though, Wyn, I fear it could be time soon enough for Branwyth to follow suit.." Hey, he's Sasha's uncle, he keeps a track of her things. "Come and sit down on the couches, lass. You'll feel more comfortable without that big cape over your head.."

Wyn toddles obediantly over to the couches, and rearranges her tray and klah, but deigns to keep the hood over her head. Daeyn is favoured with a brief, shadowed smile, and a vaguely amused reply of "Oh, it certainly could... but I haven't indulged in a good bout of whining for a while, so I'm just indulging myself a bit." And after having to nurse Vorkoroth's bruised ego back to health last night, well...! P'rru recieves another quick smile, and the reassurance that "Oh, Branwyth's all right. Sasha doesn't get violent when she's proddy... at least not that I've heard of, anyways."

Daeyn chuckles softly, waving with one hand. "Oh, indulge away ... and isn't Tatia rather quick on the draw at most times? Or am I mishearing?" She pauses between pouring a mug of juice, eyebrow arched. "How is Dsalth? And Vorkoroth, beyond probably not quite recalling his disappointment any more?" The handy thing about lifemates. They forget with astounding ease.

P'rru raises an eyebrow "Tatia got violent? Shells, no-one got hurt did they? I do hope that hasn't put K'nex off any- she's got a quick temper at the best of times, doesn't she Daeyn?" Not that he's ever worn the brunt of it. Tatia tends to be nice to him, for some reason.The brownrider leans forwards, as if trying to peer at the blueling's face. "It'd be so much easier to talk to you if I could see your face, child..And aye, Dsalth is fine, really. Behaving himself quite nicely for once."

Larnat arrives from deeper in the Weyr.

"Oh, that she is," agrees Wyn, at last lifting the hood to display her souvenir of the flight to Daeyn and P'rru, before letting it drop back down over her face. To wit, a lovely black eye, complete with a slight contusion, and still with mild swelling half-closing her right eye. "Decidedly quick on the draw, although I admit I, ah, rather returned the favour before I went down." Wyn seems rather sheepish about the whole thing, and concentrates a long moment on intently nibbling at a roll.

Daeyn nods ever so slightly at P'rru's words, although also not being one who can make a particular speech about Tatia encounters of the third kind. She chuckles softly. "Behaving? Is he, perchance, ill, then?" Her expression is definitely amused. She winces at Wyn's new decoration, shaking her head. "Faranth. We can't have riders getting knocked up every time there's a flight ... knocked *about*," she corrects herself.

Larnat seems to come in at /precisely/ the right moment. Wince. "Ooh, Wyn, that looks nasty," she notes with a scowl appreciative of the damage. "You punched her back? Good for you. /I/ would've hit her," she notes. Predatory glint in her eyes as well as klah is taken, shaken, and used to slaken (oy, the rhymes) her wakin' thirst. Slaken's most likely not a word, but whatever she does, the klah soon disappears and Lar offers a yawn, jumping up to sit cross-legged on the table. "Are we talking about what we'd like to do to proddy riders who get on her nerves?"

There's a quick intake of breath from the brownrider, who drags his legs back to stand up. "What is this place coming to, when riders should punch each other? At least it's amusing when they get knocked -up-" he says with a tsk over his shoulder to Daeyn. But then he's over to Wyn, reaching out to tug at the hood "Show me that, and don't argue with me, child. I know you were a healer previously, but still. Have you put anything on it? I know there's some good balm in the infirmary for such things." Here, let him act all concerned parent-ish. Won't hurt, will it? Purr is quick to offer Larnat a -look- "Oh do be quiet, pet"

"Kicked, actually," corrects Wyn in an absent tone. Hardly bragging, just her usual anal-retentive tendancy to want all the facts clear. "Fortunately I didn't connect with her kneecap square-on. Flight hormones... Good Faranth's eyeridge." A prim snort, before she aquiesces to the old browner's demands, lowering the hood and looking rather more disreputable than the spit-and-polish blueling's ever been seen. "I was planning to go to the infirmary after I ate," she comments. "Moe's mentor, Aerrin, is a herbalist, and she probably left some decent arnica salves after she left."

Daeyn rolls her eyes towards the ceiling. "I can just see it now ... a full-scale brawl every time the ground weyrs are occupied ..." she murmurs under her breath in seeming despair. "Mmmm. Though I haven't had that problem, P'rru -" though not for lack of trying "- I don't think I'd agree that it's at all funny. Keeps riders out of the air." She frowns. "Is everyone else all right, Wyn?" she inquires.

Larnat rolls her eyes but doesn't give P'rru a scolding because...well, he's P'rru, and he's going to give her a turnday present. Tsk, tsk, not goo to antagonize the ones who have promised her turnday presents, so Larnat just...snickers. "Proddy riders are /terribly/ odd," she notes. Running a hand through her hair, Larnat turns. "Anyone feel hungry? I can get fresh klah or whatever," she notes. And would ask Wyn for some wine, but the bluerider is apparently occupied dealing with P'rru, so she won't comment. Pursing her lips and shooing Klah away from her Klah is clearly her challenge at this point.

Emeri glints emerald green as she appears with a chirp.

P'rru gently cups Wyn's chin with a couple of fingers, so he can peer even closer at the bruise. "What a shiner. We'll make a decent rider out of you yet Wyn.." he says with a wink, before releasing her from the scrutiny and stretching "Oh Daeyn, I know. But you have to agree, everytime you hear that T'am's got another girl pregnant, you can't help but chuckle.." He laughs. Guffaws. And usually points aswell. "No, I'm alright thanks Larnat. And in fact, I may even have something for you.." But the Mudslider dismisses that chain of thought to turn abck to Wyn. "Still someone has to have a word to Tatia. It's not decent for a wingleader to go around decking others, proddy or not" Sage-nod.

Emeri chitters sweetly and goes ::between::!

Wyn offers a crooked smirk, the expression fleeting, like all of Wyn's, before she raises her hood again. She'll permit Purr to fuss, because he's well... /Purr/, but the less general fussing, (Or /congratulations/ for that matter,) the happier Wyn will be. "Oh, don't blame Tatia entirely," she assures. "I apparently don't end up randy while Vor chases... I end up being bratty instead. And so she only decked me after I peeved her." Meanwhile, her klah is nursed, and the smirk reappears again. "Mmm, yes, T'am's stable of offspring. Is there any rule stating that a 'rider has to go on contraceptives after spawning a given number of times? I do believe he might be approaching the limit by the time he's 25."

Daeyn shudders. "No klah, please ... but meatrolls if you're offering," she directs over her shoulder, with the slightest shrug to indicate that there are no hard feelings otherwise. "Mmm. Mostly I'm just glad I'm not the girl, not to insult T'am at all ... someone good at dodging?" she suggests in a dour voice. "I sincerely doubt it, although it would be a wise manuever. There is some considerable hazard of inbreeding ... if not now, then a hundred turns or so down the line." Except for the small twitch of her lips, she sounds all too serious.

Larnat would like to be congratulated for decking someone, but then, that's just /her/. "Meatrolls?" she notes, disappearing with a saunter into the kitchens (where clamor ensues) and Lar comes back with some meatrolls. No black eyes, so either she's getting better at procuring food from the drudges, or they've given up putting up a fight. Really /nasty/ some of them are. Then again, she could've caught the nice ones. Fingers tapping against the side of the platter she sets it down. "Meatrolls," is announced with a firm smirk. And watch her perk at 'something for you' from Purr. Hmm. Present?

P'rru snorts, much like his dragon is prone to do. "Oh I will blame Tatia, you don't just go around popping people in the eye when they irritate you. It'll teach the children bad habits.." He's not deterred, yet note- he's not volunteered to give the greenrider the talking to? The brownrider sideglances at Daeyn, then breaks out into a burst of chuckles "And meanwhile poor Lorsalia who's about the only woman on the planet refusing to even consider having his baby.." It's the T'am-army Conspiracy, really. Purr drops back into his chair, and reaches over to fiddle in his coat pocket (it's slung aside by the way). "Larnat? Here you go lass..." He holds out a little square box.

Wyn shrugs slightly, and attends to her dinner after that. Personally, Purr can blame Tatia, but she's officially Given Both Sides Of The Story, and can now wash her hands of the matter. Grey eyes (Or actually grey /eye/, the other still a tad too puffed to see well out of) focus on the handing off of a present to Larnat, before a quiet laugh escapes. "Yes, Daeyn," she agrees. "One /must/ keep the bloodlines untangled, after all. I suppose one could exchange some of his excess offspring with other weyrs, perhaps."

Daeyn pauses for a moment, frowning as a soft mental voice threads its way into her mind. "Thank you, Larnat ... if you don't mind me grabbing and running," she apologizes, catching a meatroll or two up as she stands. "Good for Lorsalia, if only for the practicality of the matter," she says in a mild voice, shaking her head. And for the matter of that ... she certainly hasn't offered to have a chat with Tat, either. "Start an official exchange program before the problem spreads through out the Weyr." She sighs. "Anwyllth is asking for me. I'll see all of you, I don't doubt ..."

Larnat squeals (err...odd for her, there, childish desire for a present, it must be) and takes the box. "Ooh! Thank you soo much P'rru," she notes, eyes lighting as she gives it a soft tap and poke. "What's in it?" she asks with a cock of her head. Always interesting to try and see if she can wheedle it out of him instead of opening it herself, you know. Coughing, Larnat feels obliged to note that no one at 'Reaches need worry about inbreeding with /her/. "My rider parents hail from Igen," she notes. That's most all they'll get on the matter of her parents, and she raises a brief hand to Daeyn in farewell. And apparently fidgets and gives up waiting to open the box. "Charm!" is exclaimed. A small flower charm, a 'Reaches-type flower charm. "Adorable, and thanks P'rru."

P'rru raises his hand "Yes, see you later Daeyn" he calls before she goes to tend to her dragon. But he's too busy chuckling at Larnat "Just a small gift, late as it is.." He says, excusing himself if the girl really thinks the present sucks. "And you should be proud to have Igen blood in your veins. We are a breed apart.." But he quickly holds up a finger "And no comment from you, Wyn" Grin.

"Clear skies, Daeyn" is Wyn's farewell, accompanied by a casual lift of her klah mug as her attention diverts to peer at the flower charm. "Pretty design," is her comment, before P'rru is favoured with a half-obscured smirk. And a quiet murmer of "Benden's best..."

Daeyn lifts her hand in a half salute. "I swear, having dragon is like being the mother of five ..." And before any mother of five can protest to this, she vanishes without.

Daeyn goes home.

Larnat smirks. Her parents aren't exactly her favorite people, but she doesn't bear a grudge of hate or any such thing. "It's a marvelous present, P'rru," she notes, slipping said gift into her satchel always held comfortingly by her side. The one that holds Isabo, her little kitten. Oh dear. A fierce glare at Isa reminds the dear that she's supposed to /behave/, Faranth willing, and Lar shakes her head, pleasant smile on her face (i.e., don't ask about my methods of training kittens). "Do you have some more of that red wine, Wyn?" Cough.

P'rru settles back into the couch, chuffed that the present is liked. "Oh good, well no complaints about not getting any turnday gifts- and your much too young to be drinking wine, lass. Forget it." While he's here to disaprove, anyway. But the brownrider glances over at Wyn "It must be time for tapping soon, yes? You'll be real riders in no time."

Wyn rolls a shoulder casually, setting up a ripple in the fabric of her cloak. "She's 15 now, Purr," the bluerider notes. "That's age of majority, after all." That, and Wyn quietly slipped 'Nat a skin for a turnday gift herself. Wyn, if one can't tell by now, isn't exactly the greatest at thinking up original turnday presents. "Do I have some more red wine?" she repeats. "Hmm... considering that I've so far managed to dispose of only nine of the gross of skins that my father gave me as a weyrwarming present... I can assure you I've got more wine." she concludes gravely, before flashing P'rru a quick (how else?) smile. "Indeed... just about a month or two more to go, I believe... I can hardly believe it, although my shoulder muscles assure me that it's Ballad truth."

Larnat nods in staunch defense of her 'age majority' (whatever that may be...) and takes the skin from Wyn (hee...a Wynskin) with a silent 'thank you' to the bluerider. Lar loves the stuff, unoriginal turnday present or not. Pursing her lips, she starts to rock back and forth on her feet (a fidgetting technique for whenever she may find her body idle) and nodding. "Heh. Your father must have loaded all that /he/ couldn't get rid of off on you," she notes with a snicker. And Lar /still/ doesn't know /just/ how much the blueling has. "It's gone by...rather fast," she admits. V. fast, weyrlinghood has gone by.

P'rru claps a hand gently on the side of the couch "Oh aye, well work should ease up once your properly tapped, Wyn. No more listening to Lylia, eh? Unless of course you end up in Tsunami- then you can listen to Tatia.." Snicker. He'd be amused, wouldn't he? "But I don't care if she's 15. It kills off your brain, guzzling down alcohol at an early age..and no that's not what happened to me" Le sigh. He can insult himself!

Janicka walks in from the Central Bowl.
Fyria sashays and shimmies her....self in from the Central Bowl.
Janicka walks out.

Hiza sashays gently in from the Central Bowl.
Hiza steps into the shadows that lead back into the Weyr.
Raewyn walks in from the Central Bowl.

"Actually, Larnat," notes Wyn from beneath her shrouding hood. "This is actually rather obscenely /good/ wine. Da was just rather proud of the fact that I made weyrling wingsecond. Apparently /he/ was one, approximately twenty turns ago." And Wyn's proud to be Daddy's Little Girl, even if she doesn't necessarily admit it. P'rru recieves another hooded smile. "Somehow I doubt I'd survive Tsunami's initiation, from what I've heard of it."

Raewyn steps into the shadows that lead back into the Weyr.

A shadow of slinky black leather slips into the caverns, the wearer immediately removing helmet, goggles, and gloves only to toss them upon a chair with a muffled noise. Fyria shakes her hair out a bit, the beads clicking softly as she nods at various folk, heading for the klahpot. Stat. A mug is procured, filled, and sipped from before finally, she turns, recognizing her clutchmate and a certain, egotistical brownrider. With a sly grin, she sidles over, greeting the both of them. "Hey you two, causing trouble already?" Larnat gets another wink and grin, along with a loudly whispered "I'd watch these two. The brownrider, especially. He has..issues.." Wink. Cue the innocent smile.

Larnat snickers. She can't help it. "Tsunami's initiation rites? Faranth, I've heard they're fearful," she notes with a wicked smile. "All in the wing?" Cocking her head and noting Wyn's comment on fathers and fatherly pride she rolls her eyes. "Rider fathers. Only around when it counts." Or her approximation of it, in a sort of...twisted way, but we'll not delve there. "Well, /I/ think it's sharding good wine, either way," Lar notes candidly, glaring at a drudge who seems to look tempted to steal the meatroll tray back, and who is consequentially suddenly /not/ tempted. "Fyria, no? Congratulations on making Wingleader, if I didn't note it before," she asks mid-snort. Amusing way with words Fyria has, no?

"And to think, we just go surfing." Purr mentions, although he's secretly plotting to head to Wyn's while she's asleep, and steal her wine. For his own collection. S'nor used to do that to his all the time, why not make it a tradition? But there's a Fyria, and P'rru is very quick to scowl. Not his usual 'Oh Hi Fyri' scowl. But one that's much more darker. "Yes, I do have issues." Is all he says airily. "Enjoy your time over in Kh'ryn's weyr? I hear it's getting crowded in there." Biiig Issues, old man. "And excuse me, Larnat, but I happen to be a rider father, and I'm around when it counts.." Well, for the past 10 turns he has been. The 10 before that? Nevermind..

Heh. P'rru will have to get past Wyn's Guard Dragon first. Wyn, meanwhile, makes the bland comment to Larnat that "You might have an abandonment complex involving /your/ father, but I'm perfectly well adjusted with regards to mine." We won't discuss Wyn and her mother, though. Nope. Especially not since Wyn is now sinking back into the shadows of her hood after a little wave to Fyria, a wickedly amused light in her eyes remaining unseen under the cloak as she takes in the new tone of the conversation.

Larnat amends, if it makes P'rru feel any dandier. "/Most/ rider fathers," she allows. "Issues you have, P'rru?" Larnat asks with a positively wicked grin. "Do tell." Actually, Lar is remarkably non-violent to her father, her mother was the one who told Sa'rn, 'let's just give her to a nanny...I don't /like/ motherhood.' Snort. Leurat not the top person on her list, no. Wyn would find interest in issues, no? Being a past mindhealer, correct?

"Why thank you, Larnat, and yes..Fyria's my name." She settles into a chair, only to give Purr an outright blank look at the sharpness in his voice "What in Faranth's name...what?" Her eyes widen, blink, and her jaw drops slightly at the mention of her, Kh'ryn, and his weyr. "Shells and shards, who in Faranth's name told you that, as if it was any of your business, nosy old man!" She sets her mug on the table with a loud clunk, arms crossed as she stares at him. "What I do in my time is my own, you old lout. End of story."

P'rru thoroughly ignores Wyn and Larnat to reply tersely to Fyria "Not when it hurts the people close to me, child" Stressing the child here. "You have no idea what your getting into with that man. But of course, Fyria always has to have her own way, even if it tends to hurt others.." Sniff, thus he will fold his arms over his chest and say to Larnat "Nevermind.." It's not really Fyria-Issues. But Kh'ryn-issues are spilling over.

Janicka walks in from the Central Bowl.
Janicka steps into the shadows that lead back into the Weyr.

Wyn /really/ ought to learn to keep her nose out of other folks' affairs *coughDoubleEntendrecoughcough*, but the former Mindhealer apparently can't resist. And so she meddles, pulling the hood of her cloak back just enough to let some light spill on her face. "You know," she muses, sounding bland as usual. "Kh'ryn isn't the only male that Fyria's been paired with, in weyr gossip. But he's the only one that's really raised your ire to hear mentioned. Interesting." And then she returns to her klah. No, she's not fishing for another black eye. Honest.

Lapis Lazuli blinks in from ::between::!

Larnat coughs. What's this about Fyria in Kh'ryn's weyr? Does Larnat /really/ want to know for that matter? Eheh. At least /she/ hasn't found any...er...male companionship so far, so life is much easier for the bakerlet in this respect. "Wyn's got a point," she notes with a wickedly curious grin. Poor P'rru, seems as if he'll be double-teamed. "In an odd way, not having much close family is nice," she notes. No need to worry about attachments as such, though she suspects it /will/ be inevitable, at least with friends.

Fyria's dark eyes flare at P'rru, regardless that he's her senior in rank, not to mention her elder. Emphasize, elder. "Hurt? Who in Faranth's name am I hurting? It was just casual fun, nothing more, nothing less..." She wrinkles her nose at him, snagging her mug back to cradle between her palms with a frown. Wyn gets an equally cold glare, muttering "Stay out of it Wyn." And that's all she offers to her clutchmate and wingsecond. And she'll gladly gift her with more than a black eye if she persists, too.

P'rru raises an eyebrow as he turns to regard Wyn. "That is because, none of the other riders have been in anyway related to myself, dear. But Kh'ryn, well he was almost family. And now he's a complete dimglow." Glower. See, Fyri, Purry still wubbs you. Deep down, beneath all the fish. "Casual fun that ends up with a girl sobbing in my weyr, Fyria?" The brownrider gets to his feet and stamps over to the klah table. "Look, let's not talk of this."

Griffin walks in from the Central Bowl.

Wyn doesn't /want/ to stay out of it. Wyn wants everyone to be happy, healthy and free of mental unrest, and is a firm believer in the fact that all problems can be talked out, if the conversationalists are rational creatures. Is that so much to ask? At 'Reaches... Dream on, little ex-Mindhealer. Fortunately, she seems to posess some small crumb of self-preservation behind the idealism. And backs off. For at least as long as Fyria's about. She returns to nursing her klah.

Larnat winces. This seems like a terribly confusing situation, and Lar does have a tincture of tact or two, and trodding on people's more sensitive emotions is not the way she spends her time, so her only note is, "As you wish." An oddly submissive phrase for Larnat, but she's not a bad person, truly. Though, l if P'rru's over at the klah table...he ain't watching her wineskin, and a bit of the red wine is swallowed and just as quietly the cork pushed back in and the guilty party sneaks said wineskin behind her back. But that's no cherub's look upon her face, you can just /tell/ she was naughty. Oh well.

Griffin walks into the caverns, swinging the rugsack from her shoulders as she unbuckles her winter jacket. The weather doesn't get to the worn runner as much as the rest of the crew. The woman shivers lightly as a light chill catches her back. She strides away from the doorway, in the direction of the hearth. The woman does not seem to take notice of the others in the room as she is shrugging way of of the layers that she has worn on her journey back to the weyr.

"I agree. You and I will have a good discussion about this later," she fumes. Fyria doesn't take kindly to rumours, particularly when they involve her, and /especially/ when they involve her private life. With a deep breath and shake of her head, she glances towards Wyn, asking "So. How does Vorkoroth fare? We'll need to continue formatoins flying --I have a feeling we'll be flying mock Threadfall soon enough." Larnat's movements catch her keen eye and she waggles a finger at the girl. "I saw that."

P'rru pours his klah, taking a quick breath as some of the hot liquid dribbles down his fingers "Fine, Fyria. That we will" As soon as he's gone and chewed out Kh'ryn for being an idiot. Or other choice words. The brownrider continues scowling, from over by the klah table, and upon noticing Griffin he mutters "Timing. Bloody timing"

Wyn will gladly pounce on this change of topic from Fyria. Particularly when it's a change to a topic that's one of the few that Wyn can comfortably prattle on about at length. "Vorkoroth's faring well. He and Ram have stopped their one-up-manship long enough to conspire on ways to shell the Bowl with snowballs, and he seems to be handling not winning his first flight adequately well. Even if he's far too proud of my, ah, orbital haematoma." A phrase like 'black eye' just not quite being good enough for Wyn. A Wyn who then move on to prattle about Wing Business, even if her glance follows Griffin's arrival with keen interest. "Mm, yes. I've added my own thoughts to that formation outline you gave me, and passed it on to Ike... you might want to see about getting L'stat to tighten up his flying. He's leaving too much of the responsibility to Akashath."

Larnat tilts her head and whispers with a rather forced grin, "No, you didn't." Apparently Larnat thinks she possesses Jedi mind tricks. And Larnat will not voice any opinions on the subject as she's rather lacking in the knowledge of the topic, though she has a general perception about the gnarly entanglements ensnaring the life of a particular Skylark and Kh'ryn at this point. Does the whole Weyr not know? But Lar keeps her lips pursed and takes another judicial sip of the wine.

Griffin doesn't seem to notice what is going on, in fact, the other party seems to be at the opposite end of the room now as the woman darts about as she recieves her things and passes letters off to the drudges to take to various other places. Everything is so out of place to the messenger. She even can feel the one stand of tress that is bothering her eyesight. As she fusses her hand with it, she approaches the table with the food trays laid out. A bowl of chowder, a few meatrolls, a steaming hot mug of klah -- all the warm food seems to settle well with the messenger's thoughts has they seem to wander not very far elsewhere.

Fyria gives P'rru a final nod before turning her full attention to Wyn. "I've already had a few words with him, and he's assured me he'll improve within the formation next time we go up. Personally, I think he's just lazy, but that's me." With a faint shrug, she gives Griffin a welcoming smile and wave before glancing back at Wyn. "Honestly, I'm thinking of redoing that entire formation. I just don't like it anymore. But I'll check out your suggestions, and Ike's too. Do you think we're ready for Threadfall, personally?"

P'rru watches Griffin quietly, as if pondering something. But she nears enough when she goes for the buffet, that he can interupt the messenger's thoughts with "Hello there, pet. You seem a million lengths away today." Helpful observation, innit? He is listening to the bluelings though, and will pipe up "No, your not." Grumble.

Wyn snorts an amused laugh in P'rru's direction. "I do believe you say that about every weyrling wing, Purr," she allows, a touch too mildly, before turning back to talk shop with Fyria. "In a perfect world, where everyone remembers the drills, no one is fighting a hangover, plotting a new pattern of lace, musing how gorgeous they are, or attempting to hit on the rider across from them, we'll fly a perfect drill." she comments. "In our rather flawed reality, I think that those who are prepared will do well, those who aren't will get a good deal of paint on them, and we can proceed to amuse ourselves by driving the slackers into the ground." A feral smile, which quickly vanished.

Larnat smirks before a tugging on her sleeve by Denocte causes her to let loose a curse that probably not even one of the saltiest corsairs could say, and glances up with a hurried wave, already making a dash for the door. "Kitchens! I'm late!" she notes, wineskin still clutched tightly in her hand as the baker app grabs her apron so carelessly discarded earlier and sprints out, tagging along are her flizzen fair, as well. And P'rru didn't even catch her drinking. Ha.
Larnat goes home.

"We'll see about that, Purr," Fyria replies with an obvious tone of defiance and determination in her voice. Her dark eyes turn back to Wyn with a wink as she continues: "I swear by the shard of the first Egg, Wyn, if that greenrider S'titch approaches me /one/ more time with lace for my knot, I'm going to hang him from the Star Stones with that lace myself." Her fingers drum impatiently on the rim of the mug, eyes offering a cursory glance towards Griffing and Larnat before swinging back to her wingsecond. "I just don't want to see anyone in my wing injured during actual Threadfall, and I'll be darned if I let that happen." Urzketh offers a supporting rumble from the bowl, which only causes Fy to smile faintly. "It seems, that Urzketh agrees."

The dark-haired messenger does not seem to catch Fyria's smile, and if she does, the woman looks away quickly as is she didn't notice it as P'rru's voice catches her hearing. "Oh," she says suddenly with a light in-tone of surprise in her voice. "I suppose." She balances her plate on the palm of her hand and the mug of klah in the other as she finds a table a little bit aside to the others. It seems that the messenger doesn't feel at all like finding her place with in a group today. She settles into the chair as she huffs a light breath at the surface of her klah before taking a sampled sip. All dragonrider related topics seem to befuddle the runner, and she would much rather stick to her simple life of a messenger. It is not worth it to mendle in topics which doen't further apply her ownself.

P'rru just half-grins towards Wyn, interjecting into her conversation "You've just described Mudslide. Good Faranth." Hey, he can be nice to everyone but Fyri today. It's a rule. Or something. He watches Larnat leave with a little grin and a wave but it's Griffin who he follows. Hey, he doesn't want to be part of the other group either. No offence, Wynnie. "Mind if I sit?" he asks the messenger, not waiting for a reply before he slides into a spot opposite her. "It's the weather. Snow puts us all in a mood."

"Fyria," comments Wyn dryly. "I believe you'd have to stand in line. Personally, if it weren't for Entymeth, I believe someone would have knocked him into a vat of agenothree long ago." She smiles slightly back at P'rru, and gives a little nod as the browner heads off, before looking sober. "For a sure thing, that. Hence the reason that I, at least, intend to borrow one of Sii'kyn's crops, and apply it to a few select backsides, if that is what it takes to get some to pay attention." Dominatrix Wyn? Scary.

Griffin has already began to slurp up her soup quietly before P'rru slips in her direction and takes a seat next to her. The messenger manages to shrug her shoulders weakly to the reply of the dragonrider. "Could be the weather," she says thoughtfully. The messenger's one and only firelizard seems to awaken from around the girl's neck as the green blinks it's eyes towards P'rru before dropping it's little muzzle into a formation of a yawn. Claudia, the green firelizard, then slips gently to the table, where she looks up at Griffin with her muzzle agaped. Griffin takes one of her meatrolls, splitting it into sections for the hungry firelizard. "And you have been keeping warm indoors?" she asks P'rru.

Fyria chokes back a loud laughter at Wyn's comment, her eyes crinkling with amusement. "Oh, Faranth's talon, Wyn. Be assured, there's been many a time I've wanted to drag my old messenger whip out and apply it with abandon to a few of them myself." She pats the seductive little coil on her hip rather fondly, having gone back to carrying it for nostalgic reasons. "Perhaps we'll get lucky and their straps will loosen, essentially causing them to ride /beneath/ their dragon. Quite a scare, which might shock some sense into them, don't you think?" Okay, so Fyria /does/ have a sadistic streak in her. But we all knew that already.

"I've been out of the cold most of the time. Southern is wonderful this time of turn.." The brownrider replies, and though he gives Claudia a cursory glance, it's back to regarding Griffin again. "How are you, really? I've been quite worried, quite a fwe riders have been gossiping about this or that, him coming up more than once lately." Purr doesn't help spread that gossip does he? No, never!

Griffin pauses midway through her meal. She dots her lips with a napkin before she makes a reply to P'rru. "I really don't wish to think about it right now." she says casually. "He appoached me in the small room in the Inner Caverns used for quiet study. I said my thoughts and what I have heard... and he looked puzzled." She lowers her shoulders as she looks about the cheerfully comfortable caverns. "I'll just go about my own way for now." It may hurt, but she is sticking to that plan.

P'rru just raises his eyebrows, and sits back further in his seat. "Alright. As long as your not getting stressed or ill will worry.." He repeats with a nod, and leaves the topic be. Yes, let's all not talk about Kh'ryn's animal magnetism anymore, puhlease? The brownrider glances over his shoulder, towards Wyn and Fyria, a sigh rushed through his nose before he turns back. "I really should have thrown another Midwinter party this turn.."

Lylia walks in from the Central Bowl.
Lylia exchanges the protection of stone for the bowl outside.

Wyn doesn't mind. Slight sadistic streaks are useful in wingleaders. And since Wyn's a raving perfectionist, she'll take what tactics as work. Or at least that's what her bland expression is hinting at. Never mind the wicked twinkle in grey eyes. "One can always hope," she allows gravely. "Hmm... and perhaps we might threaten to let S'titch give a makeover to whoever ends up with the most paint scores..." she muses.

Griffin finishes off the remainder of her soup. She then munches on her meatroll until there are only crumbs at the end of her fingers. Her pet firelizard is offered what is left of the meal as the messenger slips back aginst her chair, sipping on her klah. "What are your plans this sevenday, P'rru?" she asks in curiosity.

Fyria's ears perk at Kh'ryn's name, her gaze drawn over her shoulder to where P'rru and Griffin are standing. Giving the brownrider a narrow-eyed glare, she swivels back to Wyn with a soft, wry little grin. "You know, I think that might be enough convincing to keep L'stat in line during our next practice. Either that, or a little well-aimed flare at his backside once Urk learns to chew firestone." Ah, the joys of inventing new ways of discipline.

Nylca walks in from the Central Bowl.
Laytai walks in from the Central Bowl.

Nylca hurries over for a large cup of klah...ahhh. "Hey Lay, I was thinking of dyeing my hair, something bright, like really light blonde, then pink highlights, or pink ends. What do you think?"

P'rru rolls his shoulders, a finger flicking a crumb from the tabletop. "Oh not much. Just the usual, sweeps, drills, and trying to convince those vintners at Tillek to let me take one more case of wine.." he gives the messenger a wink and then glances back at the bluelings. "Just remember, children, it will be all too soon that you both have to suffer under the leadership of another." Cackle. And should any of them fall into Mudslide's clutches, better beware! (Of Jesh, course. She's the mean one, not him.)

Extremely shivering, Laytai walks into the Caverns, trying to keep some what warm as the snow on her melts and soaks into her clothes. She quickly makes her way to the klah pot and pours herself some, hoping the hot stuff will warm her cold little body. "Hmm.." Eyes peer over at Nylca. "Dying your hair? I don't know, your hair is so pretty the way it is! Maybe just the ends like you said. Legolas has that with his hair. Blue tips I do believe." Insert happy grin here.

Nylca grabs a lock of her hair to inspect. "But it's sooo, mousy. Hmm, ok. I guess I'll just try and find some really light red dye--to make pink." She grins brightly, and goes back to her klah, sipping away. Can you beleive she hasn't had /one/ cup yet today?

Wyn's half-thrown-back hood is an excellent accessory for wickedly amused smiles. "Too true, P'rru," she calls over in her calm alto. "Therefore, we should endeavour to have our fun while the opportunity lasts, no?" And c'mon, she wants to see what L'stat would look like after a S'titch-makeover.

Griffin hears the conversation about dying hair and wrinkles her nose lightly. How many people actually do that around here? Her hair is naturally fine and dark... The messenger woman hides a yawn behins her hand as she nods to P'rru. "Tillek is the finest, if I do say so myself." she agrees.

Fyria finishes the remnants of her klah, shoving back her chair with a screak as she rises. "Wyn, I have a feeling you and I are going to have /immense/ fun until weyrling graduation." Giving her fellow blueling a wink, she begins to head towards the door, pausing near Griffin and P'rru with a neutral look. "Griffin, good day. Purr, you and I will talk. Later." Spinning on a heel, she grabs her riding gear and heads out the door as she dons her helmet and gloves.

Fyria exchanges the protection of stone for the bowl outside.

P'rru smiles "Much much cheaper than Benden's as well.." the old man agrees with Griffin, reaching out to quickly pat her hand. Fyria's passing just makes him mutter under his breath, and then "I shan't be too long, Griffin. But I should see to that weyrling.." Yeah, he'll stalk Fyria. Yeeeeah.

"I wholeheartedly agree," is Wyn's comment to the empty air as Fyria makes her escape. P'rru's passge is watched with mild interest, an eyebrow arching that causes a sharp twinge from the much-put-upon muscles surrounding her black eye. "Faranth's great golden headknobs..." mutters the former Healer, before she too stands, in a swirl of her black cloak. "Eh... I'd best see about that arnica salve..." she murmurs, by way of farewell, before taking off infirmary-wards.