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Harper's Tale 2 - Sunday, May 19, 2002, 9:09 AM
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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.
On the ledge, you see a blue dragon.
Settled above the hearth is a blue firelizard.
You see Grey Leather Satchel and Old Marble Chess Set here.
Obvious exits:
Ledge

Vorkoroth senses Dsalth is a subtle infusion of desert dry heat and the scent of musty libraries <<Are you awake, little one? My rider would pay a visit, if it is conveniant>> a pause, a bonus <<He brings a gift for yours>>

Vorkoroth thinks to you, << I bespoke Dsalth with: Vorkoroth replies with a spiraling of stars against a backdrop of deep blackness. <<I am most decidedly awake, sir.>> he replies, fairly chipperly. <<Watching the stars. And Wyn is stirring as well, although she is painting. Advise your rider that our weyr smells of...>> What's the word? <<Lacquer.>> >>

Vorkoroth> Dsalth soars in for a landing.

Vorkoroth>Dsalth soars in, clipping his wings, crooning a greeting, crouching to allow his rider, frozen to the core- yet wrapped in so many layers of clothing he looks like the staypuff man, to dismount.

Vorkoroth> Dsalth watches with interest as P'rru descends carefully

Vorkoroth senses Dsalth chuckles mentally, a rifling of paper <<I have warned him, he does not mind. It will snow, and he is quite grumbley. You should warn yours of that!>>

Vorkoroth> Vorkoroth offers a quiet rumble of greeting, slipping out of the way to grant Dsalth more room to maneuver, and inclining his head towards the tunneled entrance to the weyr, before returning to staring up at the still-visible stars.

Vorkoroth> P'rru gives a bow to Vorkoroth, although it is hard to tell since he can not seem to bend beneath 10 coats, 3 scarfs and a double beanie. But then he goes, package under his arm, towards the weyr.
Vorkoroth> P'rru marches officiously to the Weyr.

P'rru marches officiously in from the Vorkoroth's Staging Area.

Vorkoroth thinks to you, << I bespoke Dsalth with: Vorkoroth's starscape trembles with a draconic chuckle. <<I have relayed the message. Knowing my rider, however, she'll likely be amused.>> >>

P'rru trots down the tunnel, peeling woolen scarves from around his neck, gloves tugged off using his teeth, since one hand is always occupied in holding something. "What a smashing find, this place is, Wyn.." he calls out, coming to a halt just inside, eyes sweeping to take in the weyr itself. "Larger than my own, to be sure.." Perhaps, yet the wingleader did have miners in to excavate more room into his own. Perks, and the weyr creditcard exploited.

And boy, does Wyn's weyr /ever/ reek like paint. The source is soon apparent upon entering, however: a quartet of chairs, stripped and sanded down to bare wood, is being given new life in the form of a classic black coat of laquer. Vorkoroth's informed her of P'rru's impending arrival, but the blueling has gone and immersed herself in seeing that the chair she's working on now has a paint coat that's perfectly even, and doesn't look up until Purr is heard. She's grinning when she does, though. "Isn't it? We found it by accident, when we were hiding from Vespurath, and I thought I'd best grab it myself. Old bronzer's weyr, from what I heard..." She trails off to tilt her head quizzically at the puffy brownrider. "Cold out...?" she hazards.

"Bloody freezing" Purr comments colourfully, as gloves are tucked into pockets and scarves looped onto his belt for easy storage. "Needs a bit of ventilation though, doesn't it? Could have done that out on your ledge.." He motions to the chair and strolls foward, eyebrows lifted "Now I didn't know you were good at that sort of thing. Learn something new everyday. But here, I forget myself, I brought a weyrwarming gift, probably the hundreth you've recieved by now. It's nothing much" But he holds out the offering, and what do you know, it looks just like a bottle of wine. He's Tillek's best customer.

Vorkoroth> Urzketh soars in for a landing.
Vorkoroth> Urzketh's sapphire-black tail-tip twitches a moment as he watches Fyria slither down from herself seat between his amethyst-infused neckridges.

<Local> Vorkoroth senses that he spirals a silver web of greeting towards Urzketh. <<Good morn... Tell your rider to be aware of the paint fumes, if she comes to visit my Wyn.>>

Vorkoroth> Urzketh trumpets a greeting as he glides in for a landing, talons gripping the surface easily as he shakes his wings a bit at Vorkoroth and Dsalth. Fyria slips off of his neck with a bemused shake of her head, shivering in the chill of the winter air as she blinks a moment. "Paint? Good Faranth..I need to see this." With a nod to Vorkoroth and Dsalth herself, she slips into the warm (so she hopes) confines of the weyr proper.

<Local> Vorkoroth senses that Dsalth squeezes to one side, he's a visitor, and thus doesn't mind being squished to allow others ample room <<Hello, Urzketh. My rider says it is not as bad as being cold. The paint, I mean>>

<Local> Vorkoroth senses that Urzketh returns the greeting with a chiming of crystal shards in a southern breeze. << Good morn to you as well...mine is quite curious about this paint, and agrees that paint is easier dealt with than cold. She comes! >>

Vorkoroth> Fyria sashays and shimmies her....self to the Weyr.
Fyria sashays and shimmies her....self in from the Vorkoroth's Staging Area.

Wyn plies her brush a few more times, before stepping back to eye her work critically, one hand posted on one hip, and the other holding the paintbrush of course, little drips of black laquer falling to spatter the drop cloth underneath the chairs. "Mmmm... that should do for a first layer..." she muses, before giving a dry smile to P'rru. "On the ledge...? The laquer would freeze before I could apply it, I'm sure." The smile turns less dry and more friendly as she allows that "Well, I'm no specialist, but anything worth doing is worth doing well...wine?" Apparently she's noticed the weyrwarming gift. "Thank you very much, P'rru... you really didn't need to."

P'rru shrugs "Oh, it's not an expensive bottle, if that's what your wondering.." he says, sounding right amused "But I got a good deal on a crate of the stuff, so I'm doing the rounds, giving one to every..." he pauses, and blinks back whence he came "And Fyria is here. Shardit, her bottle is still at home." Le sigh. Weyrlings should tell him when they are planning on congregating. It'd be much less bother. Lazy old fart. "Aye you've done a good job, anyway.." he returns to the chair, a hand scrubbing his chin "All black though? It's refreshing not to have to enter weyrs painted entirely pink.."

"Hellooo?" Fyria slips off her goggles and helmet, but keeps her gloves on for a moment longer considering the chill that's seeped into her slight frame. "Wyn? Purr--ah! There you are," she quips brightly as she steps further into the weyr. "Well now, this is /nice/ Wyn!" Her dark eyes widen, scanning the expanse of the cavern with a lilt of a smile to her lips. "Like what you've done with the place, yes. And how are you, Purr--bottle?" Her hand rests upon her hips as she teases "Well by all means, go and get it old man!" Grin.

P'rru shrinks slightly "Right, I will, Fyria, indeed I will. Shan't take me long, just pop home and fetch it shall I? Planning on having anyone else stop by Wyn? Should I bring the entire crate?" the brownrider backpeddles, slipping gloves and scarves on again. "I'll be right back, blueriders.." chuckle "Doesn't that sound funny, 'blueriders'" When he still thinks of them as girls. But he's already stamping down and out to the ledge, muttering to Dsalth.

P'rru marches officiously to the Ledge.

Wyn laughs. "Well, I generally don't drink much in the way of alchoholic delights, but I'll use it to start my collection?" she offers to Purr, with a parting nod as he heads off, stalking over to the hearth to soak her brush in a pail of warm water. "And no pink." A shudder. "But not all black. Black, blue and grey, with siver accenting." Wyn, believe it or not, actualy /does/ have a sense of style hidden in there. "Fyria!" she greets, finally getting around to noticing the other blueling. "When did you get here? Vorkoroth," she notes. "Still needs to master the concept of announcing visitors."

Fyria chuckles as she goes and offers Wyn a warm hug, pulling back to once again take in her surroundings. "Just arrived. I'm surprised he didn't, considering he warned me, via Urzketh, about 'paint' fumes, which I do detect quite readily." One slim gloved hand rises to wave beneath her nose, which wrinkles, but she smiles nonetheless. "And /please/ no pink, yes. Between Lors and Slippa, I think there's enough pink in this weyr to last a hundred Turns."

Wyn looks mildly surprised at the hug, if pleased, but hugs back after a moment. See? She's working on this whole humanity thing. "Ah yes, the paint fumes. Rather too cold to be working out on the ledge, I'm afraid, so I took over Vorkoroth's side of the room instead. He's beaten a strategic retreat to the ledge, and informs me that I'm mad. But that he approves of the colour scheme. How is /your/ abode coming along? And would you like some klah?"

Fyria chuckles quietly, having noted the tone that Urzketh passed on to her from Vorkoroth. "I noticed. Hope he doesn't mind the cold. And yes, klah would be fabulous." Fy decides that she finally might remove her gloves, dropping them on one of the chairs along with her helmet. "Oh, it comes. I was pleasantly surprised to find a very small cavern with a bathing pool in it. Small, but still. A private bath is /beyond/ priceless in a weyr," she says, turning back to Wyn with a bright expression. "Of course, I extend it's use to all my fellow clutchsibs, granted I don't otherwise have it occupied." Wink.

Wyn laughs, and turns to retrieve a wooden box of klah leaves, and a battered kettle, which she fills from a small, piped-in spring, and then sets to boil. "No such luck for me, although I do have /cold/ running water. Expect me to become downright sociable, then. Although." A wink. "I'll be sure to knock. Kariel have his bags all packed yet?" she inquires, pulling over two chairs that are half-finished, but dry. "Sit?"

Fyria oo's appreciatively at the mention of running water. "Now /that/ is quite a handy little feature. Just make sure Olia doesn't make any klah, if I correctly recall the results of the little klah-contest during Candidacy." Fy sighs a bit; it still seems like yesterday that the whole lot of them were Searched. "Kariel? Oh, well," she says, flushing a bit around the cheeks. "I would hope so, but between lessons and moving into the weyr and him pulling double shifts since Elehu's moved in with Reiko, I haven't been able to see much of him." She settles into a chair, one leg drawn up so her chin rests upon the knee, and adds "Though I did bump into him in the Caverns the other day. Quite nicely, too." Wink.

Wyn offers a knowing smile in reply, before turning back to packing an infuser with klah leaves. "Oh, I was in that contest as well, attempting to brew the worst klah. But... I was /trying/ to do badly..." she drawls. This is reassuring how? "Olia did quite well, if I remember correctly." Mild bustling done with for the moment, as she waits for the water to boil, she notes that "I seem to be getting visitors in pairs, lately. You and P'rry this morning, Ike and Lhana yesterday... I suppose I really ought to be getting out and socializing. Particularly since Ike and Lhana informed me that I would be throwing a weyrwarming party." Wyn apparently had no choice in the matter.

Fyria taps her forehead, quickly muttering "Right, see? I swear, all these lessons are causing me to go senile. /Not/ a word out of you, former mindhealer," she teases, waggling a finger with a grin. "Though I might hope this klah is strong." Very. "Oh how /fabulous/!! Shells, any excuse for a party receives high marks in my book. Come to think of it," and here Fyria gets a deliciously thoughtful look upon her features "...if we /each/ had a weyrwarming party, that lines up exactly 8 parties to look forward to, including yours." Pause. "I hope Pia has enough wine and brandy in the cellars. We might need it."

Wyn looks deadpan. "Strong klah I can provide. And I'm not saying a thing... Senility is for the Geriatrics specialists, after all." she intones, before the look slips in favour of a quiet smile. "Yes... eight parties indeed. And if we run short of alchohol, I can always ask my father to airlift us a few crates of Benden's private reserve...?" She trails off to check on the progress of her soaking paintbrush, commenting blandly that "Lhana's planning to invite S'titch to hers. I forsee much amusement, since Sii'kyn will be attending as well..."

"Ooo, perhaps we /should/ run short of alcohol then, hmm?" Fyria teases, fingers drumming on the table as she looks about once more. "You know, speaking of that lace-lover, I'd be highly, highly amused if Sidramuntalath managed to catch Entymeth on her first fli--" Fyria's eyes go hazy a moment, obviously in response to a comment from her lifemate. "Hehe...Urzketh seems to agree. It seems he's determined /not/ to catch Entymeth, simply because he'll be a hatchling again if he'll let S'titch anywhere near me." Grin.

Wyn laughs, quietly as is her wont. Sii'kyn's seen her giggling, but /Sii'kyn/ brought Gar cider. And Wyn will disavow all knowledge of such events as giggling. "Perhaps." she allows, on the matter of Benden wine, before grey eyes widen with an expression of pure delight. "Faranth's great golden eyeridge..." she breathes. "/That/ would be too amusing! And we both know that 'riders can influence their dragon's choices, and that S'titch is decidedly into Ike..."

"Exactly," Fyria counters with a wiggling finger. "And I'd bet all my the beads in my collection that S'titch is just likely to pull something as such. Nancy and wherry-headed he might seem, but I've noticed he has quite the cunning, manipulative little undercurrent in his persona." And Fy will be damned if she's going to get involved with /that/ one. "So. Ready for graduation?" And with this, Fyria just beams.

Wyn gives a sage nod, and stands to rescue the boiling kettle from the fire, pouring out the piping hot klah, and inquiring "Sweetener?" before nodding again. "Very true. He's a twit, but he's obviously intelligent enough to be an amazingly good Weaver, so there have to be brains in there somewhere, hmm...?" Right? We hope? The last comment gets a little disbelieving bark of a laugh. "Graduation... Faranth, yes I suppose we are, but... it seems like so little time has gone by. That it was only a week ago, tops, that Tatia and Sasha carried me off from my nice sunny studying in Ista."

Fyria shakes her head, offering a wave of her hand. "No thanks, just straight." She settles into the chair with a relaxed sigh, concurring with Wyn's thoughts with a faint nod. "No joke --one minute I'm out in the bowl chastising Jhanath for causing such a ruckus, next thing Jakith and Ciera are staring down at me demanding that I Stand for the clutch. Our dragons are a /Turn/ Wyn!" she says, incredulously. "Are you ready to fly Thread?"

Wyn returns to her seat, handing over one of the two mugs, both black, before cradling her own and staring off into the middle distance in thought. "In a way... yes. We've been training for it, and it's our duty and purpose to do so. But... also in a way... I don't think anyone can actually ever be truly 'ready' for it. How about you?"

Fyria accepts the mug with a grateful smile, inhaling the steaming aroma prior to taking a cautious sip. "Mmm...excellent, Wyn. Perfectly strong." Leaning back, Fy looks thoughtful again, sending a soft, gentle touch out to her lifemate on the ledge. "Yes, we have been training. And trained well, except for that unfortunate little incident with Tevya." Eek. Grounded. "As for Urzketh and I, we're anxious to fly Thread. Finally, the chance to do something about it besides watch it hiss its way towards the bowl, yes?" Eyes darken further at a faint memory, but then fade back into her usual cheeriness.

Wyn gives a nod to the compliment, before moving onwards, perching birdlike on the edge of her chair and srapping herself around the klah. "Indeed... it will be nice to be out and flaming it to the crisps it richly deserves to be." she intones, with a quiet intensity to grey eyes. "I know my father has always loved flying Fall, in a way. To take your training and skills and employ them against a most dangerous foe, so that others might be safe... It's a worthy cause to devote two lives to."

Fyria offers Wyn a faint smile, one rider to another. "Indeed. Out of curiosity, is your father the only rider in your family?" She takes another cautious sip of the steaming klah before continuing. "I ask only because I heard if one has a rider in their family, the other members are more likely to be Searched. My own younger brother, Fenran, was Searched for Igen's last clutch, but alas didn't Impress. Still, a good sign."

Roi blinks in from ::between::!

Wyn laughs quietly, and gestures with her klah mug. "Fyria... have I ever told you just how large my family is?" she inquires. "With the number of sibs and half-sibs I have, it's inevitable. But yes, I have five half-brothers and two half-sisters that ride, mostly for Benden, out of a total of about 20 sibs and half-sibs. So, fairly decent odds." Her tone sobers a moment then. "I also had a half-sister that rode green for Telgar. But she was lost in a training accident as a weyrling. I didn't know her well, but..."

Fyria winks at Wyn, adding "And I would know /exactly/ how that feels. Except my immediate family is all men, except for my mum. As far as cousins and such, I refuse to keep count." Fy taps her fingers on the edge of her mug with a quirky smile, one which fades to a softened expression at the mention of Wyn's half-sister. "My condolences, and now I understand why you take riding so seriously." Fy doesn't press for details, but instead says I would the same. And after Tevya and Kihaelth's scare, I take ::between:: /much/ more seriously. Not that I never did, but you know what I mean.
says "I would...

Wyn offers a sympathetic look. "You had to live in a family almost entirely male...? I pity you... I've had to attempt to clean my father's weyr for him for enough turns to safely say that men, outside of Healer males, tend to be slobs." More klah disappears, and she nods slightly. "Thank you. And I suppose that /is/ the reason why I try so hard. Much as I hate to say it, Eidyn died because she was stupid."

Fyria crinkles a smile towards the bluerider as she once again taps her fingertips on the rim of the mug, gently. "It's not as bad as it seems, considering I was a tomboy up until about 14 Turns. I held my own, and my brothers and father respected me for it. I'm still the best one in the family with a dagger," she quips, a bit smugly. "I've seriously come to respect dragonriding even more now that I am one, myself. Prior to, I knew there was hard work involved; I've chatted with Purr, Chelle, and the others enough to know that. But shells, it's so worth it, just to have Urzketh as a part of my life, you know?"

Vorkoroth> Alymath soars in for a landing.

Vorkoroth> Lis tries not to bump 'gainst any sharp joints as she slides down Alymath's forearm.

Wyn nods sagely, listening in with a serene expression. Good thing she doesn't have a couch set up, or she might encourage Fy to go lie down while she takes notes. As it is, she sips her klah and nods again. "It is that, decidedly," she agrees. "I don't think that I'll ever meet a human who can be as good a match for me as Vorkoroth is." A private smile. "And if I did, Vor would likely be trying to one-up them constantly."

Vorkoroth> Lis drops down from Alymath's side with a basket of goodies (would that be a pic-a-nic basket?) cheerfully decorated with ribbon and fringe. Something inside goes *clink* as the greenrider jolts it against the green's shoulder, but if Lis and Alymath won't tell...

<Local> Vorkoroth senses that he offers his present warning again with a deft touch of midnight, shot through with silver starfire. <<Greetings. Kindly alert your rider that the weyr reeks of paint, should they wish to visit my Wyn.>>

Vorkoroth> Urzketh offers a curious, beryl-tinged gaze towards Alymath, the soft rumblings of a greeting given to both dragon and rider as they arrive. Then, without further ado, he returns his muzzle to his foreclaws, contemplating the scent of snow in the air.

Fyria laughs, setting her empty mug on the table. "Well, Urzketh's already met Kariel, and has giving him his stamp of approval, or so it seems. A great lifting of worry on my part. Kariel's been /so/ patient with my training, I swear I owe the man daily backrubs for life." Which is a given anyways. "I'm not sure what we're going to do from h--" Fyria's words are cut off at a brief touch from her lifemate, lips curving into a smile. "It seems we have visitors, Wyn. Alymath and Lis, bearing a basket of sorts. You're weyr is quite busy indeed."

<Local> Vorkoroth senses that Alymath bemusedly tames Vorkoroth's starfire into a suggestion of a star-spangled guardian of the weyr - alterting all the would-be paint sniffers. << Thank you, I shall. >> A drift of pink clouds, muted salmon and mauve by the cold weather, settles into the background of her thoughts as she settles on the ledge.

Vorkoroth> Lis ambles aimlessly to the Weyr.

Lis ambles aimlessly in from the Vorkoroth's Staging Area.

<Local> Vorkoroth senses that Urzketh tenders a soft, faint swirl of sunshine drifting through a crystal fog towards Alymath, faint bemusement threaded within. << It's not that bad, according to mine. Then again, she is stubborn in her admissions on occasion. >>

Vorkoroth> Vorkoroth, surveying the activities of the bowl from his most excellent vantage point, and privately musing the likelihood of a well-aimed snowball pegging that officious Lordling over there... Oooh! Visitors! Alymath is offered a suave rumble-purr, and he deftly rises, inclining his neck towards the best locale for sunning. Milady.

Lis swings her basket as idly as she dares, the mass of the bottles inside giving it a deceptive momentum. "Hello!" the greenrider sings out brightly, a waving sillouette in the entrance of the weyr.

Wyn laughs. "As if he'd not get them anyways...?" she inquires of her fellow blueling with another one of her stock of knowing winks, before Vorkoroth, too, alerts her to the incoming Lis, shortly before the lady herself can be heard. "Lis!" she greets, quietly warm. "Do come in, and be welcome in my humble abode."

Vorkoroth> Alymath is not exactly taken aback by the chivalry - merely pleasantly surprised. A tunelful croon floats on the cold air in acknowledgment of Vorkoroth's offer, the low sound her draconic equivalent of a grateful murmur. The green curls up in the sunny spot almost completely, no invitation of shared body warmth offered yet.

The tinkling of bottles is like a summoning call to Fyria's ears, her gaze immediately seeking and finding their source in the form of said basket, carried by Lis. "Greetings Lis, and would that be a gathering of bottles I hear?" Fy drums her fingers on a leather-clad thigh, silently; gaze drifts to the basket before rising to meet Lis'. "Perhaps this'll make up for Purr's rather 'convenient' disappearance," she murmurs Wyn-wards, amusement threaded in her voice.

<Local> Vorkoroth senses that Alymath relays Lis' thoughts along a daisy chain of idle musings. << Mine says it is bearable. And, apparently, she has smelled worse. >> Smoke coils with acridity, tempered by the patchouli of her amusement. << The view from your ledge, Vorkoroth, is quite impressive, >> the green admits, voice hinting at coyness but otherwise a prim southern belle.

"That it would be," Lis answers Fyria, stepping briskly across the weyr to close the distance with a businesslike click of her bootheels on the stone. "One for each of you, upon celebration of your graduation to your own weyrs. I wouldn't recommend celebrating too much now, or you'll make an ass of yourself at the ceremony. Fine Gar cider, this is." Let's not mention that they're extra Turnday presents from Starcrafters that she couldn't give away.

Vorkoroth> And Vorkoroth would never presume to so intrude on a lady. So therefore he contents himself with huddling over near Urzketh and admiring the view, even if occasional cautious glances are directed to the basking Aly, along with a low rumble of reply. Vespurath having been blunt enough to put a Betan to shame, he's a tad leery of the female of the species for the moment.

<Local> Vorkoroth senses that Urzketh's thoughts are of snow, light, brightness --brightness which flares with a sudden thought. He lifts his head, tail-tip twitching as he glances at the lake. << Hmm, it seems we are summoned, love. >> Urk offers a warm, sunstruck touch of a caress towards the green, a cooler form towards his fellow blue brother. << We must depart your delightful company, I'm afraid. >>

Wyn eyes the cider with a concealed wariness. And a remembrance of the incipient hangover she had to quash this morning, due to celebrations last night. But, can't refuse a gift, can you? And so she nods, along with a little smile. "A most thoughtful gift, Lis. And no, there are enough runner's arses over in the stables that I feel no need to add to the total." she assures gravely, craning over to peer at the Basket O Goodies.

<Local> Vorkoroth senses that Alymath blooms with a red-violet remorse, a petal of regret dropping at Urkzeth takes his leave. << I'm sure we will meet again. >> Reassurance wraps itself around his sunny caress in denim blue, with a faint undercurrent of smugness directed indirectly at Vorkorth-the-stody.

<Local> Vorkoroth senses that he is cool and debonaire, a tang of cold metal and crisp burning maple leaves. Any faint meeping noises at being left alone with another green are a figment of your imagination. <<Visit again soon, brother. My lady Wyn assures me that we shall be over to see your own weyr another time.>> And then attention dances towards Alymath, a sidelong glance from beneath hooded eyes. <<So it is,>> is his comment on the view. <<We were... inspired... when we chose this as our residence.>> Inspired. /Not/ hiding from Vespurath.

Fyria's expression brightens immensely. Gar cider. /Delish/. "Well now, I'd say you definitely know how to provide a weyrwarming, Lis. Be assured, I'll be--" Fy's eyes gather that far-off look of communion with Urzketh, prior to twisting into an annoyed frown. "Shells and shards, I hate to depart the beginnings of what looks like a fantastic party, but I need to go. Urzketh informs me we are summoned, and shards if I disobey the Great Blue One." She rises, swiftly gathering gloves, goggles, and jacket and shrugging into them on her way out. "Wyn, my thanks for the klah and your hospitality --please, drop by my weyr anytime. Same invite to you, Lis; I'll have to claim my bottle from you another time, I'm afraid." With a wink, she spins on a heel and clicks her way towards the ledge.

Fyria sashays and shimmies her....self to the Ledge.

Vorkoroth> Fyria sashays and shimmies her....self in from the The Vor Imperium.

Lis peers under the lace of the basket, making a quick inventory of just what she's packed in here. "There are, also, some rum-cakes, which, I think, might get you even more potted than the cider, and for the less alcoholically-inclined, there's some dried Istan fruit. Comes with a nice little ribbon," she points out, as if it would make the package more appetizing. She pouts at Fyria's departure, but does wave cheerfully after her with a comment of, "Nice girl. Fine bluerider."

Vorkoroth> Fyria taps her helmet on tightly, goggles snug against her eyes as she offers Alymath and Vorkoroth a quick wave. "Alright, love. Let's go see what we've done /now/," she says, dryly. With a svelte movement, she settles on Urzketh and nudges him off the ledge; the blue dropping off like a rock before snapping his wings open and soaring off towards the pens.
Vorkoroth> Urzketh's crystalline eyes whirl with excitement as he watches Fyria scramble up to settle between amethyst-edged neckridges.
Vorkoroth> Urzketh takes off.

<Local> Vorkoroth senses that Alymath chuckles in an alto voice, the soundbite borrowed from Lis herself (though dropped an octave). She has heard about this Vespurath, oh yes. << Do tell me, Vorkoth... >> the green beseeches, tendrils of green coiling ominously towards his mind as her voice goes maple-sweet. << What was that business with Vespurath all /about/ anyway? You were there, after all... >> Snippets of garbled conversation and vauge images of green and blue flicker like Super-8 vidoes.

"Thank you for dropping by...!" calls Wyn belatedly after the departing Fyria, before gesturing to the now vacated glossy-black chair. "Have a seat...?" she offers. "These two are really the only two that I've finished laquering." Ah, the reason for the Eau D'paint hanging in the air becomes clear. "Ah... I think I'll hold off on the rum cakes until after I'm an official senior and can get potted as I please," she allows, looking amused. "Two turns or so of Healing cost me what little tolerance I posessed. But that fruit looks... interesting."

Lis wriggles the package of fruit out from under the bottles and rum-cakes, offering it to Wyn with the ribbon no less jaunty lime green for being slightly crumpled. "I don't think anything's been added to /them/," reassures the greenrider as she settles warily into the seat.

<Local> Vorkoroth senses that his background starfield abruptly flares, then snarls in a tangle of nexus lines that would induce headaches in a 5-space /genius/. But then, with a mental throat clearning, he's quickly back on balance, and moving at double time. <<Much as I deeply regret witholding such information from you, milady Alymath, I really cannot inform you.>> he allows, rich tones sounding appropriately mournful. <<I cannot betray the business of a lady.>> And then the formal tones drop as he offers a firm. <<Go ask her yourself.>> in a wash of blue.

Wyn takes the packet of fruit, and undoes the ribbon with deft fingers, poking at the contents a moment, before selecting a handful of what looks to be dried apricots. One of which is tossed in the air and caught in her mouth with a jaunty movement quite out of the expected for Wyn. A Wyn who then returns to calm conversation as if the fruit toss never happened, managing to look intelligent as she chews. "One can hope." she allows dryly. "Although if they're Gar's produce, I'd not put it past them to find a way... But how are you?"

<Local> Vorkoroth senses that Alymath mentally recoils from Vorkoroth's fireworks, retreating back into her vibrant pink cloud until it's over. Curiosity, however, fuels the Alymath, and she tries again, undaunted. Warm sisal drapes across her request in soft, butter-gold. << Oh, hush. I'm sure you can, Vorkoroth. >> The mental suggestion of a cuddle, a pout, the puppy-dog eyes presses through in washed-out blue -- could she be scooting closer across his ledge to him, as well?

"Me?" Lis finds, oddly, that she has to stop and think on this a while, blinking down at the floor as she fishes for an answer. "Alright, I guess. I dunno, I'm not sure." The greenrider's mood seems half-extinguished, sputtering in faint imitation of former brightness as she fiddles with the lace of the basket.

<Local> Vorkoroth senses that he is slowly suckered in, poor male that he is, deep blues and blacks of his mindscape lightening to greys and sky tones. Although he stays right where he is, on the physical plane. <<Well, er, I'm sure that I could as well... But really, it's just...>> Oh hell. And then a mental shake. <<No, no, I assure you that I can't tell you, much as I'd like to. Matter of honour, you see.>>

Ooooh, don't /do/ that around Wyn. Sudden shifts of mood trigger her old Mindhealer instincts, and she forgets all about the whole 'good hostess' thing she's been working on, in favour of poking about at people's mental states. "Not sure...?" she echoes. "That's a rather sudden shift from the bounciness you displayed walking in. Is everything all right?"

<Local> Vorkoroth senses that Alymath snorts disdainfully at Vokoroth's mental honestly, citric acid sour in the mouth and sharp in the nose. << If Vespurath hasn't told half the weyr by now, then I'm a plucked wherry. >> There's a breeze of hay and wildflowers as she composes herself with a sigh, once more trying to wheedle the answer out of him with a hint of musky, mid-summer rose and a voice like lips hovering over one's ear. << You sure? >>

<Local> Vorkoroth senses that he offers a smoothly crisp touch of silver to sparkle across the lake-blue of his mindscape. <<Quite sure, milady. If Vespurath is so eager to part with the tale, I assure you that you would do far better to ask her than me.>>

<Local> Vorkoroth senses that Alymath's colors fade into angry, frustrated grays as she retreats to her haze - now more closely resembling roiling thunderheads. /Males/.

<Local> Vorkoroth senses that he remains irritatingly serene, apparently now borrowing a page from his lifemate, and returns to surveying the activities of the bowl with a little mental nod, a ripple across the lake, remniscent of a fencer's salute.

Lis peers warily at Wyn, knowing full well what the bluerider's former position was. "Don't think you're going to poke around in /my/ mind. I'm just fine." An echo of Alymath's irritability flicker's in the greenrider's face, and she wonders bitterly, "Why does everyone seem to pounce on someone just because they're not having the most wonderful day of their lives /ever/?"

<Local> Vorkoroth senses that Alymath seethes like blister - or a sore - or a bruise, angry red-purple and festering. The flower scents go more sour, more primitive: rose-musk gives way to pungent skunk-cabbage, or allergy-inducing ragweed. She will /not/ be ignored.

Wyn lifts a hand. "Easy, Lis," she offers, dropping bland in favour of a dry attempt at placation. "I can't help my instincts, although Faranth knows I've tried... And from what I've seen, it's generally not meant to be pouncing, but... concern." she allows, refilling her mug of klah, and lifting an inquiring eyebrow at Lis. "Klah? And folks are concerned generally because they wish to help, if possible."

Lis snorts faintly in sullen response to Wyn's attempt to make up, letting the food basket slide to the floor slowly. "Fine," she agrees, defeated. "I didn't even want to go out this morning. /She/ made me." One guess who that annonymous female is.

<Local> Vorkoroth senses that he continues to gaze blandly out at the bowl, little mental images darting and wheeling and flashing as his interest jumps from area to area. In the projection, the images form around the borders of a large, Alymath-shaped hole. Even though, to an outside observer, it's patent that this entire show is likely for Aly's benefit.

"Alymath...?" hazards Wyn, far more than middling sure, but the question is more rhetorical in nature. "Ah yes, the vagaries of the draconic bond. I'm not terribly sure I can help there, but I /can/ tell you that I feel your pain. She decided that you needed to socialize or somewhat?"

<Local> Vorkoroth senses that Alymath is not amused by Vorkoroth's little show at all, mutterings pattering like a thousand raindrops - too fast to hear more than just snippets, even for Mr. Five-Space Math over there. << ... about /my/ honor... >> <<... likes Vespurath better, idiot... >> << ...ungrateful snot..>>

Lis is none to congenial as she favors Wyn with a sarcastic: "I'm sure you do. And that condescending tone is lovely." Biting down on further nastiness - but just barely, she relates: "I told her she could go out by herself, but she wouldn't leave. I'm sure, with your infinite wisdom as a mindhealer, you could find some way to argue your way around your lifemate blocking the exit of your weyr. Where's that damn cider?" Whoops, was that out lod?

Wyn doesn't appear terribly wounded by the nastiness. In fact, if anything, she looks more blandly helpful still as she stands briefly to place a mug of klah by Lis. Wyn was, after all, only a trainee when she was Searched. Apparently she missed the lesson on 'How Not To Make Your Patients Smack You.' "Well, mindhealerly wisdom is decidedly lacking on the subject of lifemates, but I /did/ grow up living with a large and opinionated brown dragon. Dragons are, for all intents and purposes, large emotional children, attention-span wise, right...?"

"Sharding /gigantic/ emotional children," Lis mutters into her mug, her voice muffled but echoing back to herself. "Yours, for instance, is an ass." The segue, there, is decidedly lacking - and how much of that statement was actually Lis, as opposed to Alymath putting words in her mouth, is debatable.

<Local> Vorkoroth senses that he offers a soothing ripple of grey that appears at the fringes of Alymath's ire, waiting, thin as fog as his mindvoice purrs out again, gentle. Private opinion that women are mad is kept tucked firmly away as he attempts to assuage. One must be nice to girls, after all. <<My honour,>> he allows. <<Is the one point on which I must stand, or lose what it means to be myself. All other points... are negotiable.>>

<Local> Vorkoroth senses that Alymath is faintly smug in the midst of her anti-social brooding. << Your honor, >> she intones imperiously, << is something that crawled out of the ash pits, if you'd confer it on any trashy excuse of a green dragon that so much as tripped over you. >> Furtive thorns dart out, looking for what buttons to push.

Wyn gives a nod. "Oh he most decidedly is at times," she agrees complacently. "However, my point that I was attempting to make is that they have short attention spans, and tend to forget things soon enough. But if you force the issue, they have greater reason to try and remember it." A polite sip of her klah.

<Local> Vorkoroth senses that he suddenly blazes up, not heat but an icy cold of starlight in deep space, a supernova, but one kept at a distance. You want a button? You've got a button. <<My Honour.>> he intones, all hinst at debonaire charm dropped in favour of stern stone and sharp hooded gaze. <<Is my own. I do not confer it or lend it out, and I most certainly do /not/ use it as coin in affairs of the heart.>> The blaze suddenly subsides, condenses down to the gleam of light off a dueling sword's edge as his voice becomes entirely quiet and still. <</If/ that is what you shallowly seek in a male, I beg you to look elsewhere.>>

"I'll let her walk all over me, next time. Ask anyone in the weyr how well that worked out for the first couple Turns after I Impressed." Lis is in no mood to be congenial, though her conscience does prick at her as Alymath nettles Vorkorth. "She should know better than to do that... I think she's getting nastier, these last couple times."

Wyn shrugs slightly, her impressions combining with those of a quietly simmering Vorkoroth to paint a picture entitled 'Proddy Greenrider'. "It's all right," she allows. "Vorkoroth needs to learn how to handle himself around the females of the species, and she's providing him with an excellent crash course." To quote a certain Barrayaran Emperor, "Let's see what happens."

<Local> Vorkoroth senses that Alymath absorbs Vorkoroth's emotional distress like a sunflower, the dizzying spiral pattern at the center spinning outwards like rows of teeth as the seeds drop and sprout further dissent. << I suppose I shall. I must have been wrong about you, Vorkoroth. You're as sophisticated as rutting herdbeasts, and about as much fun to be around. >>

Lis raises one brow ironically - but at least the blade of her tongue is dulled, slightly. "Really? I thought Vespurath was more his taste. Or so I gather from Alymath, when she's not snubbing half the winged population of the weyr." Namely the green ones.

<Local> Vorkoroth senses that he mentally shakes his head, calmer now, simply turning away again. <<In that case...>> he allows. <<Why do you still remain? Since,>> he notes, in a dry touch of indigo. <<I have been informed that this excursion was /your/ idea.>>

Wyn snorts a quiet laugh. "I do believe that your girl's point of view is a little addled on the subject of Vespurath. Aided and abetted by Vorkoroth, no doubt." she adds, with a wry glance at her klah. "Vorkoroth was intrigued by Vespurath, namely because she was responding beautifully to his teasing. But now he's switched to being decidedly leery of her, and his obstructionism is due more to not wanting to talk about it."

<Local> Vorkoroth senses that Alymath presents a face of polished sandstone, scoured by wind to a smooch surface - no cracks for hooks to dig in, here. << Why should you care? After all, I am only a green. Surely /my/ motives are far below the attention of you, Vorkoroth. >> Her tone is deceptively sweet, like the faint translucence of new leaves still showing the shadows that lie behind them.

Lis silently eavesdrops on the exchange between the dragons, always riding piggy-back on Alymath's conversations (and vice versa). "Well," the greenrider remarks, with a suprising hint of wry amusement, "if Vorkoroth keeps up this strategy, I don't think you'll have to worry much about flights."

<Local> Vorkoroth senses that he switches from solid tones to a diffuse mist, one without form, but one that is impervious to any sudden knife thrusts, bending and shifting away from attack. <<I believe that you have a consistancy problem, m'lady. Either I care, or I do not care. I cannot do both. What would you have of me...?>>

Wyn laughs. "Frankly," she allows. "I'd not mind that too terribly much. Except that the one green that I desperately wish he'd offend... is fond of him." Entymeth's lovely, but S'titch...? Shudder. A stadying pull of klah.

<Local> Vorkoroth senses that Alymath dissolves into sandstone's particles, the grit falling into every crack and cranny - generally irritating, but passive-agressive. << I suppose Vespurath must be terribly amusing to you. But I would /not/ underestimate females, if I were you. Unless you want to live life a very lonely, lonely dragon. >> Greens unionize.

<Local> Vorkoroth senses that he offers a mental nod, again the flourish of a fencer signalling a touch. The mist parts to allow the grit to waft down, before reforming into a bank of clouds. <<Believe me, m'lady, I most emphatically do not. But... a question, if I might pose one?>>

Lis seems to have climbed out of her funk as quickly as she'd gotten into it. "I suppose S'titch is alright, in small doses. However, he is not /my/ problem. Yet." Poor Wyn missed out on the great Lis/Lyri fight of old. "I wouldn't place my bets on Vorkoroth winning any flights, any time soon, with anyone. You'd be surprised how word spreads among the greens." More pervasive than ImpSec, you can bet your silver eyes.

<Local> Vorkoroth senses that Alymath can't supress the germination of curiosity, but it withers instantly and is carried away by mercurial winds which switch her from one mood to the next. << I suppose you might, but I don't guarantee an answer. >>

Wyn, who's style of advising Vor seems more akin to a certain Betan Countess's style of sink-or-swim parenting, doesn't seem terribly upset by this prospect. "Frankly, I think it would be good for him." she announces, cradling her mug in one hand. "He's entirely too confident in his ability to bend those around him to his will. A good kick in the tail would likely do him a world of good."

"I'm inclined to agree with you," Lis admits pensively, her previous restive state bordering now on medatative. Silence stretches, no efforts made on the greenrider's part to disrupt it. Covening with Alymath, perhaps - but both green and rider are (in some sense) disturbingly sedate.

<Local> Vorkoroth senses that he keeps a cautious distance, although his tone is low and smooth again. <<Your proposal is acceptable. But I wish an answer to my earlier question: What is it that you want of me?>> Have pity on the poor hapless male, who's only had his first Turnday yesterday, but is mentally programmed so that he can't just admit it and ask for help.

Wyn is disturbed. Honest. Ignore the bland facade, she's seen enough greens and riders to know that calms are generally followed by storms. And she can't cut and run to the graduation just yet. So instead she sips her klah and tilts her head. "You probably run across more than a few of Vorkoroth's type of young male... They /do/ settle out, right?"

<Local> Vorkoroth senses that Alymath lingers as she constructs her answer, her thoughts balanced in the strange blue of dusk and dawn. The clouds part, and whatever her wisdom deigns to answer spills out on the ray of light. << I don't think you are ready to know, yet. Most others are, but you... >> The green chuckles again, benevolently, all put figuratively patting Vorkoroth on the head.

Lis peers up at Wyn distractedly, blinking a few times to adjust her focus. "Hmm? Oh, well, I would hope so. I think time helps, most of all. You tend to melt into each other - a bit like, I guess, the way one shirt can color another if you wash it in hot water. But mutual."

<Local> Vorkoroth senses that he simmers quietly. But, having enough mother wisdom to guess that Aly's likely being condescending on purpose, he keeps it quiet, a mere fluctuation in the heart of the mental nebula that he's constructing. <<Then I trust, m'lady, that you shall grant your wisdom when you see fit...?>>

Wyn looks hollow all of a sudden, grey gaze widening. "Good Faranth's eyeridge, I /hope/ not." she murmurs. "You don't understand, Lis, he's /hyper/." she qualifies. "No one else hears it, but /I/ do. He's amazing, and wonderfully brilliant and I love him to bits, but he never /shuts/ /up/. I refuse to end up like that."

<Local> Vorkoroth senses that Alymath flashes wryly, a Cheshire cat grin winking across her faintly violet darkness, feminine and secretive. << Oh, I would not go so far as to call it /wisdom/. You will learn it, in time, Vorkoroth. But it will not be from me. >>

Lis grins slowly at Wyn, too, amused by her distress. "You would be amazed," she drawls, voice coming slowly due to her current lassitude, "how dragons and riders become like each other. It's... inevitable. You can spend eight long Turns fighting it, like I did, or accept it now."

<Local> Vorkoroth senses that he is content to wait. Alymath is to be permitted her small victory, as Vorkoroth intends to win the war. Oh yes. And Wyn is subtle, therefore so shall he be. Until he forgets and goes charging off in another direction again. He allows some mild non-directional amusement to colour his tone. <<And what would you call it, then?>>

<Local> Vorkoroth senses that Alymath can't resist breaking her Buddha-like solemnity for a sudden burst of roiling emotions, imagines that little blue dragons ought not to be seeing - all in all, something of a disparate Pern pornographic flick. << I don't know, >> she purrs demurely, retreating to the beaded curtains of her end of the tenuous link. << What would you? >>

Wyn offers Lis a wry look from under an arched eyebrow. "You're evil." she notes calmly. "Truly evil. But... we'll see. Perhaps we'll balance each other and end up normal." Eyes widen momentarily at a panicked-fascinated message from Vorkoroth tickling frantically at her brain, and she eyes Lis with a fishy expression. "What under the blue skies is she /telling/ him?"

And Wyn calls herself Betan-like... "Nothing that he wouldn't have figured out on his own, probably more ficticiously," Lis remarks unflappably, borrowing a page or two from Wyn's book. Even the discounting of her prophesy bothers her not.

<Local> Vorkoroth senses that he reels dizzily at the flood of images, processing them and storing them but making little sense of them at all. This is like a high speed tour of the Orb of Unearthly Delight or something. First Vesp, now Aly. Girls are evil. <<Oh. My.>>

<Local> Vorkoroth senses that Alymath is merely a pair of cat-eyes peering out from the pearlescent strings - love beads - that half-shroud her. << I told you. >> Girls may be evil, but boys are just /dumb/.

Apparently Vor /has/ been rubbing off on her. Either that, or Wyn's Betan-ness extends only to her own personal mores. "You know, Lis, that he's still not fully mature." she allows matter-of-factly. "I'm perfectly willing to have him find out, but only when he's of an age to find out and enjoy it properly. Wouldn't want to traumatize him, you know." Never /mind/ that their graduation is in a little less than an hour.

"He wanted to know," Lis champions Alymath defensively, as if the lack of common sense (apparently contagious) was justification for Vorkoroth's educational experience. "At least now he'll know what he's doing if Thread ever stops falling and he wins a flight."

<Local> Vorkoroth senses that he is still just a touch off-kilter, assimilating the new flood of data and offering a blithe reassurance to Wyn, before he reels slightly in a fascinated state of information drunkenness, then cheerfully shifting to courtly again with a manic savoir faire. <<That you did, m'lady. That you surely did.>>

Wyn sighs, shakes her head, and concedes the point. "Very true. I /had/ been planning to wait until the others got their 'Talk' from the weyrling staff, since Vorkoroth has a tendancy to babble when he knows something hot, but I suppose I can handle the odd outraged lifemate growling at me." She drains the last of her klah, and then steps over to check on the polish of her uniform boots, standing in readiness over by her bed.

<Local> Vorkoroth senses that Alymath decides, somewhere in the labyrinth of her mind, that Vorkoroth has had enough for today. << I think, perhaps, that Lis and I should be going. Enjoy graduation... >> Seductive reds throb across the mindlink as she takes her leave. << And, I take it, you /will/ be thinking twice about snubbing a green in the future, mm? >>

Lis catches the cue from Alymath, setting her mug to one side and getting up. "I think we'll be going now. We have to dress up for graduation, too." Knowing what season it is for Lis and Alymath, it might be worth coming just to see what getup she's got on. "I'll leave the basket with you. You might need those rum cakes." And with that, she's gone, out to rescue Vorkoroth from Alymath's clutches.

<Local> Vorkoroth senses that he offers a low rumble of a laugh. <<I surely will, milady. And...>> A pause, and he swirls over a gentle touch of grey-blue. <<A point well made.>> Gratuitously made, well made, same difference, right?