The galleries are carved right out of the rock face, the rows and rows of benches rising high up into the air on a slight slant. Stone and wood benches that used to be known for offering little in the way of comfort, are now padded with cushions in Fort Weyr's colors. Placed along the railing at regular intervals are antique looking baskets filled with cheery fabric flowers. The curving walls sport tapestries in warm vibrant colors that seem to add a dash of color to the otherwise dreary stone. Where the galleries curve slightly at the ends, affording those attending hatchings or clutchings a decent view of the sands, shaded laterns offer warm lighting along the rows of benches.

Brennan has been trying something a bit different today - exercising. Not that roaming the woods doesn't keep him good and fit, but he has been doing a bit less of that since coming to Fort Weyr, and now that he's pretty well healed, he's decided a run or two is in order every now and then. His path this afternoon brought him through the northern end of the Bowl between afternoon showers, near to the gaping mouth of the Hatching Cavern…and drew him to a halt. He'd been at it for some time, the rain soaking his sweater cold upon his skin in the early spring air, and two things drew him inside - one, the remembrance of the heat of the place, and two, the memory of the eggs sitting on the Sands that intrigued him so. Therefore, he ventured inside, uncertain of whether or not he was allowed but not really caring once the warmth hit his skin. Now he sits in the galleries, arms folded and propped along the railing before the tiered seats while his sweater hangs nearby, drying out. Again, the hunter surveys the colorful clutch and the fiery queen looming just beyond, pensive in a silence almost reverent.

Winter's hold seems to be breaking, though convincing the snow to give up the ghost is an entirely different story. The rain tries its hardest but it's got a long way to go. Sairon, for once though, wasn't out in the middle of it. Instead, he's walking alongside another man with his quiet laugh announcing his presence as he walks up the gallery and his talking in a low murmur so as not to disrupt the queen. "It was crazy. First, I think I'm getting in a drinking contest with the Weyrleader, then we're chatting ale trades, then I'm getting Searched. Go figure. At least I wasn't drunk, geez, that would have been embarrassing. So how'd the suit work out for ya?"

Cyrus makes his way into the gallery area with Sairon, "It does sound like it was crazy." All the stories that he has heard are so varied. That poor boy that he talked to last evening…man, "I suppose that is a major plus, though they don't seem like a particularly sober bunch." In short, if he was drunk it wouldnt' have mattered, "The suit is going to work out just fine. I had the weavers begin to work on a scarf for Kera too. Its going to be her turn day soon and she invited me to the harvest festival back in Xanadu so I'll give it to her then. Maybe pick up a piece of jewelery or something too. I know women like that sort of thing. Therynn says I have to wow her."

The sound of voices turns Brennan's head, and he tenses slightly. When the entrants don't seem to be anyone of high rank - one a Candidate, even - and content to be here as well, he starts thinking better of it, relaxing again by degrees. He supposes that if he wasn't supposed to be here, there'd have been guards posted at the entrance, after all. After a moment of observation, he realizes one of the men looks vaguely familiar - another face from somewhere about the Weyr without a name attached to it yet…ah, right. The Archives. Still no name, but at least the memory isn't so random now. The mention of Therynn perks his ears slightly; he knows the Healer is familiar with the huntress…but it still doesn't help him much. "Gents," the hunter intones quietly, giving a nod of greeting as he stands to lean against the railing now.

"You'll do fine, man." Sairon says alongside to Cyrus with a grin. "Just let it flow, don't overthink it." At the voice of Brennan he looks up, bobbing his chin to the other. "Hey, what's up?" He asks cordially, an easy lopsided smile on his face as he heads to flop himself down in one of the gallery seats like he owned the joint - all casual and boneless. "Suckin in the warmth? I know I am. Cold's great, but these Eastern bones need their heat."

Cyrus gives Sairon something of a quizzical glance, "But thats pretty much what I do. I overthink everything. I really don't 'go with the flow'." he explains briefly before glancing over to the other man present. Yes he met him in the archives, but thats all he knows about him, "Hello." he says with a short wave of his hand before turning back to Sairon, "I rather like the cold here. The weather here is nicer than at Xanadu."

There's a faint smirk for the genial nonchalance the first man carries himself with, and Brennan turns slightly, leaning against the railing with his hip instead of his stomach. "Could say that," the hunter answers, folding his arms and then jutting his chin toward the Sands. "Havin' another look at the clutch and the queen there, too." Cyrus' comment about Xanadu has the hunter nodding agreement. "Or Reaches, for that matter. Name's Brennan," he offers both men. At least he's getting better about not just leaving off his name in a conversation! Scratching his cheek briefly, he glances at the Healer. "Overthinkin' can be just as dangerous as not thinkin' at all, y'know," he observes casually, crossing right foot over left.

"Sairon." Says the blonde young man in return. "Oh definitely, overthinkin'll bitcha every time. You think so much, you miss the obvious, or inevitably fail to plan for that one tiny thing that you never anticipated happening. Way easier to just go with the barest idea and roll with it. Adaptability and instinct will get you a lot farther than plain old intellect. Besides, then you don't miss the goo things in life. Spend too much time contemplating the what ifs and you miss the are nows." And that was your wisdom for the day, compliments of Sairon.

"I'm Cyrus." he says to finally introduce himself to the other man. He hadn't really caught his name last time, at least not that he remembers. He was crabby that night anyway, "It has been my experience that the world doesn't think enough. That's why we have so many of the problems that we have. Everyone going around acting on instict." he says stiffly. He casts a quick glance down to the queen and her eggs. His face is impassive and gives very little of whatever he is thinking about away, "They are eggs. No more and no less." If he is impressed he doesn't let it out, though another quick look is given. Stupid curiosity. It will kill you every time.

Those words from Sairon have Brennan's smirk actually widening to a smile, and he regards the blonde man with a thoughtful gaze. "Gotta plan sometimes," the hunter qualifies with a shrug. "Shouldn't keep ya from bein' flexible, though, true enough. Strikin' a good balance is the best way to go, I've found. Just how it's gotta be, when y're huntin'." At Cyrus' assesment of the eggs, Brennan raises a brow, making a bit of a face as he looks out at them, then back. "Ah…they're dragon eggs, which're quite a bit more 'n any other eggs I've come across out there." 'There' being the wilderness, of course. "Haven't seen the like before this. Y' don't think they're just a little impressive?" How anyone couldn't is a bit beyond him.

"Oooh I plan." Sairon says with one shoulder hiking in a half shrug. "I just plan that my first plan is never gonna work, so I better be ready to wing it." He follows Brennan's look towards Cyrus, but if he's bothered by the healer's subtle disdain he doesn't seem to indicate it. He just grins a little wider. "Oh I bet he is, he just wouldn't admit it. Brennan's right. Things come from eggs - even if that's just breakfast sometimes. These, though, have living things in 'em. You at /least/ have to appreciate how something as big as a dragon comes in something that small."

Cyrus is silent as he walks over to the railing for a moment placing both hands on it as he watches the queen an the eggs for a few moments. What is going on in his head is anyone's guess because after a few moments he turns on his heels and faces the two men once more, "I appreciate that they are living beings and that life is sacred." he answers back, "I also appreciate what the future holds for the impressees." he says as he shoves his hands in his pockets standing rail straight as he usually does, "Truthfully I'm more impressed by people than dragons. At least some of them." he adds turning his head to the side to stare off through the gallery.

Brennan has a small chuckle of appreciation for Sairon, giving a small shake of his head. "Sometimes y' find y've gotta give your first plan a little more credit, though," he notes, then waves off all the philosiphizing with a flick of his uncaught hand. He listens to Cyrus' reply, one brow still a bit more arched than the other as he considers the man. "Doesn' hurt to get caught by the simple wonder of a thing every now 'n' again," he points out. "But ah…I s'pose it has a lot t' do with where y' come from, I guess. Y' grow up in the Craft?" the hunter asks, idly picking at a fingernail.

"Hey, least your impressed by somethin'." Sairon says with a faint chuckle as he draws one knee up on the bench to drape an arm over it. For now, he falls quiet, looking out past the two towards the sands and the eggs upon it.

Cyrus brings his head back sharply to face the pair once more as he speaks, "I certainly can appreciate the wonder of some things." he says with a certain amount of genuine truth, "Though I suppose we all appreciate different things." At Brennan's question he shakes his head emphatically, "I wish that were so. I grew up in Rubicon. My father was a limestone trader. Rocks are the most boring thing in the universe." Yes. Even more boring that dragon eggs, "I was pleased when I was accepted at the hall." Sairon's nonchalance about the great change in his life is a source of curiosity, "I fail to see how you are so calm." he says to him rather bluntly.

Brennan nods to concede Cyrus' point, then gives a dry snort about the rock comment. "No arguin' there. Throw enough of 'em together 'n' they make a mighty nice mountain, though," he adds, gesturing out the entrance. The observation about Sairon's calmness has the hunter flicking a quick gaze over the blonde man, coming to rest on the white knot he bears. "Probably has to do with that bein' flexible thing we were talkin' about earlier," he observes, amused. "Searched, eh? Over drinks with the Weyrleader, if I heard ya right."

Sairon looks like the kind of guy who'd be relaxed right through a hurricane. Probably would even sleep through it. "Uuh, yeup, that'd be the gist of it. Just the evening before last. Or.. afternoon, it actually wasn't much past midday which is /why/ I hadn't drunk a lot. I just needed something to warm up after a long day outside. Guy's got a taste for the heavy stuff, that's for sure. Earned my respect on that alone!"

"I think respect should be earned on more concrete grounds than who can handle the most alcohol. A resistance to alchol would indicate a person who either has a highly functioning liver or someone who has a tendency to overindulge. Neither of which could be considered great accomplishments, though I suppose having a healthy liver is something to be happy about." Cyrus says, but anyway back to Sairon, "You don't have any concerns whatsoever?" the healer asks, "You are perfectly ok with this?"

Brennan just shrugs at Cyrus' assessment of what ought to earn respect. There's probably a fair amount he could say on the matter, but his conversationalism still has limits. There's a small roll of his eyes for how…medical the Healer is about it all, though that shouldn't be surprising, he supposes. At Cyrus' last question to Sairon, the hunter glances from the Healer to the blonde man. "What's there to be worried about?" he wants to know. "Bein' a Candidate…what's so diff'rent about it, other 'n a few restrictions 'n' whatnot?"

Sairon turns his eyes towards Cyrus, an expression the healer has likely learned by now is a look of 'is this conversation really gonna be worth it?'. That infernal, easy-going smile remains ever present. "Would me being ok or not change it? Does a drink at noon differ from one at midnight? Or are we talking about this?" He says with a point towards the white knot upon his shoulder. "Cuz I got the same answer either way - it is what today is. I'll worry about tomorrow then. Well, minus drinking, guess I get to not do that now. Rules is rules, I suppose."

Cyrus saw the eye roll but chooses to ignore it. If he said something to everyone who had ever rolled their eyes at him he would do nothing else, "Are you serious?" he asks Brennan, "It's a bit more than just living with a few restrictions. It's being open to accepting a huge life change. I mean…he could end up impressing one of those baby dragons down there." he motions to the sands with a quick jerk of his hand, "It's a choice of the utmost seriousness. It's not like deciding what you want to have for dinner. You are in a very real way giving your life away to something. It's like getting married…" He spares a glance to Sairon as he speaks. His mouth just sort of hangs open for a moment before he gets a thought together and speaks "Yes. Yes it would. You still have time to get out of it if you wish too. I'm not saying you should, but its there." He simply ignores the comments about drinking as he finds that less than productive at the moment.

"Yeah, but it's also acceptin' that y' might get left there. Can't say that about gettin' married. Usually," Brennan counters. See, Abigail, he was paying attention! "So y're acceptin' the potential for a big life change. That's where flexibility comes in handy." Glancing down at the eggs again in turn, he gives a slight shrug, his expression becoming pensive again. "Wouldn' be such a bad trade, bendin' to a few rules for a shot at gettin' paired off with a dragon. Bigger 'n' far worse things in the world."

Sairon places both feet back down on the ground, arms coming to cross upon his chest. "I know what No means, Cy." He says not ungentle, but in the tone of one speaking slowly to make sure he's understood. "And you realize I will never let you live down the fact you just compared Impressing a dragon to getting married, though I suppose having someone nag you for the rest of your life and expecting you to dote on them isn't /entirely/ inaccurate. Ok, I'll give you a point there." He says, holding up a pointer finger. "But, remember, this was the life I was raised to live. If I don't Impress, I don't. The candidate chooses to stand. The dragon chooses to bond. If I don't, there's a life out there to live. If I impress, there's a life to live. It doesn't change my life, just how I live it. To use your own analogy, is there a difference in choosing to marry or choosing to stand? Both are built on love, trust, mutual respect. You support one another, care for one another, depend on one another. Should one die, heartbreak still happens. Men and woman kill themselves when their spouse dies just as much as a rider chooses to die. You could say the dragons love us even more than our spouses - they never choose to live without us, never choose another rider. How do you measure which is better?"

The expression on Cyrus's face becomes progressively harder to read as he takes in what both the men are saying, though there is a certain intensity in his gaze that is unmistakable, "You would be surprised Brennan…" about what he doesn't choose to specify. Though when its Sairon's turn to hold the gaze he speaks a bit more plainly, "Yes there is a difference. I don't deny that some spouses kill themselves. It's a horrible thing…but they aren't forced too. Mutual respect isn't built on forcing anyone…its built on freedom." Cyrus just sort of continues to roll, building as he goes, "Have you seen the riders that don't…" he can't even really bring himself to say it, "…damaged…and abandoned. Told their only option is to die. These doomed, broken souls are scattered all over Pern and no one lifts a finger to help them. They gave their lives to something and just…" he trails off as he catches himself, "No." to what exactly he doesn't say. He turns on his heels and starts off briskly in the opposite direction speaking under his breath, "If I ever needed justification…." and any words after that are lost as he puts too much distance between them to hear.