| Participants: | Aadi, Brentram, Fiala, Maura, Meiglen, Torcoth, Rikath, Svaldirath . |
|---|---|
| Location: | Eastern Weyr - Baths |
| Synopsis: | Aadi arrives at the weyr, and meets some interesting characters. |
| Rating: | PG13. |
| Posted by: | Maura |
Fatigue-lined eyes and a droopy countenance had Charisli ordering Maura to go relax this time. Thus, the bluerider finds herself soaking in one of the smaller pools, complete with a mix of sandalwood and floral oil scents dumped in the water. Which is, for the record, keeping any and all men away from her pool. They don't want to smell all girly. A towel's been rolled up and is stuffed behind her head. And, she's humming some song to herself. Only, it's one of those 'worse then a sailor' songs, and not many recognize it. She obviously picked -that- up somewhere bad.
Maybe it's the familiar tune that draws her in, but once in the baths, the dust-covered, vaguely female shape wrinkles her nose at the obnoxious scents coming from the song's source. "For fuck's sake, sunshine, don't ruin a good song with flowery shit." The accent is unapologetically Fortian and there's enough travel-grime to believe she came from that far off. "There's few enough of 'em left to be killin' 'em willy-nilly." Shaking her hair out of its braid, the grime-covered traveler starts shucking her layers without apology. Most of it gets dumped into a pile, but the nine knives, two stilettos and six darts get treated as if they were made of glass.
"Sorry. The flowery shit is to keep grabby-handed assholes away. I don't feel inclined to let Rikath eat anyone today." Maura's apology sounds kind of unapologetic, though it's accompanied by an amused grin. "Will this help?" Also behind her head is a bottle of wine. Expensive looking, as the bottle seems to be quite well made. "Always happy to share with someone who knows -that- song."
"Does Rikath usually eat people?" This is the voice of a weyrwoman essentially coming out of a trance. Actually, in all honesty? Meiglen was asleep. Completely. She'd fallen asleep in the baths; fatigue is apparently really going around Eastern Weyr these days. She had what was probably /the/ smallest pool, but it's right next to the one Maura was in. Hearing people come in? Out of the question. Hearing people sing? Evidently not an issue. Hearing mentions of a dragon not eating someone today? That got her attention.
Brentram has arrived.
"He regularly threatens to. Especially when someone pisses me off." Maura replies, sliding a glance over at Meiglen. "And anyone who tries to get grabby-handed with me is likely to be on the receiving end of my ire." Pause. "Well, except for my mate. But that that's not really being grabby-handed." she amends, taking little or no offense at what anyone has said so far.
"Grabby-handed assholes?" Aadi gives Maura a look somewhere between confusion and disbelief. Maybe a little disgust mixed in for good measure. "Got a problem with those?" Somehow, she doesn't sound upset by that. Oh no, she sounds positively … gleeful. "Good. Every new Weyr needs a few hook-hands running around." Despite her earlier protest, she grabs a pouch of sweetsand and hops easily into Maura's flowery pool. "Gives a place some character." Sinking in up to her shoulders - to relax, obviously, and not to cover up the many scars that map her body - Aadi heaves a sigh. "Rikath sounds like fun. Tell me he's not a bronze."
<Weyr> Torcoth winds his way into the general web and net of the Weyrmind, bringing the tang of gunpowder and blood right along with him. Feeling his way around, he brushes his mind right past Svaldirath and exudes a sense of glee. « Well, good morning beautiful. » Not exactly keeping that thought quiet, either.
"He's not a bronze." Meiglen follows the order despite it not being directed at her, and then disappears underwater in order to try to wake herself up; wasn't that what this bath was for, originally? When she resurfaces she's wiping hair from her face and resettling, showing no intent of going anywhere in much of a hurry at all. This might be interesting.
<Weyr> Rikath is intrigued by the tang of blood and gunpowder, so he sizzles some ozone into the mix when he inserts his presence. And then promptly makes horking noises at Torcoth. « Hello, Ass kisser. »
<Weyr> Torcoth immediately perks up at the introduction of ozone to the cocktail. The full brunt-force of his mind fixates on Rikath, like a bloodhound picking up a scent. « Hah! A blue with a backbone. I like this place already. »
Fiala comes into the cavern, slight and scrawny-wiry, like some wild thing dragged in from the plains. Her hair is a wild fluff of orange, unbound and tangled down her back. The teen is wearing a sacklike shift and a sacklike overdress, though both and her hair are sopping wet and rather muddy as well. She sits down on a bench and tugs sandals off of her feet— the straps of one are broken, and she sighs. "Have to fix it somehow," she murmurs, shaking her head. Then she looks up and sees the people in the pool. SHe waves shyly, offering up a slight, tired smile.
"Not for me." Maura just smiles when she says that, shoulders lifting a bit in a shrug. "Eastern's not exactly the place that attracts the best people. Some are just worse then others." she adds, lips quirking up at the idea of hook-handed riders running around. "Like she said, not a bronze." the girl agrees, pulling her bottle of wine forward and uncapping it to drink some right from the bottle. "A blue. Ladies, want some?" she offers again, this time with bottle dangled up. "What brings you here?" is wondered, nosily. "Hey Fiala."
Some enter the baths and start settling in before paying attention to who else is around them; others stop dead in the doorway, and only the lack of anyone following hard on Brentram's heels keeps injury away. There's a weyrwoman, Maura, Fiala-covered-in-mud, and some woman's head he doesn't recognize — presumably attached to the rest of her — and he and his testosterone feel tremendously outmatched. He swallows, hard, and wonders if it's too late to turn around and hide, or head back to the laundry room. Sure, the soaps are pretty harsh for skin or hair, but they aren't particularly critical of menfolk… Someone else comes in behind him, shoving him further into the room before she, too, is heading toward the back, stripping off clothing and shoes as she goes. There's no escaping this, is there. Brentram, wilting slightly, ducks off to the side, still hoping not to be noticed.
<Weyr> Svaldirath is totes the right color now right?! whoever is logging delete this
<Weyr> Rikath doesn't seem perturbed by blunt-force mind scrutiny. Others may attest to him actually -enjoying- Kaseth when she was proddy. He is a frigtening little creature. « Damn right I've got backbone. Can't handle wussy little dragons.» More horking noises ensue, to make his point. « You're new. Why are you here. »
In the middle of lathering herself all over while the conversation swirls around her, Aadi is brought up short by the offer of booze. She stops her bawdy ditty mid-hum and looks up, blinking at Maura for half a heart-beat before realizing she's been offered a drink. "Naw, thanks. Got some of my own." Which reminds her. Dropping the handful of sweetsand on the rim of the pool, Aadi hauls her scarred, sudsy body out of the water and pads over lazily to her pile of clothing. Sorry, Brentram! "Hah! So there are some balls lurking around this place. I'd only seen tits so far." Bending over and fishing her brass flask out, Aadi eyes Brentram speculatively. "Or maybe I spoke too soon. How old are you, boy?" She takes a swig of her booze and pads back to hop into the water with a splash - flask still in hand. Fiala is passed over entirely. Something in that glassy-eyed part of her mind that belongs to her lifemate makes her choke on her foul-smelling cocktail and she barks out a laugh that doesn't sound entirely safe. "That was a mistake, weyrwoman." She cracks a lopsided grin at Meig. "You'll never be rid of him, now." Which, apparently, gives Aadi cause to look the other woman up and down speculatively. "You wouldn't be bad to catch." There's a compliment in there somewhere. Really.
What was a mist—oh, what is Svaldirath up to now? Meiglen's face displays a series of conflicting and very odd expressions as she and lifemate exchange a series of what is likely more concepts than words, but Svaldirath's practicality either decided to take a break today, or she has reasons for everything she's doing. Meiglen isn't about to argue; the dragon is actually the dominant one of the pair. Dangerous? Yes. The way it's been for quite some time now? Certainly. She pales near-white at Aadi's assessment of her form, despite normally being entirely comfortable in the nude — but eventually the comments about Brentram having balls actually roll into her consciousness, and the backward blush turns to a tiny little smirk. "I think he's fifteen? My name is Meiglen, by the way —" In case that wasn't part of the general introduction to the Weyr.
<Weyr> Torcoth sidles right up alongside Svaldirath - metaphorically speaking, of course - and rumbles just a hint of whiskey along her mind. « Hard on the outside is only fun if you've got a gooey center to crack open, lady gold. » There's a baritone rumble to his 'voice' that does - on occasion - manage to send pleasant shivers up spines. « We got transfered, » he offers an answer to Rikath in the same almost-sensual, easy-going tones. « There was boring. Thought we'd try Here, instead. »
<Weyr> Svaldirath echoes delight in Rikath's direction as he asks his question, seeming pleased by — his choice of query? His phrasing? Something. The blue is her favorite spy, after all, already. « Here is never boring, » she offers, nearly but not quite a promise, as she clinks a mental glass to Torcoth's.
"Oh, there's plenty of those around the weyr. Just not in the pools right now." Well, with the exception of Brentram. But giving the laundry boy a hard time comes along with the whole being a rider thing, apparently. "I'm Maura." she adds, after taking another slug of wine and then setting it back down on the ledge slowly. She pays no attention to the survey Meiglen is given, or Aadi's assessment of wheher it would be good or bad to catch. "You'll probably enjoy the bar here. Always something going on there. Gets kinda rowdy. They actually need bouncers. But, the Istan Wave is excellent. Right Meg?"
"I… hullo…." Fiala swallows hard, glancing at Brentram and then the water, then sighs. She wriggles out of her mucky overdress; the under-shift is no better, really. Sighing, she tugs it off as well, crossing her legs and somehow managing to cover her admittedly inadequate breasts with her wild mane of hair. "How's… ah… the water?" she squeaks. A wave goes to the Weyrwoman, and then, reflexively, she almost-stands in respect, then squeaks again and covers herself up a little with hands and hair.
<Weyr> Rikath shrouds himself in fog, his disgust at the obvious flirtatiousness resonating along the link like lightning skittering across stone. « No, here is never boring. » he agrees, reluctantly, loathe to give somene NEW a reason to STAY. Suspicious by nature, he is.
Brentram is, of course, now flushing, and slightly indignant, and entirely aware of how stupid he's being, yet somehow unable to shut himself up. "Eighteen," he bites off, "not fifteen. Thanks." Aadi gets a moderate scowl; whether some part of that is for talking about Meiglen in a sexual situation will never be clarified. "And I think you'll find that the balls don't need to lurk." The way the tits do, apparently, but at least Brentram's runaway tongue manages to figure out, for once, that this is too far even for it, if it wants to remain inside his head. He resolutely avoids looking at Aadi, as soon as she breaches the surface of the water; looking at Fiala isn't really less embarrassing, and so he goes back to glaring at the ceiling, then heaves a (quiet!) sigh, strips himself of all his clothing in about four seconds, and dumps himself into a relatively-empty pool. It would, of course, be a very cold one.
<Weyr> Torcoth can only approve of a suspicious nature - even when it's directed towards himself - and isn't ashamed of that approval, letting it filter across the web like thunder. « Then I guess we picked the right place. Don't suppose you have any pirates? »
"Aadi, brown Torcoth's." You know, in case that wasn't obvious. "I mix my own drinks, thanks." But a bar sounds promising, all the same. "Been a while since I've had a good fight." The flask is capped and set on the edge of the pool as Aadi dips her bright red curls back into the water. This action has the side-effect of putting those lurking tits front and center. So, no, apparently tits don't need to lurk, either. "I could always cut them off," she offers to the teen cordially. "Then they could lurk just about anywhere. A cupboard, the weyrwoman's desk … My pocket." You know, all those places one usually finds genitalia. "Didn't see anyone who looked 'in-charge' when I got here, so I decided to get the dust out first. Any idea where they'll slot my hulkin' oaf of a brown? Didn't even get a wingleader's name before they shipped my ass out here."
<Weyr> Svaldirath is not the same sort of suspicious; if ever she had any suspicions of anyone, they didn't know about it. She is obvious to a fair few. « A few, » is all she says, honesty evident but true information shrouded. « You may be speaking to one. » Maybe. Maybe. « Were you volunteering? »
<Weyr> Rikath goes eerily still at the mention of Pirates, withdrawing a little. As if maybe there's a bad memory associated there. « Who needs pirates? We have thread, and useless wingleaders. Or, rather, we -had- useless wingleaders. » He's still bitter about Maura's shoulder, apparently, not at all reluctant to sling a dart of pain through the channel to remind of recent tragedy.
<Weyr> Svaldirath cannot help cutting in again, bristling, with only: « They are gone, now. I fired them. » She did it all herself.
<Weyr> Rikath bristles back, his overprotectiveness of his lifemate all but demanding it. « That helps now. It did not help -then-. I did not say it was /your/ fault.» Harumph!
<Weyr> Torcoth sits back, giving the actual impression of kicking back and putting his feet up on a desk. Sometimes it's more fun to watch the fireworks than it is to set them off. « If they're useless, they weren't really Wingleaders. Just stuffed shirts with a bit of scrapwood that got stuck to their shoulder. » That's his two cents, anyway.
Meiglen's eyebrows; where are they now? In her hairline, or perhaps past it. She is definitely awake, at this point. "It is good, but you're welcome to. Mix your own drinks. As far as I — know." Stilted speech, because she's either trying not to laugh or not to cry. "Please do not leave the balls of teenage boys on my desk, though. Ciara may welcome them, but I'd end up left with a mess. And I'm certain I do know but I don't have the transfer papers on me at this exact moment. You did find me, though." A little bit of a smile. Strangest place she's yet met a new rider. "The person who is supposed to know."
"Water's warm, Fi. Just slide in." Maura understands the whole modesty thing. Really she does. But weyrlinghood pretty much nixes that, so she's long past it herself. "If they're cold, they hide instead of lurking." she points out, in a sweet sort of tone. "Nothing wrong with mixing your own drinks. But it's hard to have a good game of dragonpoker by yourself." Not that she should talk, seeing as she tends to play a whole lot of solitaire. To practice her cheating.
<Public> V'kale says, "Who wouldn't be?"
"Why would you make a game out of poking a dragon?" Fiala asks, her voice lilting into the half-hesitant question. "It sounds more like a …. a sex thing, though. Like… you want to play a bit of dragon poker up at my weyr? And then he, you know, pokes her. with his poker." Fiala dashes for the pool, keeping her rump towards Brentram, though she looks over her shoulder at him and offers an encouraging smile. Then she sinks under the water and comes up with her hair dripping over and hiding her face.
Well, Fiala did get Brentram staring at her, as a result of what she was saying — and he didn't even really seem to notice the bared rump, too busy staring in horror. She actually did it: took dragonpoker, a relatively benign activity, and made it worse. He hadn't thought that was possible! "They're not the only things that want to hide, now," he mumbles, and reeeeaaaches across to steal a flask long enough to take a fortifying drink. (He even manages to keep most of it down, only spluttering a tiny bit!)
<Weyr> Svaldirath only has one thing to say to that, and it's: « A relatively accurate assessment, really. They have been replaced. All of them. » A few died, and others were simply fired. Svaldirath shows no signs of guilt, or even grief for the dead.
<Weyr> Rikath likewise, has no remorse at all for adding. « And good riddance to them. Abydoth and P'sec on the other hand, are good. » Of course he was biased to begin with there. But, it's Abydoth. And P'sec. A thread of respect for the pair whisper out. That's rare for him.
"My pocket it is, then." She's joking, right? Right? Maybe. Fiala's response gets a … look. "You ain't right in the head, lass." Maura and Meig are both included in a sage nod, as if it's perfectly normal to talk about a girl as if she were a sick runner. "Oughta get her looked at. Knew a guy what made his whole life treatin' crazy folk." Knew him, was his patient, slept with him - you know, all the same in the end. Laughing low under her breath, Aadi reaches to one side to grab her flask and drink - only to close her fist around empty air. Cold blue eyes lock onto Brentram and narrow, the pupils dilating until there's just a thin ring around empty black. In a single motion, smooth like a southern wildcat, Aadi is over the stone wall separating the two pools and in Brentram's space. Moving to try and pin him against the wall, she raises her forearm to press very lightly against his windpipe. "Didn't yer ma'am ever teach you any manners, whelp?" Her voice is a low growl. "Or did she just leave out the bit where y'ain't supposed to touch things what ain't yours?"
<Weyr> Rikath perks up considerably as Maura's surprise over sudden possible violence rouses him from apathy. « I -like- her. » he decides, developing a new but reluctant respect for Torcoth, since he did pick Aadi as his lifemate. So he's not ALL bad. He just reminds the blue too much of D'lan.
<Weyr> Torcoth snorts, sending the equivalent sensation of rolling his eyes across the broadcast links. « Ah, well. Some things she'll never learn to share. » Despite his casual response, however, there's a shift like the rumbling of a volcano as the vast majority of his attention narrows down to focus on one very particular point in space and time - most notably, his lifemate.
Suddenly, modesty is overrated as there's an outbreak of violence; as, off in the distance, dragons discuss, Meiglen, too, reacts. By standing up. Whatever modesty she had left as far as Brentram ogling her chest goes (forget about Aadi doing it for now) is out the window as she rises to attempt to hold things together. "Just don't break him," she says evenly, authoritatively. The voice is clear: use your own means of justice, but no one may come to serious harm. A couple bruises are all right, but past that? She's calling a guard. "And Brentram, I hope you realize that was dumb now, if you hadn't before?" is more sing-song, innocent, questioning.
"Fiala, sweetie - there's nothing sexual about Dragonpoker. It's called that because of the dragons on the cards. People like to offer sexual favors as a bet though. And strip dragonpoker is pretty near a sure thing that there's sex involved. So watch out for that." For such a sweet looking little thing, Maura certainly has interesting things to say. Only the swoosh of air and water cause her to open her eyes in time to spy Aadi vaulting over to kind of strangle Brentram. She's obviously relieved that Meiglen steps in the way she does, letting herself relax back against the lip of the pool instead of hauling herself up as she'd intended. "Well, this will at least be interesting to talk about later. Want to make a bet on whether there's blood involved before she's done?"
Fiala's eyes flash as the unknown woman implies she's crazy, but she shrinks towards Maura as the stranger gets violent. "Interesting?" she gasps, shaking her head. "I don't really have anyone to talk about it with. And…. I don't know what I'd say. Watching this sort of thing is…" SHe shrugs. "I guess I'm too young to understand. It just reminds me of wherries fighting at a bit of food or something. We're supposed to be better'n them, but we still squabble the same way."
It is not remotely hard to pin Brentram against — well, against anything; the wall of the pool he's already leaning against is pretty well done by the time Aadi thinks about it, without any worries about effort. Her forearm gets vibrated as he squeaks, although it isn't really audible per se; he is, at any rate, completely oblivious to Meiglen's bared breasts, because he's busy staring up at Aadi in very much the same way as a baby rabbit pinned under the gaze of a hawk. "Yes — no — I — oh, shards, 'm sorry, I, I wasn't — I'm sorry — thinking — please?"
There's a moment where Aadi holds her position exactly - neither advancing nor retreating a single inch. It's like even the silence is part of the show, the world holding its breath for just that one infinitessimal moment. Whether it's Meiglen's subtle warning, Maura's idle bet-taking, Fiala's back-handed insults, Brentram's trembling or Torcoth's silent monologue, something cracks the blackness in her gaze. She blinks once, twice and then laughs, lowering her arm and clapping Brentram on the shoulder. Too bad she's a bit stronger than she thinks she is. Not even bruises, see? "Breathe, Feathers." Haha, Brentram's earned himself a nickname already. "And don't piss the pool until I'm out of it." Which she does post-haste, but not before snagging her flask just a little possessively. "We played strip poker couple times during my Candidacy. One time I ended up with the Lord of Boll passed out in my lap. Good times." She takes a swig from her flask, possibly - but not probably - hiding the fact that she's not smiling when she mentions the 'good times'.
To Meiglen, that one does sound like a good time — for all that most of candidacy, for her, definitely wasn't (either). Now that no one is about to be beaten to a pulp or otherwise broken, she settles back into her bath like nothing was wrong and nothing had riled anybody up in the first place. "I've never played it," she admits: a far more bold confession in this crowd than she actually realizes. "The strip version, anyway. I'm not bad at poker, but I keep losing to that Healer girl. Isli? Short for — Charisli. Her."
Maura just gives Fiala a reassuring pat on the shoulder. She does, of course, glance at Brentram's neck to see whether he should make his way to the infirmary. But she also grins at Aadi rather then look at all intimidated. "Can't say I played strip poker during candidacy. But… wait, you said Charisli?" A giggle threatens to escape at that. "She's good at cards, yes." Because she's cheating, probably. And her brother probably taught her, which is why the bluerider looks amused. But she can't exactly rat them out now can she. "Which reminds me - I need to let her torture my shoulder some more. No more fun bathtime for me." Woe.
"I've never played cards," murmurs Fiala. "My father wouldn't let me near the games or anything like it. "Virgin bride means more land," he said to my mother." She just snorts. "So it's a whole other language to me. The Lord Boll? In your lap?" She blinks, then looks at Maura in concern. "Will you be all right?" And then she adds, thoughtfully, "In your lap. Would have been awkward if the eggs had started hatching just then, no?"
Brentram does as ordered and breathes, for all that he has absolutely no idea at all why she's calling him Feathers. It's better than calling him dead, so he'll take it. Does this … sort of count as forgiveness? Sort of? The fact that a woman less than twice his age was just in his lap is completely escaping him; it's possible that, for the moment at least, Aadi remains classified as 'predator' and not as 'female'. And now he's back to giving Fiala his very best '… the crap?' look. "Did your father think that a game of cards automatically declassified someone as a virgin?" he asked, belatedly reaching for the soapsand now that his entire body had pretty well gone numb.
"The shells were still soft. Those babies weren't goin' anywhere." Aadi scrubs the sweetsand through her hair and then bends back to rinse it in the warm water. "Do you know anythin' useful, lass?" It's a casually asked question, almost conversational, but Aadi doesn't wait for an answer. Instead, she offers an upside-down, half-ass salute to Maura. "If you've got a poker game with an extra seat, send word through my boy. We'll be there. I'll even swing by and grab Meiglen if she's as bad as she claims." That offer comes with a grin and a wink. Bad players are a boon at any game with stakes.
GAME: Save complete.
"I'll be fine." Maura assures, as she steps out of the water and grabs a towel to dry herself off with. Only now that she's above water does the still-healing threadscore stand out in sharp contrast to her skin. "We're working on mobility. Hurts like a bitch, but I just slap some numbweed on when we're done." Shrug. "I'll teach you how to play cards sometime, Fi. Hey, it was fun to meet you Aadi. We do have an extra seat or two open at our game actually, you'd fit right in. Meg - drinks later?" is wondered, expecting any reply to wind up coming through dragon-link. "Try to stay alive Brentram." she adds, while throwing her clothes on hastily and then slipping away.
<OOC> Maura skips Meig, so she gets a chance to answer Maura's question!
Unable to resist the urge at this point, Meiglen laughs. But as she laughs, she's looking around to gather all of her clothing; for future reference to the Weyr's gossips, amongst Meiglen's clothing is not a brassiere but a corset, which she never makes any attempt to hide. "Well! If having someone as bad as me around helps you — but anyway. I've got to get going … why don't you come along with me, brownrider, and I'll get you settled. Proper knot, weyr to sleep in. Might even have furniture in it!" One would hope. Maura's response gets a nod of, "Sure, I'll be by after lunch."
"I'd like that, Maura. I hope you feel better soon. And… could you tell…. you know…." She pauses, perhaps reluctant to mention her dealings with Rikath around Aadi. "You know who…. I send him a hug and an arm-flap and a rock-tumbling?" She swallows hard as Meiglen also gets ready to depart, and offers a slight wave. There is a hint of relief, and then again the strange, un-meek flash in her eyes as she turns to the brownrider. "I know a lot of things. Maybe not ones you find useful, but a lot of things." Her chin rises, and then she turns to Bertram. "He has some strange theories about the unnatural lusts of women. In short, my father is a dolt."
"Well, good on you for getting away and rid of him, then," Brentram answers, which is sort of a defense — although at this point he's ducking under the cold water, and he comes up spluttering a good bit more than he'd done just for drinking down whatever it was Aadi kept in that flask. (Some sort of paint solvent, maybe?) "Serves him right if you learn to play, so you should." And that, as far as Brentram is concerned, settles it; his hair has been washed and rinsed, and so his bath is done. The rest of him has a tendency to spend most of the day pretty well saturated anyway, in the laundry, and so he, too, is reaching for his clothes and his exit. (He doesn't look at Meiglen's corset. Really.)
Nodding at Meiglen, Aadi seems to lose her taste for conversation. Everyone else is ignored as she dresses, arms herself and then follows the weyrwoman out of the baths.