Fort Weyr - Living Caverns
This cavern, having been created by bubbles in the volcanic flow of this extinct volcano, has a breathtaking ceiling — a vast dome that arches high above the heads of the weyrfolk that scurry around beneath it. A hollow echo can be heard from loud enough noises, and the chatterings of various firelizards are consequently multiplied into a chaotic babble. All in all, the living cavern is a loud place.
Tables are scattered around the room, apparently in no particular order. Over to one side near the kitchens, two medium sized serving tables are constantly spread with snacks, klah, and other goodies. The tables look worn, yet perfectly fitted to the atmosphere of the caverns. In the 'corners' of the cavern, smaller two and four place tables are set up for more private talks or just a less chaotic atmosphere in which to eat.
C'rus makes his way into the cavern in search of that all important meal of the day: Dinner! Yes it's dinner time at Fort. Spring is in full swing, and the weather is a fair spot better than it has been in a very long time. As he enters the cavern he does a quick scan around the place to see hwo is here and who isn't. That completed he makes his way over to the all important tables holding the various items that are being served for dinner. This evening looks like a fine selection of redfin, pasta salad, and corn. This meets his needs well enough so he picks up a plate and piles it on. At the end of the table he grabs a glass of cider for himself and proceeds across the way to find a table to sit.
Rayathess has long since raided the serving tables if the empty plate on his table is any sort of hint. The Journeyman Harper has tucked himself away at one of the quieter tables and a few hides spread out in front of him, along with a small rough bound journal in which he scribbles a few notes. Or is he doodling? Looks to be a bit of both (and no, he is no artist). His hair, which has grown a bit shaggy, sticks up on one side from where his hand occasionally rests, fingers running through it in an idle sort of gesture. So absorbed is he, he doesn't really take note of his surroundings which is a definite change in the man.
"I'm putting these down and then I am /taking/ my night /off/!" Lucy pushes out of the food prep area, balancing a stack of loaded platters along one arm and a pair of tongs in the other. Skillfully she refills the fast-emptying dishes on the table, grumbling under her breath the whole time. Slapping a last few fillets on the redfin plate, she takes the empty platters back into the prep area, then re-emerges with a mug of cider and a shout of "I'm not even supposed to /be/ here today!" at whatever poor souls are still back there.
Abigail has had a long day of sweeps, now though she is making her way on into the Cavern and is meaning to enjoy a bit of time to herself it seems. She moves on to grab a mug of klah before she will even think about looking for a seat. A curious look is sent towards Lucy, a brow lifting while she sips at her mug. So much for a quiet night it seems.
Beyrl follows the crowd, that flow like a river running into the common area for the day. And on the menu, ironically perhaps, is food. Specially made for eventide dining. He fingers one of the history tomes he holds with one hand, and glances around the place with interest. People everywhere, a story for each one, a tapestry weave of lives for the group, connected and otherwise. For now though, he focuses on the fare served tonight. Never the picky one, he moves over, uses the book to carry the tray, and uses the tray to carry the edibles. An efficient method, if not slightly disrespectful to the book, though his other choice would be the spillage of perfectly good food, so he's careful with both. Before he has a chance to locate a seat, the mutterings of a random occupant of the kitchen catches his ear. He grins lightly at her current story, a predicament he's found himself in many times. Now to locate a seat. He looks about, and spots an empty chair. It calls to him, he thinks, for it sits not entirely on the outside of the feeding area, but somewhat inside where he can watch going-ons and interactions between fates. He settles into the chair, carefully seperating book and plate, then gives a nod polite to the gentleman sitting near. One who's name he doesn't know of yet, but if chance is kind, will soon know it as C'rus. "Good eventide and salutations." he offers, before taking that first bite, savoring the flavor it offers.
"So… why are you here today? And who are you, for that matter?" is asked in a reasonably-polite sort of tone, by the near-stranger wearing the Master Weaver of Fort Weyr knot on his shoulder. (Something of a looker, if you like the hints-that-he's-turning-into-a-silver-fox type.) He's standing not so far from Lucy's refilling trays of nibbles, for all that he doesn't seem to have decided, yet, what he's going to nibble on — or if, for that matter, it isn't even really snack time at the moment.
It seems that this is a very popular time to be having dinner! He offers something of a wave to Raya, though given that he is a ways off it seems unlikely that he will be noticed. A glance is sent to Lucy, who is apparently not supposed to be here today, and to Brebain as well. So many people that he hasn't met before. Fort just keeps getting bigger all the time. His gaze then settles on someone considerably more near to him and from the sound of it, rather friendly. He can tell from the fancy words that this man is a talker. It would probably be in his best interest to not engage, though C'rus is a glutton for punishment and so gives him a polite nod of his head and says, "Hello." he says and then goes right back to eating.
Lucy pauses to rummage behind one of the food tables, holding her cider well clear, and fishes out a worn rucksack with a welter of wooden knitting needles sticking out the top. "I'm…oops, mind the sharp bits…I'm here because /someone/-" The dark-haired girl gives the kitchen entry in general a dark look, "-messed up the schedule tonight. But I'm done here. /So/ done." So done that she stays right there, leaning a hip on the nearest table and taking a sip from her cider mug before adding, "Lucy. Kitchen help." Glancing past Brebain for a moment, she recognizes Abigail and lifts her hand in a little wave.
Rayathess looks up from his work when Lucy announces her wrong-doing by someone's lack of proper schedule management. He smirks, though whether amused by her predicament or for some other reason, that remains unknown. "You should ask for compensation for the mix up," he mutters, though whether or not Lucy hears, he doesn't wait to see. His attention shifts to C'rus, to whom he nods in return after catching that wave. Yes, he saw and only because his concentration has now been sufficiently broken. With a quiet exhale, he'll close his journal and begin to meticulously fold the hides in preparation to tuck them away. No sense to keep at it if there's distractions at foot! Even if it means people watching (and yes, it's a guilty pleasure of his).
Abigail nods to Lucy at the wave while she turns to move on over to a seat and settles down upon it, just so happen to be at the same table that C'rus is at. "Hello C'rus." Is offered wiht a curious look sent to a few she's not seen before, though she isn't going about speaking them just yet. Don't mind the Wingleader she is just on the tired side.
Beyrl glances up with eyes only to the one to which offered him a response in return. Short, terse, though polite enough. On consideration that's altered to 'not impolite'. Neutral answer, and focus on food. These thoughts run through his mind like random streams, all attempting to form the river in which the other's story flows. The secret is finding which way that river meanders, and to what destination it seeks. After satisfying his (some people might say) underdeveloped palate, he gives a smile to go with the words, and attempts friendly discorse with the one who's attention was caught. "I am known of the name Beyrl. May I perchance inquire the name of he whom I have met at such a pleasant gathering as this?" A moment later has him taking a sip of cider, to portray patience in the expectation of an answer.
Brebain refrains from any of the obvious thoughts running through his mind, which tend to be variations on 'well, not THAT much help, apparently', and instead offers a simple, diplomatic, "I'm terribly sorry that you've been inconvenienced." Whether or not it's because he's had so much practice, it does sound very sincere! "I know you're not on duty, now," he adds, "but — are you willing to tell me what's worth trying? I'm fairly new, here."
C'rus watches Abby for a moment, there does seem to be something going on with her, "Hi Abby. You doing alright? Twins keeping you up?" he asks. Parenting babies, and having a full time job as she does would keep a person more than busy, "Hopefully all is well." Though if it isn't he'll likely hear about it. He finishes off his redfin and proceeds onward towar the pasta. When Beyrl speaks once more he returns his gaze and offers him a slight smile, "I'm C'rus." he replies simply enough. Though he does sense an opportunity here that he can't completely pass up, "I'm going to go out on a limb and say you are new here." He doesn't really give him time to respond before he continues, "Welcome to Fort, and allow me to introduce Wingleader Abigail." he motions toward Abby.
Lucy does hear Rayathess, and his answer, though he doesn't wait for it, is a silvery cascade of laughter at the idea of, "Compensation. Yeah, when herdbeasts fly." A quick bright flash of a grin, then she arches an eyebrow at Brebain, perhaps suspicious of his smooth diplomacy. Her only reply though is an answer to his question. "Pasta salad's good. The redfin's probably a little overdone." How she might know this, she doesn't share, and alas, it's too late to spare C'rus. The girl pauses to fidget through her bag, pulling out a ball of bright red wool, and sets to winding up the end that's gotten loose. "I'm fairly new here myself," she shares.
"Ever been around the pens at flights? Herdbeasts do fly. Try then, maybe?" Rayathess may not have complete focus on Lucy, but he'll hear that silvery laughter and be unable to resist to quip of a dry response in return. Perhaps to be a further thorn in her (or anyone's) side as is his usual behaviour on first meetings, he'll counter her review ever so slightly. "Redfin wasn't so bad. Given there's been a shortage… How long now? Probably the first caught of the season." There's a shrug of his shoulders and his eyes focus on a new 'target', which he recognizes easily enough just by his speech. "Ah, Apprentice Beyrl. So you did find your way to the Weyr at last?" Rayathess has no doubt crossed paths at times with the other Harper, a common passing by or even a brief moment where they worked on similar projects.
Abigail hums softly as she ehars C'rus and glances over to him, a soft smile is seen. "I'm alright… Aye they be keeping me up when I have 'em." This said with a slight shake of her head. Twins will do such a thing after all. She looks up to the talk of her name being given to another and a nod is soon seen once more. "Afternoon." This said with a friendly tone before she is sipping there at her drink.
Brebain also hears Rayathess, even if he doesn't actually know who the mouthy guy in back is, and stifles a laugh at that. It's really more of a cough, right? "I'm not actually all that fond of fish, anyway," he murmurs, "and I think I haven't been lacking it in my diet as much as some — pasta salad might not be bad, though." Assuming there's any of it left by the time he finds a plate, anyway.
Beyrl says "A rather pleasant meeting I'm glad to be part of, C'rus." That is, of unfortunate timing, all he can get out before C'rus speaks once more. About to answer the question of being new, he once again meets a dead-end in timing, and is instead introduced to Abigail. He first affirms the state of his presence here before moving onto a more lovely to-be aquantance. "I did arrived just half a fortnight ago." he tells C'rus, then offers Abigail a smile more gentlemanly, reserved for the fairer sex. "Greetings to you as well. Abigail, a name lovely to suit such a fair one as yourself." He's about to get back to C'rus, his attention thus split, when it splinters even further from yet another that calls to his attention. Turning gaze toward Raya, his eyes light up in recognition. "Journeyman Raya, a wonderous night it has been, to meet an aquantance former in this place. I am pleased to see you well. I did find my way here, after so much time, though you well know my studies have kept me busy many a turn. Have you faired well here at this Fort?" he inquires with some curiousness. "A bit of time has passed since our last meeting, which if memory serves me well, was on our last project." A rather brief consideration is done before he adds, "I am in the process of searching for a journeyman to assist, offering what use I may be around here." he says, offering his services discretely."
Oh no, the living caverns are … crowded. Really crowded. That isn't a good sign for Inri, who is just sneaking in to try to get something to eat. She appears perfectly calm, collected and normal, but the fact she's not shoving herself into the conversation is that first sign of twitchiness that is coming with her dragon's faint glow. Likely not everyone in the caverns has noticed it; likely most of them haven't, as it's only just started, but it's — enough that Inri's selection of the food is more slow and deliberate. She is not so entrenched in her proddy state that she takes her food (which is tea, and salad, and not the redfin) and runs off, because she's still moving to join the group, she's just uncharacteristically not speaking. Only migrating toward the crowd because Abigail, Rayathess and Brebain are there, and they are all faces she knows well enough to want to be with. Hello strangers.
C'rus looks back and forth from Beyrl to Abby and then back again. Though that is apparently as far that thought goes because he says nothing. He simply goes back to eating his pasta. If he has a comment on the redfin that too goes unsaid. He isn't much of a food critic anyway. If its food it goes into his mouth largely without complaint, "Then welcome to you as well." he says to Lucy. So many new faces all at once. Brebain gets a glance but that is all for the moment. "Hopefully Ha'ze is able to help out." he says to Abby. It would be a tragedy if he didn't. He offers a salute to Inri as she creeps along, though says nothing. Not wanting to interrupt her since she certainly looks intent on something.
Surely /someone/ will refill the pasta salad if necessary. Just not Lucy. She does laugh outright at Rayathess' comment from the peanut gallery, offering a little mock-toast with her cider mug. "All right, I'll give you that one." To the rest of it she shrugs her shoulders, clearly not caring one way or another if the man likes the redfin, and makes her way over to C'rus' table, perhaps in gratitude for his welcome. lucky man. She flops into an empty seat with a sigh. "My feet are killing me." She winkles a half-knit sock out of her bag and sets about skillfully making it a full-knit sock, or at least a 2/3 knit sock.
Rayathess tips his fingers to his brow in a mock toast (or is a mockery of a salute) in response to Lucy as she goes to take her seat by C'rus. He'll just stretch his legs under his end of the table, looking strangely comfortable despite the caverns crowded condition. Glancing to Beyrl, he quirks a brow and maybe winces a bit but it could be a lopsided smile too. "You forget that my posting is at Harper Hall or up in the more remote northern cotholds in Fort's region." Namely his family cothold, Stonehaven. No surprise there, right? "It has been some time but I could get you the names of a few Journeymen posted here who may be keen on taking on a new Apprentice if you're looking to stay on at the Weyr." Nicest thing he can do! Second? Not calling out Inri's presence but acknowledging her with a small but welcoming smile and dip of his head. He sees her lurking there but he knows how it feels to want to be "hidden" in a crowd and isn't about to draw attention to her.
Alas, poor Inri, because Brebain is oblivious, and she's one of the only people in the Weyr he actually recognizes on sight. So it's after he's picking up his salad that he realizes who the person reaching for the tongs after him is, and greets her with delight: "Ah! Weyrwoman Inri! Such a pleasure to see you again," warmly, and, um, loudly. "I got a new bolt in last week — you should come see it! It's just your color." By which, in this case, he means a nice plum. Which is approximately the color he'll turn when he realizes how thoroughly he's put his foot in it, too.
Beyrl goes through another bout of consideration, only this one is, by comparison of the former, half-term pregnant. After the extended moment, (which he attempts to alleviate inferred rudeness by cutting short, though related answer may lack the more subtle touch), he replies to Raya. "Ah yes, recollection did not serve me well tonight. Forgive the slip in memory, for its intention was not mine to purpose." he states in an apologetic manner. Though the offer of assistor does soften the blow of potential dissapointment. "Appreciation would be much forthcoming, and via gratefulness I would owe you much, if that which you offered did indeed come to pass, for its with heart's full desire for the future of possible dragon-life that I strayed from the parents I miss dearly, and came here to seek what fortune fate sees fit." he explains with visible sincerity.
Normally, Beyrl's need for a Harper to press his services to would be the perfect place for Inri to speak up and be helpful, because she does in fact know just about everyone of any rank in the entire Weyr … and can identify almost everyone by name, even the apprentices, but. But now is not that time. She sneaks smiles to C'rus and Raya, though, before she is caught totally off-guard by Brebain and does at least manage to not spill her salad. "Um," she says, and smiles fondly, because she is not yet so shaky that she won't do that, "I look forward to it," with a grin and a little bit of a nose-wrinkle. Because she does. Really. She's just a little — "I'm going to go sit," she then tells the Weaver, in case she actually needed to tell him that, and when she picks a seat it is at least close enough to the Harpers that she can interrupt and help guide Beyrl if she really needs to. On the other hand, she is making sure Abbey is within grab distance. Just in case. Of things. D'ani isn't here, Th'ero isn't here, Kimmila isn't here — Abbey is going to have to be her protector. "Future dragon life, hm?" she says softly, and leaves it at that. It's almost like she was talking to her teacup.
Abigail is in grabbing distance, though the wingleader may have dozed off there for a few moments. Her arms are even folded before her and a slight shifts of her head is seen while a eye opens to peek out at the ones all around her. "Bloody hell… When did this place get so busy?" Pausing she glances to Inri and blinkblinks. "Hey Inri." Sure she can protect the goldie, aslong she stays awake that is.
C'rus does his absolute best to follow the word salad that is coming out of Beyrl's mouth, but given that there is so much distraction he only caught about half of it. Though he caught the relevant points…he thinks. C'rus nods to Lucy who has taken up residence at the table and Inri as well. Oh my goodness the people have descended upon the living cavern from every which way. He's just about to ask a question but it seems that Inri beat him to the punch, so he can hang back and let the new harper answer her instead. He takest his free moment to finish off his salad and move on to the vegetable.
Finally settled in on her night off, Lucy alternates between sipping on her cider and knitting on her sock (it's okay, she's a professional!). C'rus gets a little nod in return; Inri's creeping gets some covert eying from under a fan of dark lashes.
"No need to apologize," Rayathess states simply though he's gathering his satchel and his jacket with it as he slowly rises from his seat. "I'll see to it that your name is mentioned. Good luck with your goals," he adds with another faint half-smile, half-smirk as he prepares to take his leave. Indeed, Inri will have to find a 'shield' in Abigail. Rayathess has business to attend to and Th'ero is likewise probably "busy" somewhere, though no doubt Velokraeth is (politely) stalking Kouzevelth — or at least lurking on available ledges to keep an eye on the glowing queen. For this evening though, Rayathess is looking to return to the Hall and maybe he's counting his blessings at that. "Clear skies and good evening," he says at large to the assembled group, regardless if he ever greeted them and then he's making his exit out towards the bowl and off to the stables.
Brebain may have lost most of the people he's been talking to — okay, all both of them — to the big party at the table, but seeing as how he doesn't actually really know Lucy and he only sort-of knows Inri, that's … possibly okay. In the long run. Especially since if he goes and joins them he might find himself also trying to follow the way Beyrl talks, and from what he's managed to hear so far, the kid's heart is in the right place and his vocabulary is … overcompensating? Maybe he's always talked like that. Who knows? Regardless, Brebain decides that discretion is the better part of valor, tonight, and so once he has all his food (and maybe even a drink!), he settles in at a table that is sort-of nearby, but not quite, and focuses on his favorite while-he's-eating pastime: mentally critiquing what everyone is wearing, so that if they ever show up looking for something, he can give them something better.
Beyrl gives his polite nod to Raya; a bow of his head along with a slight of his chest, allowing the impression of a smoother motion then a hard standard nod would give. And with it a smile friendly. "Fairwell Raya. Mayhap our paths cross in future times." His attention thus turns toward the one who's words she repeated into her teacup. It's quite certain such a item of inanimate function would respond in any way except to exist (and perhaps slosh precious tea upon a table so clean. A momentarily glance at the top of it suggests his mind may be waxing more poetically then reality would tonight allow). He offers a smile of gentle form upon lips and eyes toward the golden-bleached lady of the table. "Dragon-life, to share, to connect with, to live. Such a story as this I seek, if the threads that write my walk into the tapestry of life would, perchance by happenstance, wander across an impression, to find my own worthy of that which takes to the skies like living jewels on wings." Beautiful things, the dragons. "Though the meeting of a lady, with a love for nature herself," (as evidenced by her muted colored form, he's certain) "is no less an enchanting thing. If I may have the name of she who would, perhaps through interest," (or boredom, perish the thought, though the opportunity still presents itself as well enough), "heed my words, happiness of this night would be all the greater." he requests of Inri in kind manner.
Inri's wave to Rayathess is at least relatively Inri-normal; a finger-waggling that lasts for about four seconds and then stops. Beyrl gets a very curious look, then — the way he's talking would generally have her effusively and enthusiastically both gabbing back about how she's trying to follow and making a lot of noisy comparisons to how he sounds like a human Zuvaleyuth, they will have to meet again sometime when she is far more herself. Instead, what she says is, "I think I followed that," without the attached ramble. "I'm Inri. The one with the slightly glowy gold dragon, so, y'know, someone talking about wanting to stand in the near future," that is what he's talking about, she's pretty sure, "is going to attract my attention." The admission of the glowy dragon will explain her terseness, one hopes, though the stereotype of proddy certainly isn't terse.
C'rus is just about finished with his meal, and after a few more bites the vegetables are gone and the plate is empty. Though his cider is still at least half full. He has lapsed into that quiet lull that happens directly after you eat, and he would be tempted to slip into complete silence, though what Inri says grabs his attention. That is a bit of knowledge that he is keen on knowing. Though he says nothing further about it. Instead he looks over to Lucy, "So, are you enjoying your time here so far?" he asks politely, before he turns toward Beyrl, "If you want to be around dragons you are certainly come to the right place."
Lucy changes the red yarn for some blue yarn and continues round and round her sock. "My evenings off are pleasant," she tells C'rus with a flippant grin, then adds, "Really though, everyone's been very kind." The exchange regarding proddy golds and hanging around dragons seems to draw her attention, though there's no way she could have missed the goings on around the Weyr of late.
Beyrl raises slightly an eyebrow at Inri's admission of (perhaps) following his speach (or mode thereof). That however is quickly dismissed, as it is nothing new, nor nothing insulting. The past has repeated it, the present does not surprise him, and henceforth it shall, with all certainty, be heard yet many times again. What truely catches his attention is the name of which is offered. "Inri. A lovely name, as it flows across the tongue with the taste of honey and cider." he offers as compliment to that which would otherwise be rather common for the one its designated to. It's always a pleasure to spice the mundane or overcommon things of life. But one must do it with all honesty, or else it's nothing but words overused. As for the news of the proddy gold, he only offers a smile that threatens to physically illuminate the area in its own type of glow. "Such a prospect as that makes my hopes lift, and makes the near future that much more bearable to see. A hatching, even if participation is not mine to share, is a natural wonder that dwarfs the greatest art woven or wrought by man's hand." The admission of the proddy time either doesn't reach his ear, or he doesn't show it, as politely approaching such circumstances is his norm.
"You sound like Zuvaleyuth," Inri is, at this point, unable to filter herself enough to avoid saying that. Because it is true, and impossible to overlook. She then falls silent, sipping her tea and nodding, and occasionally glancing toward the door. This might be the point of socializing where Inri has reached her current limit, what with the living cavern being a veritable throng of humans at this point. She definitely appears a bit unsettled.
Beyrl finds himself, for once, a bit off-balance as to the response. Proddy he understands, her shyness only follows, but the name he does not recognize. "I'm afraid I do not know of whom you speak." he says, with softened tone, tender expression etching into his face, but lightly, as if one's eyes were playing tricks with the shadows across his face. "Forgive my straightforwardness. It is for a pleasant evening, your aquantance was to make." He then turns to C'rus, for his prior statement requires a response, so rudeness is not explicit, though delayed it may be. "For dragonkind gathering, rumor had reached my ear that Fort was a place of high interest." he says in agreement to C'rus. "I had hoped I would find it as such, and as such it happens to be."
High interest? Sure. The crowds keep swelling in; a couple gets into a really loud domestic argument that involves throwing redfin steaks at each other; sooner or later, every sane and reasonable person makes a really quick escape, as the argument — and the food-throwing — gets riotously out of hand. Presumably, all the weyrbrats who get carried away with joining in are going to be the ones stuck up even further past their bedtimes cleaning up the mess, too.