Living Cavern

This is the vaulted, high-ceilinged main gathering area of Ista Weyr, where riders, residents and drudges congregate to socialize and make merry. Or even just to eat. Long, sturdy tables fill most of the cavern in neat rows, two of them hemming about the hearths that line the northeastern curve of the cavern. Sideboards by the kitchen entrance groan beneath a constant burden of food and drinks, kept fresh by the cooks and lower caverns staff.

T'lon

Tall and gaunt, his gray-flecked green eyes are the most noticable feature of his perfectly round, almost boyish face. His lean frame is well-muscled, lightly tanned from many turns spent in the sun. Short, neatly cropped sandy blond hair is combed back, falling just above the collarbone. His light, rolling baritone carries a dramatic lilt to it, knowing just when to raise itself or fall shamefacedly silent. His gait is often self-assured, a definite stride that demands attention.

A light, baggy ocean blue tunic is tucked in to a pair of brown wherhide working trousers, held up by a plain, red dyed rope. The trousers are tucked into a pair of black boots, tightly laced. Atop Telon's right shoulder sits a rather plain looking brown and black knot with a predominant green thread running through it.

 

Keoke

A shaggy nest of burnt orange, cropped unevenly, falls in a show of unruliness just at the beginning of her neck. Tall and lanky, her long arms and legs seem a bit out of sorts with the rest of her, giving her anything but a gracefull appearance. Grey blue eyes look out upon the world in a day dream state, a somewhat sparkling contrast to her pale ivory skin. Her small nose and weak chin are no compliment to her somewhat roundish plain face. Having a tomboyish appearance, she could easily be mistaken for male, though the illusion is quickly shattered by her distinctively female voice.

Pinned neatly and carefully upon her shoulder, Keoke wears the deep lavender and sparkling white knot of an apprentice weaver.

A rather thick shirt of deep midnight blue hugs her form, keeping out the chill of the winter air. All along the cuffs and collar are small embroidered flowers, a whistfull remembrance of spring. The small grey buttons are made of a light stone, shaped into small flowers and keeping the memory of warmth. The material itself is a bit worn in places, evidence of rough activities and showing just a few repairs. Thunder grey trousers hang a bit loosely from her lanky frame, giving her a rather unkempt appearance. A patch adorns the left knee, a telling reminder of more than a few mischevious adventures. Her well worn calf high boots are dyed in lighter shade of midnight blue, the color of the sky just before dawn.

Arilynne

Dark chestnut falls over alabaster brow in ever changing waves, enshrouding an elfin countenance that all but defies propriety. Large hazeled orbs that flash from sympathetic brown to mischievous green and then an innocent hue between are offset by a skinny patrician nose that is prone to freckles and quirking rosy lips that are too broad for her narrow visage. Petite willowiness is exacerbated by a considerable lack of feminine curves, yet her boyish body hides a startling strength of character all too evident in the stubborn set of her jawbone and the knowing angle of her chin.

Russeted orange twines with midnight's black offsetting a stark white thread that marks Arilynne as one of Ista Weyr's handful of hopeful Candidates.

Airy linen encases youthful frame, several shades darker than Healer's beloved purple. Open collar and rolled up sleeves hint tantilizingly at pale flesh, reddened slightly in the summer sun. Left untucked, it falls to mid-thigh, only then are the khaki trous beneath it revealed as they lovingly caress her legs like a second skin, tapering at the ankles to fit within the confines of Aril's sturdy boots.

 

Keoke watches T'lon and Cao. Hey, they're good entertainment, what can we say?

 

Caoimhe suggests calmly, "Perhaps you knew my father?" One brow arched, she glances at him. "And Jerlana too." Full lips quirk wryly. "I don't see you doing anything wrong," she drawls. "You're doing /just/ fine."

Arilynne wanders in, catching the tail end of the conversation. "Oooh, you did something?" she asks the rider present, al but skipping up to T'lon in delight. "Was it anything interesting, noteworthy, you know, something to write home about?" Aril, it seems, is in the process of writing a letter home but there's just a few things she can't include so she's not above stealing someone else's stories.

 

"Oh. How old is she?," Keoke asks Naralen. Hey, maybe someone closer to Keoke's age! She's certainly been around a lot of people older than her, someone around her age would be nice. "Can't say that I disagree with her. I don't like formal clothes either." Yuck, formal stuff. Keoke is /very/ much a tomboy, and it would take a /lot/ to ger _her_ into a dress!

 

Naralen grins, "She's eight."

 

Naralen says, "I'll be sure to introduce you, if you don't run into her in classes."

 

Keoke frowns slightly, but shrugs it off. "Oh." Oh well, it never hurts to ask.

 

"I'm 17, " Taran says.

 

Buroughs waves to the blue rider in the bowl as he proceeds in. Whew. Off the ledge at last.

 

Doing fine? T'lon hasn't done anything -- nothing these folk ought to know about. "Fine for what? Am I doing something at all?" He whirls around to absorb Arilynne, who's also caught him off guard. "Write home? Well--I was just saying, okay, here's what happen, you see," He swallows, gripping his head for a moment to organize himself: "Gaelth, you see -- she's my dragon, well, not really /mine/ I mean I ride her and she's not anyone else's but she gets really upset about posessisveness and she /is/ a woman, but Gaelth, right? Gaelth wanted to come to Ista because she likes Istan blues and it's that time of the, uh, the turn, and I just walked in, right? And then she knows who I am," he circles himself and indicates Caoimhe, "Because of her parents who I don't know but they told her about me I guess, back when people were warning their kids about me but that's /all/ exaggerated, and I don't know who she is and then you came in and that's where I am *now* and honestly I would really love a drink." He's a bit excitable. Excuse him.

 

Naralen smiles at the barrage of words, and answers simply, and silently, offering a half-skin of Benden.

 

Naralen adds, briefly, "It's a bit tart, but it will do."

 

Caoimhe smoothly hands him a glass. "Sit down," she purrs. "Relax." Someone get the man some valium. Excitable doesn't even begin to describe it.

 

Keoke giggles a bit at the dragonrider.

 

Naralen chuckles, as Cao is clearly closer, and keeps the skin to himself, after all.

Arilynne turns her head slightly so she can see Naralen and Keoke, "Who's eight?" Arilynne? Nah, she's sixteen... really. It only seems like she's eight at times. Blink. Blink. T'lon is given a rather odd stare before Aril ventures forth a query, "So Gaelth's a woman who likes blue dragons and she brought you because you know Caoimhe's family and well, you're a good rider?" Somehow she's filtered the greenrider's long speech into that scenario. "Odd."

 

Naralen grins at Arilynne, and explains, "My sister, Nuria. She's eight."

 

Buroughs slips into a seat at the crowded table, and quietly munches. Isn't he always though? He watches the others in silence. noding politly to Naralen, noting his candidate's knot.

 

T 'lon shakes his head rapidly, accepting the skin and pouring its contents (some of them) into the proffered glass he's also suddenly holding. "No, no, you see, Gaelth is my -dragon- and she's green, and she likes Istan blues better than Fort blues, er, some of them, and I don't know Caoimhe's family, at least, I don't think I do but she says they know me, and I guess I'm a good rider, I mean, they say you gotta be good at something and I couldn't ever be a harper." He takes a long drink from the glass, and wipes his mouth with his sleeve. Sadly, he expounds: "I always wanted to be a harper."

 

Keoke wanted to be a harper when she was little. Oh well, she's happy as a weaver apprentice. Better than where she was at least.

 

Naralen smiles, and remarks to T'lon and Creer, "It's not as much fun as you might think. You spend half your time trying to pound teaching ballads into tone-deaf 5-turn olds, I think. And you /don't/ get as many women as you might think, either."

 

Arilynne settles close to T'lon, the conversation getting even more interesting. "And this harper fetish, did it happen to do with your mother and your father?" Dr. Aril Freud at your service. Or not. "So tell me about your childhood." And well, because one can't really be a good head shrink without knowing one's client, Aril introduces herself, "I'm Arilynne, by the way. Healer." Among other things. Aril studying complexes, hrm, isn't that sort of like the blind leading the blind?

 

Keoke look over at Aril. Hey, she's interesting! A little strange, yes, but interesting. Are all healers like that? She glances to Naralen, "Whats your name?" Better not ask about the healer. Its rude to talk about people. Especially when they're right there.

 

T'lon agrees, glancing at Naralen for a moment; he looks awfully familiar and familarly awful. "I lived at the Harper Hall," he explains to both him and Freud over there. "It wasn't a /fetish/," he insists, once more on the defensive. "I was the steward at the Hall for several years. I didn't /want/ harpers, I wanted to be a harper. Healers, though," he smiles, this his one offensive weapon: "Two times I've weyrmated, both to healers, or former healers." Lookout.

 

"Hey, that's right! I remember now - I'm Naralen, by the way." Naralen grins, "Since I started at Harper when I was eight, you likely remember me as more like someone Nuria's age."

 

T'lon shakes his head. "Nah. It's been over sixteen years since I was the steward there." T'lon adds, "I remember who you are, though -- I knew your mother. Kidn of."

 

Keoke grins, "Hi Naralen, niceta meecha. I'm Keokesha-- er," she reminds herself that people always seem to mess up her name anyways. "Keoke, or Keo."

Arilynne is very, very strange. "So this all-consuming need of yours to be a harper stems from expectations while growing up in the Hall?" Aril mulls over T'lon's past before glimmering with his claimed attraction to Healers. "Yes, well we healers are a special lot. Glad you noticed." Flip of the head so shiny locks play briefly in the muted light of the cavern, and then Aril returns to business. "You never did say who you were, though," she points out with a sniff. How rude.

 

T'lon figured she knew. Everyone else seems to. "T'lon. From Fort Weyr. And I didn't grow up in the Harper Hall. I grew up at Ista Hold. Nothing to do with harpers." T'lon remembers why he doesn't live at Ista. The folk are too much for him. "And it's not all-consuming, neither. I'm a dragonrider, and I'm mostly happy as one." There is a loud warble from the bowl. "Entirely happy as one."

 

Naralen says, "Dragons do have a way of re-assigning your priorities, don't they?"

 

"Well met T'lon," she rejoins, the rest of the rider's story having well confused her. Oh muddle, muddle, muddle. Deciding on a nice, safe, non-comment sort of answer, she adds, "And well, that's... um... nice." Puzzled confusion glints out of Aril's hazel eyes, the candidate sorting her thoughts out until a "Ah! I get it now," is emitted followed by a beam in T'lon's direction. "So you're a steward who wanted to be a harper but got conned into being a rider instead!" Ta-da, she can be taught.

 

Naralen finishes his wine, and stands to depart, "Have a pleasant evening, all."

 

Keoke look up. "Going?"

 

Arilynne's glance follows Keoke's up, "Leaving so soon?" Aril'd rather wanted to get to know this newer candidate.

 

T'lon bobs his head, taking another sip from his glass. "Aye," he agrees at last, "Well--not /conned/ into it. I wanted to be a rider. I actually Stood here at Ista once, but Gaelth wouldn't hear of it. I just figured, y'know, all the harpers I knew seemed to enjoy it, but I can't carry a tune in a bucket, and I, I--" He pauses, stops. Narrows his eyes. "Why am I talking so much? Who are you again? Why are you trying to find out about me?" She's working for Them(tm). "What are you after?"

 

Naralen nods, and stretches, "I've got a few things to take care of, and a long day ahead of me tomorrow."

 

Naralen smirks, "Plus, if I don't get to sleep before Bruno starts snoring, I'll /never/ get a decent night's rest!"

 

Well, foo. He was the only person Keoke had to talk to. Sort of. Not like they were /conversing/, per say, but still. At least he noticed ehr existance. It sucks to be a kid, darn it!

 

Naralen shakes his head, "I'd forgotten what a luzury it was to have my own quarters."

 

Naralen heads off to bed. Er, cot. Sleep, at any rate.

 

Arilynne beams confidently at T'lon, "Why, I'm your Healer, which is why you feel ever so comfortable around me." It has nothing to do with Aril's rather non-threatening outlook, nope. "And well, aren't friends supposed to know everything about each other?" Uh-oh, now T'lon's been labelled friend. He should run while he has the chance. "I'd tell you about me, but it's not all that interesting really. You're the one with the complexes." Beam. "Oh, and I'm Arilynne, remember. Air-Rill-Lynne. Just like that."

 

Arilynne looks up from her conversation with T'lon to notice Zaselpha's entrance. Waving the other candidate over to the little group around the greenrider, she returns her attention to the rider, awaiting his reply.

 

"Complex?" T'lon protests too much, methinks. "You're my healer? I haven't been to a healer since, uh. Since, er." Since the last one ran to Telgar to get as far away from T'lon as possible. "That's not important. Let me guess, though;" he squints at Arilynne. "You're either from Ista Weyr or the healer hall itself. You were Searched, probably by a greenrider, but definitely not by a bronzerider, and now you're here, and you're making yourself feel more at home by accosting whichever proddy riders happen to stumble upon your path."

 

Keoke glances to the newcomer. Another candidate, wow.

 

Zaselpha flutters into the Cavern, light footed and near silent if it weren't for the chatter she has going on with someone behind her. But Arilynne is spotted and the once Harper Apprentice and now Candidate patters across in delight. "Ari!" she exclaims, waving exuberantly as she scoots round tables. And the rest get beaming smiles - even though she doesn't know them. Yet.

 

Keoke is here for free food, though never actually got any. Oh well. T'lon and Ari are making an interesting show. Even if it is rude to stare.

 

Arilynne jumps on T'lon's statement like a starving dragon on a helpless wherry, "Exactly, since you don't have a current Healer, I've nominated myself to be yours." Gleam. "And I don't accost proddy riders, so there." Aril oh-so maturely sticks her tongue out at the greenrider, "And I may have been Searched by a green, but that's only 'cause a bronze gave me to her. And," she repeats with a sniff, "I don't accost, I /meet/. There's a difference you know." As Zaselpha joins the group, Aril makes introductions, "Zassie this is T'lon and... and Keokeshala? I talked with you this morning, didn't I?" Aril directs that last question weaver-wards.

 

Keoke blinks. Missed something again! Need to work on that attention-span and memory, too. "Oh.. did you? Maybe. I guess so, since you know my name.. but its just Keo, or Keoke, unless I'm in trouble."

 

Arilynne hums softly to herself at the weavers reply, "Keo then. I like the sound of that."

 

T'lon turns a defensive eye onto a new prospective combatant. "Well met, Zaselpha." Though he keeps Arilynne in his peripheral vision -- never know when she'll strike. "Meet. Right. My apologies. I think I'd prefer most people's definition of 'accosted' though. And besdies," he lowers his voice, "All the best riders were searched by greens." Of course T'lon was. Duh.

 

Keoke grins a bit. /Thats/ new! She's never been told that before. Her name isn't exactly one of her favorite things that her parents gave her. "Thanks."

 

Zaselpha bestows more of that smile on Keo since the Weaver is closer than the greenrider. "Keo. Keoke. Keo Keo Keo." And she repeats it in her sporano, bell like and almost birdlike. "It's lovely. Much nicer than my name." Candidate scampers another step and beams up at T'lon with a certain level of curiosity. "T'lon. Well, I was Searched by a green. A very sensible green though her rider wasn't." Diplomatic? Not very. "Well met, T'lon... You ride a green then?" Green-eyes gaze searched out the knot and Zasy exclaims in satisfaction.

 

Arilynne doesn't strike the wary, only the unwary. "I had thought it was the blue who made the best search dragons," she returns, somehow insulting herself in the process. "And I don't accost, it was just some harmless getting to know you questions, you know, and well, trying to help you out with those complexes you know." Aril adds in an aside to Zaselpha, "T'lon has lots and lots of complexes, I think it's because he's from Fort." Keoke is given a beam, "Ah no worries, I wouldn't have complimented the name if I didn't like it." Aril's not diplomatic that way.

 

Keoke absently wonders if her week could have possibly gone better. Becomming an apprentice, impressing her adorale little firelizards, and now candidates actually talking to her! /And/ they like her name!

 

Ah, there's nothing all that special about candidates, Aril knows. She's one of them. See how low Ista's standards are. "So where do you hail from?" she asks Keo curiously. "I don't think you told me that this morning when I met that rather precocious blue of yours."

 

T'lon drains the glass of wine, and puts the wineskin next to him so he won't be /immediately/ tempted. "I don't /have/ complexes!" He pauses, burps, and insists again: "I don't have /complexes/!" He thumbs his nose at Arilynne. "And I'm -from- Ista Hold. It's Gaelth's from Fort, so nyah." Petty victories, T'lon, over the teenagers. Good man.

 

Keoke hesitates, then sidesteps the question by supplying with the answer, "I'm an apprentice weaver." Well, duh, anyone can see the knot

 

Zaselpha listens somewhere inbetween her own chatter as she hoists herself onto a well-stained table and perches there. Birdlike indeed. "What are complexes?" comes the question, along with a look of puzzled innocence. "But now you come from where your dragon is, T'lon." There. Statement and she beams at him happily. "After all, you don't live at Ista Hold now do you?" Then she swivels in place to eyes Keo. "But where were you from before that?" And as promptly forgets the question with one to Ari: "Ari, I'm famished. What's handy to eat at the moment?"

Arilynne blinks at the nose thumb, rather hurt. Now really, was that all that necessary. "You do," she insists. "You have Healer fetishes and harper complexes not to mention the fact that you think you're proddy." As if Aril can tell, but she's not going to admit she can't. "S'era, now S'era was proddy. She went around sticking ribbons on people today." T'lon only thinks he's won. Two against one always win in the end, overwhelming odds and all that. "Weaver? Perhaps you know Sylla then? She made a wonderful gather dress for me not too long back." Aril, who hasn't been to eat since dinnertime blinks up at Zassie, "I'm not sure. Have you checked out the night hearth, I think all the sweetrolls are gone, but there could be some bread and vegetables left over from dinner."

 

Keoke shakes her head. "No, I don't know her I'm afraid. I'm kinda new there." Whoops, that was a mistake, wasn't supposed to admit that. Too late now.

 

Arilynne winks at Keoke, reading the apprentice's body language easily. "Ah don't worry about it, we were all new somewhere once. Remember Naralen, he's the newest candidate."

 

"I'm not proddy." This is a dangerous area for anyone to enter. T'lon insists: "Gaelth is proddy. That's long since stopped affecting me, you see, I've conquered it." Riiight. "I don't have any /fetishes/. It's purely coincidence that they were healers, and I hardly think anyone can have a 'Harper complex.'"

 

Keoke pipes up, "What /is/ a Harper complex?"

Arilynne rolls her eyes at T'lon, not believing him all together, the rider doth protest too much. "See, complexes," she whispers Zaselpha's direction before smiling and patting the greenrider's hand. "No no, of course not, my mistake," she says sweetly, all too sweetly, in the tone of voice one uses with an ailing auntie who's getting on in her years and doesn't quite remember what's going on around her. "A harper complex," Aril informs Keoke with an officious air, "Is a feeling of inferiority because one wasn't able to become a harper." Just don't ask her to define Healer fetish.

 

Zaselpha has popped of the table, off the find the food. No, not the wizard, the food even if she dances like Dorothy. And got picked up by a cyclone [S'era!] and dumped here in Ista Weyr. "Bread. Veggies. Boring." Oh her voice carries. Always has. Still, she comes back with a plate full of green and a a few large buttered slices of bread. "I've never heard of a Harper complex. Or any complex that people could have." Confused her you did, with this talk of complexes. "Proddy." Said in dismay.

 

"And whats a Healer fetish?" Trust Keoke to ask what she shouldn't.

Arilynne eyes Keoke and grins wickedly, as if she's keeping some big, dark secret. "You're too young to know, you'll find out when you're older." Aril did.

"Inferior?" T'lon's eyes widen quite perceptibly. "Inferior!?! I'll have you know I'm the better of most harpers -- not /all/ of them -- but most. Not when it comes to harpering, but when it comes to other things, like, uh, like," All those things T'lon can do because he has a draon, "Yeah!"

 

Keoke hmfs. She's /always/ too young! Shards, when is she going to be old enough? It's not like she's a /baby/, she's a full twelve turns, almost thirteen!

 

Zaselpha is tiny herself. But she's seventeen so it doesn't count, right? "But harpering is life." she manages round a mouthful of food. "My life anyway. If I'm good at that, I'm good at life." Well, she's forgotten she's a Candidate again. Her life mightn't be harpering. But shush. She doesn't want to know that.

 

Arilynne eeps at T'lon's outburst, looking somewhat shamefaced. "Oh dear, you heard /that/?" Aril tries to quickly think on her feet, not really her forte. "Inferiority isn't anything to be ashamed of," she begins. Is this her idea of smoothing over ruffled feathers. "I mean, you're right, there are all sorts of other things that you can do better than harpers. Just focus on those, T'lon, and then you won't feel so bad about not being one." Aril patpats the greenrider's hand yet again, beaming encouragement. Keoke is given a wink as she advises, "Enjoy your growing years, Keoke. They're gone much too fast, looking back." As if Aril's all that much older than the girl... listen to her spouting advice.

Arilynne darts a look at Zaselpha, tilting her head to indicate T'lon and making a funny face that could be interpreted as Aril trying to indicate that T'lon's rather sensitive on the subject of complexes. "I'll explain later," the healer promises the other candidate, perhaps during one of those late night chat sessions that the candidates frequently participate in.

 

Keoke seems to realize just that, finally. "Hey, but I'm almost as old as you are!"

 

No worse than they feel about not being greenriders," T'lon replies haughtily. Yeah, right. Like any harper worth his weight ever regretted not being a greenrider. "I do -not- have a complex. I can go see harpers whenever I want to. I can have healers whenever I want." He stops; that didn't come out right. "I mean, see healers whenever I, uh. Want." Where's that wineskin...

 

Arilynne shakes her head, "Oh no, I'm 16 turns, you look much younger. How old are you, Keo?" T'lon is frowned at, "Some healers," Aril feels the need to add. "Some of us aren't interested." Patting the rider's hand consolingly again, she nods her head, "Oh yes, and don't you hear me agreeing with you? You're right, you don't have a complex. See, no complex." Pat. Pat. Pat. "There, now don't you feel better?" Leave it to Aril to put a small, avoidance band-aid on such an obvious wound. Or such an obvious perceived wound.

Keoke looks indignant. "I'm almost thirteen."

Arilynne belatedly remembers Keo's age and adds, "There's a lot of development that goes on between the ages of 13 and 16, it's like 10 turns difference mentally for each seperate turn." Or so Aril theorizes, after all, look and see how adult and mature she is. Maturity, thy name is Arilynne. Or not.

 

Zaselpha is still rather quiet, too busy eating though she listens with wide eyes. And fluffy hair - and she winks at Keo. She was 13 once. That's when she apprenticed after all. Fluffy hair. Seems like every few moments now she's eating she needs to drag it from her face. Arilynne gets a -very- confused look. After all, Zasy doesn't think Zasy is mature and Zasy is older than Ari. Hrm.

 

T'lon wasn't asking if they were interested. "I wasn't asking if you were interested," the notion that T'lon would reduce himself to a /sixteen/ turn old. Repugnant. "And there's a lot of development that goes on between sixteen and thirty-s..." Thirty six. No. "Twenty nine," T'lon decides twenty-nine sounds a lot better, "You know. Like, thirteen turns difference mentally, even."

Keoke, insulted, replies sullenly, "I'm a lot more mature than my brother. He's nineteen and acts like my sister, who is ten."

Arilynne sniffs, offended. "Well why not?" Aril asks T'lon, hurt. "I mean some men like younger women. Especially younger teenage women. We're nubile, you know," she adds with a huff. "And well ages don't matter after one's sixteen, after all, one's considered an adult then and therefore on equal terms with those older. At least those who aren't older than thirty," Aril adds upon reconsideration. "You're lucky not to be there yet, T'lon. Once you hit thirty," and here Aril shakes her head sadly, "Well, you might as well reconcile yourself to a life near the hearth with some young person waiting on you to make sure you don't drool all over yourself." Keo is given a beam of approval, "Ah, I see you've noticed that. Women, being far superior, mature faster than men. It's a fact of life really."

 

Keoke pipes up again, "Whats nubile mean?"

 

Zaselpha clears the plate. Yes clears it with her dainty ways. "Ari... That doesn't sound right." Wide eyed, innocent. What is she going to pounce on?

Arilynne casts a guarded glance Keo's way once again, "You'll have to wait until you're older to find out about that, as well." Zassie is given a nod of affirmation, "Oh no, it is right. Documented even." At least in Aril's mind, well document instances. Not that Aril's biased or anything.

T'lonleaps to his feet, livid with wounded pride. "Nubile indeed! Drool! All! Over! Myself!" He gestures dramatically, to no obvious effect. "I'll have you know I've had several perfectly /nubile/ women since I was thirty! As for you, lady -nubile-," T'lon positively drips with Sarcasm. "You'd be fortunate to ever get a second look from anyone, and this comes from a greenrider!" A proddy greenrider. One with a reputation for chasing men, women, squirrels, kitchen utensils, and occasionally even smiths.

Keoke pouts. Life isn't fair. And she thought the candidates liked her! Wont even tell her what a simple word means, grumble-mutter.

 

Arilynne looks rather upset at T'lon's outburst. "What are you so upset about, you're not thirty yet," she returns huffily before she's incited to reply in a tone that matches the riders, "And I'll have you know that I've been with a greenrider, and a bronzerider, and am having a tryst with a bluerider!" My doesn't Aril get around? "So there! You, " she adds haughtily, "Obviously have no taste."

 

"A tryst. OoooOOOO!" T'lon holds up his arms in mock-defeat. "I've been with a bronzerider, a few greenriders, several dozen blueriders, and probably whatsherface's mom!" Only he doesn't remember. Oh wait. Being with someone's mom makes him seem old, doesn't it. "Which bluerider's that? M'ppy?" Or was M'ppy a brownrider. Like T'lon remembers. Just a propensity to leap upon anything that moved.

 

"Aren't bronzeriders guys?" Keoke asks. Maybe she knows what they're talking about after all. She never did say where she's from, and girls have to grow up fast in the more rural places.

 

T'lon answers through his teeth, barred: "NnnnrrgghhYesnnnngrrrh."

Arilynne sticks her tongue out at T'lon again, this time her face squinches up to show her disgust. "Not M'ppy, I don't even know M'ppy. And," she adds, looking rather high and mightly, "I'm not a kiss and tell kinda girl." Which is an all out lie as the rest of Ista Weyr seems to know all about Aril's love life, but that doesn't mean a certain greenrider gets to hear anything juicy. "Anyway, we can't compare conquests, it's not fair. You being so much older than I. You've had a head start... what was that again, a thirteen turn difference?"

 

Arilynne peeks at Keoke again, the poor weaver apprentice getting the same blanket answer as before, "When you're older, Keo, you'll understand."

 

Fifteen turn difference," T'lon observes pointedly before realizing that's not supporting his argument very well. "Well then," he decides he has some ammunition: "It seems like you have a dragonrider fetish. Or was that a complex. I don't remember."

 

T'lon ads, feigning hurt, "Because I'm old, drooling all over myself, I forget these things."

 

"You don't look /that/ old," Keoke supplies. She'll just ignore the candidate who is treating her like she's eight. She's smart enough to figure things out on her own. And Tamany will tell her what nubile means.

Arilynne shakes her head, "But you're not yet thirty, T'lon, you told me so yourself. You're twenty-nine, not yet at the drooling stage," she comforts. "Next year, well, just be happy I prepared you for the worst." It's obvious that math isn't Aril's forte as she shrugs, not even bothering to count the age difference and what those extra couple of turns the greenrider admitted to really mean. "I do not have a fetish," she returns hotly. "I happen to be in a relationship, and he just happens to be a rider who's weyrmated to another rider who's open to new experiences." And if that made sense, you're obviously a mensa member.

 

T'lon folds his arms across his chest, claiming victory. "Yeah. I've heard about those." Translation: He's had several, on either end. "So you're the transition girl. The tool. How's that feel?"

Arilynne blinks, repeating numbly, "Transition girl?"

 

"Whats a transition girl?" Would someone please gag Keoke?

 

T'lon nods sagely, the eternal source of wisdom. "Of course," he explains, "When you're weyrmated to someone but you want out, you usually get a transition girl. Someone who gives you the nerve to get rid of your weyrmate. When you're done, you discard both of them." Or get discarded yourself. "One reminds you of the other, after all."

Arilynne frowns, denial marring her brow. "Oh no, that's not the way our relationship is at all. All three of us are rather attached to one another," which is all Aril's saying about that. "He doesn't want out of his relationship at all, and I don't want him out of it," or so Aril's told herself time and again. "After all, they go well together. I could never forgive myself if I was the cause of a break-up between them." Sniffing, she adds annoyingly, "So see, you don't know everything."

 

"I've heard /that/ before." T'lon just shakes his head sadly. "Well. I hope you are fortunate on the sands, candidate. That way you'll have at least one companion." T'lon sure can pick on women and children, can't he.

 

"That was mean. I don't think you should have said that to her. Aren't dragonriders supposed to be nice to candidates?," Keoke comments.

Arilynne tears, the one relationship she's dependant on becoming unstable right before her eyes. "Well I don't believe you," she denies yet again, tears collecting on feathery lashes as Aril tries to blink them back, pride won't let her cry in front of the mean, mean greenrider. "And you know what, I will Impress, and I'll Impress the best dragon on the Sands." Which isn't saying much as each weyrling is sure that his or her dragon is the best. "That'll show you." Nyah.

 

T'lon didn't anticipate this reaction. But then he ought to have expected that; when you pick on young women, how sweet is victory? "Hey, uhm, listen," T'lon was a wingsecond once. He used to know how to deal with errant occasions. "If you Impress, it will be the best one," he tries that tack: "And, uh, er, I was just sayin' some nonsense, is all, I'm sure yer boyfriend--and your boyfriend's girlfriend, or your boyfriend's boyfriend or your..." Second-cousin-once-removed's-brother "I'm full of it, is really what I'm saying, but what I mean to say I'm Thirty-six."

Arilynne sniffles, peeking through clumped lashes and rubbing her nose. "Thirty-six? What does that have to do with anything," the healer all but wails. Oh yes, she's forgotte how rude she was before, chalk it down to a memory that amazingly sieve-like. Bright eyes peer up at the rider, though, as she chides, "You shouldn't make up things like that. You're a rider, people believe you." Which translates to Aril believed you.

 

"I'm not making it up," T'lon shrugs his shoulders. "But it may not apply to you. I never had any luck with more than one other person--you ask me, one woman's too many. But I 'spose it could work. I'm no expert on successful relationships, kid."

 

Keoke has long since gone silent. What does an apprentice do when a dragonrider is being mean to a candidate, anyways? Or was being mean.

Arilynne sniffles again as she straightens her shoulders to reply, "I'm not a kid. I'm sixteen turns, practically an adult." Wiping away gathered wetness from her eyes, the candidate asks, "Why is one woman too many? Do you like men then?"

 

"He said bronzeriders before," Keoke just has to add, "and blueriders, too."

 

T'lon shakes his head. "Nay -- I mean, well, I /am/ a greenrider," he chortles, mostly to himself. "I mean that my luck with women is hardly worth telling. My last weyrmate ran as far as she could to get away from me. So I do the entire species a favor and don't let myself--" he waves dismissively, "Get involved."

Arilynne lifts a shoulder in reply to Keoke, "Those can be explained by flights." Turning her attention towards T'lon, she asks softly, curiously, "But don't you get lonely?"

 

T'lon stiffens. Somehow she's winning. "Don't you have chores to do?" He asks pointedly, turning his attention to the wineskin. He doesn't get lonely; he's thirty six, he can just drool all day.

**Aril was disconnected here and couldn’t get back on, sigh**