Firestones

[-IstaLC-] Kr'lin wraps an arm around Fiora and gives her side a gentle squeeze, "Thanks, love. I'm sure Mesopha is quite sorry for what happened." He knows he is. Eww!! "Besides, you could have come to my rescue."

[-IstaLC-] Maralia snorts at Kr'lin and says . "I wonder what he would hae done if it were someone else that had come to his resucue." leaving it that, before she begins playing with the rapidly cooling food n her plate.

[-IstaLC-] Mesopha hears, and finally decides that silence is no longer an option. Standing up abruptly, she turns on the two, and looking very apologetically at Kr'lin, she says in a low voice. "I am /not/ sorry about what happened. /I/ didn't /do/ anything." she waits for one of them to dispute her, eyes blazing.

[-IstaLC-] Fiora intones, "Spare the rod and spoil the child." even as she sways into that hug and nuzzles at her weyrmate's neck. "No lesson is learned if the punishment is softened." So saying, she nips him sharply. "Besides, Saironth would have told me if you were seriously injured." In the midst of what could possibly have been the beginnings of a public necking session, Fi's contration is ruptured. She turns and blinks eyes gone bedroom dark. She asks, "You did not do what my dear?" all condescending like.

Azarin
At a height of nearly 5'10 this young man is hardly one of the shortest people on Pern. His cool gray eyes look out from underneath dark, straight eyebrows. A fairly straight narrow nose lies right in the middle of his face, a minute scar on one side only perceivable because it is lighter than his tanned skin. High cheekbones make his cheeks look hallow, giving him an almost gaunt appearance, which his sharp chin does nothing to amend. Wiry muscles of arm and leg, and a slim overall figure gives him an rather menacing look, though the light in his eyes is quick to turn warm. Dark hair, growing longer again after a brief encounter with shortness, falls limply around his ears and across his eyes, a constant annoyance that he will not admit to.
A simple knot of three cords twisted together hangs from his left shoulder. Orange, black and white announces him to be a Candidate at Ista Weyr.
The sleeves have been ruthlessly ripped off Aza's maroon tunic, to account for the heat of the Istan summer. Open at the neck, it shows a bit of a nearly hairless chest, tanned from hours spent in the sun (without a shirt). His trousers are in no better shape. Black-dyed canvas has been cut off just above the knees, the loose strands of thread caressing his bronzed thighs. Held tightly to his long feet by black leather straps are thick-soled sandals, well worn and scratched several places.
Azarin is 19 Turns, 8 months, and 16 days old.
He is awake and looks alert.

Living Cavern (#2070J)
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.
Mesopha, Maralia, Fiora, and Kr'lin are here.
Obvious exits:
Bowl Kitchen Lower Caverns

Kr'lin waves a hand at Mesopha as he tries to get his arms around Fiora again, either to hold her back, or hopefully placate her some, "Shhhh, we don't need to go into this again, please?" He's pleading now. Isn't that cute.

"C'mon, Marly," Azarin mutters, dragging the resistant mutt behind him toward the Bowl, eyes darting here and there, hoping that the canine's owner is nowhere in sight. And hoping no one notices that the mutt is dripping water all over the floor as they move along the shadows.

Maralia smirks as she watches Kr'lin squirm almost, yes squirm two hostile women and Kr'lin, this could be interesting. In attempt to draw Mesophas attention to another subject Mara says "Mesopha did you find the baby things that I had a drudge leae for you at your weyr?"

Oh, boy, that did it. Meso goes into her Wingsecond stance, the grating politeness she assumes when pissed. After all, she has more right to be condescending than /this/ trollop does. "Forgive me, I wasn't clear. Your weyrmate implied that I was /sorry/ for what happened. Well, in fact, I have nothing to be sorry about. If you'll forgive me for saying so, /you/ two are the only ones to blame for any of the friction that has occured since Kr'lin and I had our...'liason', so to speak." she curtly turns her head to Kr'lin, and smiles wanly. "I think it's apparent we /must/ go into this again, as your Weyrmate still has not been made aware of the details involving what 'happened'. I can only assume it is because you have failed to /make/ her aware. Better for her to hate /me/, isn't it? Easier, too. The only person she has any right to treat in this callous manner is /you/." she crosses her arms, all authority and sensibility. Klari taught her good!

Maralia
She is a fairly tall, athleticly thin and leggy blonde. Her blonde hair falls to just above her waist in a tightly woven braide bound with a strip of leather at the end. She has eyes that are an unusual blend of blue and green, and they sparkle like the waters of the lakes on a sunny day.
On her shoulder is a neatly tied knot, of a single white cord twisted with cords of black and orange, showing that she is a current candidate at Ista Weyr.
Black work pants encase her long legs, before the hems disappear into the tops of her boots. A, somewhat faded blue, mid-weight shirt hugs her upper body and is tucked into the waistband of her pants. On her dainty feet are heavy well cared for leather boots. Over the top of her clothing, she wears a somewhat bulky leather work coat, the hood of which she keeps drawn about her head and face when out of doors. The whole outfit is very warm for such weather, but the coat gives her a bit of a childish look. What she wears may be faded and worn looking, but is well mended and cared for.
Maralia is 18 Turns, 7 months, and 14 days old.
She is awake, but has been staring off into space for 2 minutes.

Mesopha
Tall and lanky, Mesopha isn't much to look at as far as her form is concerned; her narrow hips and almost boyishly flat chest leave a tad bit to be desired in that department. But there is an undeniable grace that taints her walk, giving her a confident swagger that suggests a past experience with runners. Well toned muscles shift quite nicely in her arms and legs when she moves, affirming the vigorous activity being a dragonrider entails you to. Impossibly vermillion curls frame her face with crisp ringlets of flame, bringing out the color in her vibrant emerald eyes and deepening her freckles, which, at the moment, are in abundance due to summer sun. Wild and impetuous, she is the uintessential red-head, with little care for more than the finer things in life; fun, wine, and friends. All of the above, and all in excess!
On her right shoulder is the intricate orange and brown loop of a Wingsecond at Ista Weyr, a brown streak intertwining to indicate the color of her lifemate.
She is wearing a bright saffron halter top with an embroidered firelizard on the front. You can glimpse at a strip of pale midriff, which is adorned with a silver chain. Her light grey pants hug her hips and thighs, and flare out from her knees to cover scuffed brown boots. Her impossibly vermillion curls are pulled back from her face in a half-hearted bun, with wild tendrils escaping here and there. Daedra is curled around the back of Mesopha's neck, her head poking out through vermillion curls as she measures you with a calculating eye.
Mesopha is 29 Turns, 1 month, and 19 days old.
She is awake and looks alert.
Carrying:
Vile Vial
Daedra
Brighter, sunnier...heck, even giddier.

Fiora hisses (yes hisses. it's a girl thing) at the glaring Mesopha. "Don't get your knot in a knot Mesopha. And do go all authority on me either!" Good thing Kr'lin's still hanging on eh? "I know what happened in there. Kr'lin and I have settled that. But it takes two to twist and you're just as much at fault as he was. You /know/ he's my weyrmate and it's not like you can even blame your dragons. So just...just *sputter..sputter* ..get over yourself!"

Fiora
Sun-streaked hair of deepest auburn frames a face of high cheekbones and stubborn chin; as shining eyes, the color of a Lemosian forest, peer from either side of a rather freckled nose. The fit and slender lines of her five and a half foot frame are still there though rather rounded now with the gentle curves of feminine maturity. There is usually a smile playing around her mouth. Whether in amusement at the life she observes around her or in a sort of sultry invitation is hard to tell. You'll have to approach her and find out.
The deep coral of Ista, trimmed in black - it could be pride or it could be what's-on-top convenience that caused Fiora to choose this particular shirt today. Either way, she is at least coordinated, sporting black shorts and a wherry-hide belt. Thin but sturdy material speaks of comfort and ease. Her soft shirt billows in the slightest breeze and hardy shorts protect, even during the most rigorous supply cave search. Summer-light sandals are strapped to her feet. Mingh peeks coyly over the top of Fiora's head.
Fiora is 31 Turns, 10 months, and 13 days old.
She is awake and looks alert.
Carrying:
Mingh
Proddy and loving it!

Kr'lin tries to reposition himself between the two women. His attention is on Fiora now, not even giving Mesopha a second look, "Fiora, it's alright. She can blame me for what happened. Considering what happened, I doubt you have to worry about her anyways." He offers her a pleading look. Then, as a distraction, "More wine, love? I'll calm you down some."

Azarin trails, steps slowing as he notices the commotion over there. Lifting an eyebrow he forget about the dripping canine as he leans against the wall, trying to catch on to what's going on. He'll just stay back here and watch. No need for a lowly candidate to get involved. Even if he dared to..

Kr'lin
You see nothing special.
Firmly fasted to his shoulder is the black and orange knot of a Ista Weyr Wingleader. Apparently lacking is the strand denoting his lifemate's color, but upon closer inspection, one of the strands of black, glistens with the soft touch of blue.
On homage to his lifemate bests describes this set of leathers. Either that, or Kr'lin is into blending in, either way, the leathers are a mottled adaption of his lifemate's hue. Black at first glance, but flashes of blue glint off the hide as different angles are offered to light. The only true color present on the trous is a consolation to his weyr, a burnt orange piping up the sides. The jacket itself is lined in fleece to counteract the bite of between, yet light enough to allow for the sweltering heat of Istan summers. Emblazened upon the jacket's back is the symbol of his wing, a phoenix rising over the outline of the Weyr.
Kr'lin is 30 Turns, 1 month, and 26 days old.
We is awake, but has been staring off into space for a minute.

Mesopha doesn't even so much as turn red. She hold a hand up to Kr'lin, and calmly shaking her head, without a hint of amger in her tone, she replies, "I actually did /not/ know you two were still together, as Kr'lin should have told you. If I had, it would never have happened, as Kr'lin /also/ should have told you. Furthermore, I suggest /you/ are the one who needs to get over herself, as I haven't sunk to retaliation, while you deemed it necessary to put dung in my bed. Before hearing /my/ side, I might add." she looks frustrated and rather...well...dissapointed. She pauses to let her words sink in, giving Maralia a 'give me a minute' smile.

Maralia watches "Mesopha can I get anything, some fruit, or juice, anything at all?" it's evident that the girl is for once trying to help Kr'lin out by trying to distract the other woman she goes on to say "I made your baby some really cute things in my spare time, all of it could be worn by a girl or a boy"

Fiora's first reply to that is a laugh. "Enjoyed that did you?" Note she's not /even/ going to deny anything. "Well since you say you know now, I'll assume we won't have to have this conversation again, will we?" Get the feeling she's including Kr'lin in that question? "He's mine and sharing my weyr now..hear?"

Kr'lin gives Mesopha a curious look, "What do you mean you didn't know Fiora was my weyrmate? You told me when I went up to your weyr to apologize that you had known she was, but did not think we had an exclusive relationship?" Don't mind Kr'lin, he's going to be tossing gasoline on the fire. That said, it's back to Fiora for some placating, "Never fear, love. It won't happen again." Hopefully.

"Marly! Don't /do/ that!" Azarin yells, suddenly and without warning as the canine pulls at her lead chasing after something darting through the shadows. Tripping over his feet, the candidate falls flat on his face, looking up to see the canine escape across the floor toward the kitchens. "Maarlyyy!" Why is it that that canine always escapes him?

*Sigh* Mesopha chuckles dryly. "Forgive me if he doesn't 'do' it for me like he does you. The fact that you even find me to be a threat is preposterous. But I agree. Unless I have good reason to renew the argument, this conversation is over." and she turns on her bootheel to sit back down with Maralia, looking as calm as though nothing had happened.

Maralia smiles at Mesopha "I do hope you found the stuff that the drudge brought up, it turned out really cute."

Fiora sniffs. "Threat schmett. I just get tired of clinging pests." But this is all said as she, too, turns away, giving in to Kr'lin's urgings. As she does so she spots several of the current crop of candidates and begins smiling. "Kr'lin, do you still have that bag of firestone over by the door to the lower caverns?" she ask suddenly.

Tamyka has arrived.

Kr'lin blinks a few times at Fiora, "Firestone? Umm.. Hmm.. I don't know.." He looks confused a few more times, "Why do you ask, love?" The confusion is intermixed with a rather pleased look at Fiora's moving on from Mesopha.

Azarin scrambles to his feet, rubbing sore knees as he limps toward the kitchens in search of the runaway canine. "Marly, get back here! I still have to brush you," he yells, his interest in the commotion vanished as he goes on the hunt. Yells from the kitchens doesn't promise Good Things and the canine appears again, a baker on her tail yielding a broom. "Who's responsible for this mutt?" Baker asks, his face flushed with anger as he searches the face of those in the cavern, being especially interested in the candidates. Candidates were always responsible for trouble, y'know?

Fiora answers as she goes to get the bag. "I've got a lesson in mind for the candidates." *she winks* "They're first firestone lesson." She grabs the bag and comes back, raising her voice. "Candidates for the eggs now on Ista's sands!! Come closer, I've got something to show and teach you. Your first lesson on the way to becoming an Istan dragonrider."

Tamyka waddles in, petite form mostly hidden by the large box she carries in from the lower caverns. Mumbling something about dust and dirt, the candidate drops the box near the corner of the caverns and then procedes by triple sneezing. Those storage caverns - Man, they're quite dusty. Regaining what form of composure she had before, the young woman turns to rest her gaze upon Fiora and Kr'lin, a frown pulling at the corners of her lips. Aren't they a cute pair. Meh. As Fiora calls the candidates closer to her, Tamyka stays behind at least six other girls, preferring to stay a good bit away from the greenrider. No more freak accidents for this former healer apprentice.

Kr'lin eyes Fiora with some curiosity, but, as long as she isn't throwing down with Mesopha, he's happy. "Firestone lesson? Heh. Going to put them to work bagging firestone?" As if they didn't have enough chores, but, hey. It's all good.

B'roughs enters from the Weyr's bowl, outside.

Maralia looks distracted.
Maralia has disconnected.

Fiora grins, "Even better." She hefts the bag atop a table and spills several pieces of stone out. "Okay..everybody listening?"

Tamyka sneezes only a couple times more before watery eyes fall upon the greenriding Fiora, awaiting whatever lesson the woman is going to force upon her now. "Yes, Ma'am... Listening."

B'roughs
The years have added height to him. While not towering, he is tall, and his muscles have filled out. He will never be bulky, but the hard wire of his spare frame indicates a power, mere bulk cannot guarantee. His shock of buff colored curls hang in disarray upon his head. Three or four locks persistently hang in his gold eyes. His youthful features have sharpened over time, even more reminiscent of the Viking raiders that roamed the oceans of Earth, proud, noble, and fierce. A perpetual smile keeps his features from becoming harsh or intimidating.
Orange and black twine, and as if that weren't gaudy enough, a thread of indigo traces through the Wingleader's knot.
Brilliance lacks all subtlety: cloth-of-gold, golden thread, and rubies incarnate a griffon rampant on glossy black wherhide. The beast's hooked beak screams soundless fury from the riding jacket's left breast; ruby chips pick out its smouldering eyes and the raptor's talons raking the left wrist. Around the jacket collar and shoulders sweep wide-feathered wings which merge with the lean feline haunches and hind paws sleeking down the spine to a ruby-clawed brace at the right hip's hem. The griffon's tail, tufted and ruddered with blunter feathers, lashes around the jacket's right front pocket, reflecting the golden knotwork writhing along the outer seams of taut trousers and boots that ground imperious fire in tough, stolid black.
B'roughs is 29 Turns, 3 months, and 11 days old.
He is awake, but has been staring off into space for a minute.

Fiora nods succinctly, and waits for replies from the rest of the group. "Listen up people. This is important!"

B'roughs strides into the Living caverns still studying the hide he was working on when he left his rooms. Not really paying attention to anything going on around him. At least not for now. He blinks and looks up at the 'listen up' comment and ohs softly as he sees Fiora with a group of candidates. Alter drift to port, all systems go, Curiostiy at full throtal. All hands to stations.

All Azarin hears is something about firestone as he chases after Marly, darting between tables and chairs trying to grap hold of the mutt's lead. Not really watching anything but the canine and her lead, going for the exit and he speeds up, until he's brutally stopped by a person getting in his way. Looking up to see who's there, his face flushes as he identifies the rider's knot as being that of a wingleader. "Sorry, sir.. " he mutters, looking around the rider to see Marly escape to the Bowl. *sigh* Fiora's yell makes him turn to watch her for a moment, then his gaze is back at B'rough's. "I think she's got something to say..."

Fiora clears her throat. *Ahem* "Okay, this is an important step in being a candidate. I'm lucky I have so many of you here just now because I've been looking for a time to do this." She hefts a couple of chunks of firestone. Nothing big. About the size of a largish bite of apple or so. "This.." holding it high "..is firstone. The rock that our dragons *a significant pause* and hopefully /your/ dragons will chew to produce flame. I'm sure you've seen it around the bowl, yes?"

Rahmoad drags a chair with him across the floor, turning it 'round to sit on it back to front, leaning his elbows on the backrest as he watches Fiora with uninterested eyes. He's done this before. No real need to listen, is there? Grinning slightly, he opens his mouth to say something, but thinks twice about it and shuts it again. No reason to get in trouble either.

Tamyka creeps her way around the circle that's managed to form around Fiora, keeping low behind rows and rows of her fellow candidates. Reaching a place where she can watch Azarin and the man whom he just ran into. Glancing toward the males, the young woman shakes her head, then looks toward Fiora. /Tamyka/ hasn't seen firestone in the bowls, but it's not as if she was specifically looking for it, either. But get to the point already, woman! There are some sandals to be inspected.

B'roughs chuckles at Azarin. "Don't worry about it, go pay attention to the lesson." He arches an eyebrow at Fiora, though, and watches curiously, gingerly rolling the hind and then resting his hands behind his back, face completely devoid of expression. It just wouldn't do for a Wingleader to be seen making faces at one of his wingmen... er women?

Azarin creeps away from the wingleader, bowing sligthly as an apology moving in the general direction of the 'class', glancing now and then toward the Bowl to see if he can spot Marly out there. "Thank you, sir," he says as he joins the group, turning his full attention onto Fiora and the firestones.

Fiora tosses chunks of the stone to each candidate. Both Tamyka and Azarin get a piece. It's black and kinda lumpy like coal. And it smells fairly wretched. Not nearly as bad as /bad/ firestone (that's the soft yellow and brown kind) but bad enough. It's a dull black stuff. "Everybody get some?" she asks, raising her voice to be heard. "Good..now everyone pop it in your mouth and have a chew."

Rahmoad almost raises his hand to let Fiora know that he's not received a piece, but her next sentence makes him draw back, smirking that he's been exempted (sp) from /that/ humiliation. Grinning at Azarin and Tamyka, the look in the candidate's eyes is triumphant. Hah!

B'roughs is not going to choke. He is not going to laugh. He' just going to stand there, except for one thing. "Remember do /not/ swollow. Hold it in your mouths." He glares at Fiora, if she suggests he demonstrait she's going to be on double sweeps for a month.

Tamyka turns the small firestone chunk about in her hand, fingers gingerly pressing against the piece with each turn. Eying the two girls in front of her, both of whom who shove the piece into their mouths, and then lowers gray orbs to her own chunk. Frowning, the young woman brings the bit to her lips and takes a small bite, letting the larger portion of the firestone fall to the floor. Chewing carefully, Tamyka gags... This isn't pleasant at all.

"Chew?!" Azarin exclaims, looking suspiciously at the piece of rock in his hands, then up at Fiora and sideways at Tamyka. "It can't be good for ya, can it?" Even so, he raises the firestone to his nose, having a sniff at it, which makes his face contort with disgust. He'll just wait a moment until Fiora assures him that it's really safe to eat this stuff..

Fiora nods. "Cleans your teeth" she tells the doubters in the group. "And it's a test of just how -much- you want to be a rider. A good rider knows /everything/ about his or her dragon. Their health and their thoughts and a good rider shares in all that their dragon does. Our job, as senior riders, is to see that only the best and most willing candidates are presented for Ista's eggs. So to that end, today we will learn to chew firestone...tomorrow we go to the feeding pens. Paniliath has volunteered to bring us down a nice fat herdbeast for step two in the testing."

Kr'lin returns from wherever it is that he went and moves up next to Fiora, "So, what are you up to, love?" He eyes the candidates curiously. Something strange is going on.

If that's the case... Giving Rahmoad a challenging glance Azarin pops the rock into his mouth, grimacing at the taste and squeezing his eyes shut as he tries to actually chew it. Managing to break it in half, he chokes, coughing as he doubles over, hands on knees and head hanging between his heaving shoulders. Also doubling over is Rahmoad, though for an entirely different reason. Laughter. /He/ had not fallen into /that/ trap of a practical joke of the riders'.

Tamyka's eyes widen suddenly at the mention of Paniliath bringing down a herdbeast for the candidates. One second, two seconds, three seconds and the candidate spits the small amount of firestone back into her hand. If it comes to chewing firestone and being near freshly killed beasts, Tamyka would rather be a healer. She isn't about to put her health into jeopardy for a couple of dragon eggs, and being a healer, she knows that this stuff can't be too healthy for the human population of Pern. Running her tongue over her teeth, the girl spats out the remains of any pieces of firestone. Healer Hall, Tamyka is destined to join you again.

B'roughs shakes his head trying to catch Fiora's eyes. There was such a thing as going too far. Making them watch dragons eat was one thing, making them actually eat what the dragons do was something else entirely.

Fiora blithely winks in B'rough's direction and beams at the attentive and grimacing weyrlings. "Everyone get a good chew?" she asks, biting her lower lip to keep from smiling. "Everyone eager to join me at the pens tomorrow?"

B'roughs frowns slightly and makes a mental note to be sure he's there at the pens tomorrow, just in case. "I believe there are buckets over to one side... you may spit out the remains. Dragons do." Well, not entirely accurate but close enough.

Kr'lin just shakes his head as the Candidates are actually chewing on the stuff. He's not going to say anything, he's just going to smile. That's it.. Smile.. He won't laugh.. He won't. That just wouldn't be right. He's not going to laugh. *snort* Err.. Allergies.. Allergies.

Azarin would do it. Could do. Had done it. Eat raw meat. So that idea doesn't throw the candidate an inch, and he shoot a grin at Fiora to let her know that that wasn't a problem. Wiping choke-tears from his eyes, he glances at Tamyka, giving her a reassuring smile, while the disgusted-looking Rahmoad only gets a crooked grin. "Permission to go chase Marly, ma'am?" he asks, his voice raw, waving a hand toward the Bowl. "'fore she gets herself too dirty?"

Fiora releases the candidate with a wave. "Go get your canine Azarin. Best if you find a home for the beast if you impress though. Dragonets are hungry those first few weeks. Wee beggars'll eat /anything/." She looks at Tamyka. "You finished too? There, just spit it in that bucket right there. That goes for all of you. You must remember to regurgitate the ash...er..stone." As they file out, she's barely keeping from laughing, and has to hold on to Kr'lin's hand. "See you at the pens bright and early eh?"

Kr'lin shakes his head a few times again, "And don't breathe next to open flames.. Trust me.. Bad things happen.. Bad things." You've heard of dragonbreath.. But, have you seen it? :) *woosh* He squeezes Fiora's hand, giving her an amused look, "That was awful nice of you, love. Giving the candidates a heads up on that." *chuckle*

"Marly's not mine..." Azarin says, with a surprise tone in his voice, blinking at the rider with a confused look on his face. "It's Tapau's. She's just had me walk her, feed her, brush her, wash her..." And so on and so forth. Glancing back toward the Bowl, he nods, then bows, making a quick detour to the sidetable for a drink of water before darting outside to get that mutt. "See you there," he calls, waving to the riders, sounding as if he's actually looking forward to that meeting at the pens.

You walk out of the Living Caverns into the bowl.

*** Disconnected ***

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