Marryn

The Duel

Fri, 13 Mar 2009 05:19:43 GMT

Marryn challenges Th'deus to a duel after finding out he's become Auryn's lover.

Link to Th'deus post

Late Night Snack

Thu, 15 Jan 2009 20:46:56 GMT

Very brief but nice log. Marryn and R'ish run across each other while seeking a late night snack.

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In Defense of Crates

Thu, 15 Jan 2009 20:27:40 GMT

Madri visits Southern Boll and acquires an interesting new role. Marryn indulges in another favored past-time - annoying Theta.

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Theta Who?

Sat, 03 Jan 2009 09:36:54 GMT

Th'deus meets Theta and muses over various possibilities for her immediate future with Marryn - despite Theta's attempts at input.

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Where Has the Librarian Gone?

Thu, 25 Dec 2008 08:58:57 GMT

Marryn speaks to Misha about a recent absence and ends up sending her on a new mission.

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Evil Barlords

Mon, 15 Dec 2008 07:25:10 GMT

Marryn confronts Th'deus to find out what exactly happened when the Watchrider took Lady Auryn, Marryn's mother, on a dragonride.

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Aurora

Mon, 15 Dec 2008 07:18:18 GMT

Aeroulyn wakes after a swift, late-night birthing to find Auryn watching over her and the new baby. Marryn hurries home when getting the news.

Note: Marryn didn't arrive till half-way through this log but got the earlier poses from Auryn.

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Mending Fences

Thu, 11 Dec 2008 07:09:22 GMT

Thera comes to Southern Boll, intent on throttling Marryn.

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Card Sharks

Wed, 03 Dec 2008 18:44:38 GMT

Marryn and Captain Zarl are forced to make a brief stop while traveling and run across Theo (aka Misha) engaged in a card game at a very seedy establishment. Despite Zarl's warnings, Marryn's antics soon put everyone in danger compelling Theo and Zarl to rescue their irrepressable young Lord.

Lots of fun action and awesome NPC'age!

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Catching Up

Tue, 25 Nov 2008 09:42:07 GMT

Marryn pays a visit to Fort Weyr and stumbles across Taini and nephew Tarik.

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Incognito

Mon, 17 Nov 2008 22:52:13 GMT

Marryn runs into a young spy named Theo - who isn't at all what he seems to be.

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Rocio

Tue, 21 Oct 2008 18:55:07 GMT

Marryn visits with Thera and the new baby.

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New Addition

Mon, 20 Oct 2008 04:52:28 GMT

Marryn receives two shocks in short order - first, T'jano's green Mrrth calls to him unexpectedly, and then offers to take him to see Thera and the newly born babe.

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Family News - Again

Fri, 17 Oct 2008 04:36:09 GMT

Aeroulyn pays Marryn a surprise visit - with even more surprising news.

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The Non-Drudgish Drudge

Fri, 17 Oct 2008 04:33:18 GMT

Marryn runs across the most non-drudgish drudge ever - and then finds out why.

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Getaway

Fri, 17 Oct 2008 04:30:31 GMT

Marryn and Aeroulyn escape for some alone time (albeit with one guard).

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Reconciliation - Of Sorts

Sat, 20 Sep 2008 09:15:41 GMT

Having been estranged since Marryn's flight with Thera, Marryn and Aeroulyn come to an agreement that will test their relationship.

Note: Aeroulyn moved back to Ista Hold and took their son, Laeryn, with her but Marryn has had Laeryn for a few days visit when this log begins and Aeroulyn is coming to pick him up.

Family Room

You see a bright and cheerful room with a busy, lived-in feeling about it. To the left and right are doors leading to the bedrooms. Straight ahead is a large window, shutters thrown wide open, inviting you to sit on the wide window seat and admire the jungle scenery. Near the window is a smallish table with a closed glowbasket sitting on top, and several wicker chairs surrounding it. Cushions and pillows lie on and around the chairs, a particular pile in one corner appearing to be a favorite firelizard spot. On the wall to your left is a beautifully restored old 'tapestry' of Mango Beach.

All manner of odds and ends lay scattered about the room, especially stock-piling on shelves lining the wall to the left of the window. Most people would call it junk, but, being the pack-rat that she is, Auryn swears she might have need of it someday - every last tid-bit. Unsurprisingly, this habit has worn off on Shel, who has added her own touches and creations over time. And now that Marryn and Amarik have grown into young men and are making their own mark, well, who knows what will happen.

Marryn

Marryn eminates a smooth easy grace, his confidence a gift of nature and providence. Raised with the knowledge of leadership on his shoulders, he carries himself with straight-backed surity and pride, topping off at just under six feet tall. Thick obsidian waves fall shoulder-length, slipping often enough into his view that he's acquired a habit of flicking his chin to swing them out of the way. Dark eyes light with copperish mischief, but most of the time he has a fine-tuned control over strong, hawkish features of angled nose and thick brows. With a ready smile, good southern tan, and trim, muscular physique he presents an appealing figure, something of which he's well aware and strives to ensure. There's a sense of restrained passion about the firm set of lips, copper-tinted gaze and solid step - a passion for love, life, and action. His motto: I see, therefore I do.

He wears the knot of the Lord-elect of Southern Boll.

Marryn sports a flattering loose white shirt with three-quarter sleeves and open partially down the front, the cut of which is crisp, neat and deceptively simple - the mark of fine workmanship. Charcoal trousers and a thick black belt with silver buckle complete his attire, finished off with the traditional southern footwear of choice - sandals.

Marryn is 26 Turns, 11 months, and 25 days old.

Aeroulyn

Early twenties has worn away all traces of baby fat from this pale skinned young woman. She's on the tall side, standing 5'10, with a lean athletic form. Rich brown tresses hang in layers to just below her shoulders, highlights of a tawnier shade peeking through here and there. Her shapely brows and long lashes frame a pair of stormy blue eyes. Her nose is petit, hugged by cheeks tinged with just the slightest hint of color. Her slender lips a pale pink rose with a glossy touch.

Aeroulyn wears a shoulderknot of a Journeyman and badges of the Smith Craft.

Aeroulyn is wearing a white cotton blouse under a tan leather vest whose stitching has been made to look more ornate than practical (with the practical stitches more or less concealed). She wears a pair of brown trousers and a leather belt with a buckle that has the emblem of the Smith Craft on it. Her hair is pulled back and up into a messy bun with slender glass hair-sticks wrapped with red over translucent holding it in place. She wears a necklace with a glass pendant hung on it, a droplet of red glass surrounded by a larger tear-drop of clear glass on a thin leather string. She wears a pair of worn brown wherhide boots on her feet. Scraps regards you, perched atop Aeroulyn's shoulder.

Aeroulyn is 22 Turns, 5 months, and 4 days old.

Laeryn

You see a pretty generic-looking kid.

Laeryn is 8 months and 23 days old.

A rare scene indeed. Marryn is actually sitting on the floor near the window, a scattering of various pillows surrounding him. No scrolls, no hides, no signs of work anywhere. In fact, the only objects lying about are - toys! Carved of wood and in various states of detail and color they spill from a small chest, also finely carved from wood, and completely entertaining a small child - Laeryn. At the moment copper-ish eyes so like those of his father are turned upward as Marryn tries to demonstrate the art of juggling with several blocks - the key word being 'tries'.

As ever with this pair, fate conspires to warm the hearts and draw two towards becoming one. Perspective is all that matters when deciding if the situation Aeroulyn arrives upon the scene. Laeryn's coppery eyes follow every movement of his father, mesmerized. His intense attention doesn't, however, deter the small burbling excited noises that aren't quite words /just/ yet to spill from his lips as he watches. It's these noises of joy and excitement that give Aeroulyn pause outside the door. The last servant or family member in or out left the door ever so slightly ajar, and what's more, the hinges have been recently oiled. So, Aeroulyn can't help herself as she leans gently in on the door, peeking within the room to observe father and child together. Her lips pull gently as a most tender and loving look steals its way across her face in a (these days) rare unguarded moment. There's no mask of logic to shield her open adoration of both son and father, but only for a moment. Because despite the attention Laeryn gives his father - Mother's not missed out on for long, and his attention jerks towards the door. Then it's all business as Aerou steps within. Of course, it'd be easier to be all business if she were even half decent at hiding her feelings from /this/ man. As a result, things more or less turn less business-like and simply awkward. Awkward is simply the word for what its like to be in a room with a man that you want nothing more than to sweep into your arms and kiss, but don't.

Wooden blocks clunk noisily to the floor as Laeryn's reaction draws Marryn's attention toward the door. Turning his head to look past his shoulder he gives his chin a jerk to swing long-ish bangs out of his view. And the view he gets causes a slight catch in his throat and an automatic straightening of his spine. One look at the expression on her face and the open tenderness that lit his features melts into a state of neutral blankness. The better to hide his own feelings. He’s good at that. Remaining seated with his legs neatly folded he waves one hand to gesture her inward. Pleasant enough, he musters up a smile. “Good evening, Rou.”

"Marryn." Aeroulyn's greeting is far more stilted. Ever since the news that brought her to the decision that she wasn't sure she could handle being his mate when the word 'oops' seems to follow him where women are concerned, Aerou has been somewhat more stand-off-ish. Its a matter of self-preservation. And its something that she's classically poor at. (How many times have they been broken up or nearly broken up and ended up in bed?) There's an awkward hesitation at the door and then she simply slips within, leaning her back against the door to close it. As ever, Aerou is dressed just a little bit 'up' from her usual, skirt replacing usual trous, a looser blouse with some attractive yellow flower embroidery across the low rounded neckline. She leans a long moment, and then pushes herself off the door, and directs her attention to the safe target: her son. A big beaming smile is given to Laeryn as he wiggles his way over onto all fours to start his wiggle-crawl in her direction. "Hello, little love." She greets warmly, dropping down onto her knees to make line into triangle. "Was he good for you the past few days?" She queries, shooting the Lord Elect a brief glance.

Mocha-brown eyes follow Aeroulyn’s every move. As long as she avoids looking directly at him he takes advantage of the opportunity to soak in every inch of her. Absence has only heightened his awareness of every detail – from the set of her long hair to the scent that lingers about her as she kneels down to the floor near him and Laeryn. Her attire does not go unnoticed either and he swallows once, jerking his own gaze to their son as she sends even a brief glance his way. Feathered lengths of obsidian shift forward to partially shadow his face and this time he doesn’t move to push them back. “For me – perfectly good. I understand he wreaked havoc in the Library during playtime but that’s what they get for leaving things laying around. The boy’s just naturally curious.” Pride and humor begin to simmer in his tone and expression but are swiftly cut short as he reins himself in from opening up too much. After an awkward moment of silence he ventures, “How’ve you been?”

Does she mean to torture and tantalize him? Perhaps she does. For that smell of her that he notes might just summon up memories of the uncertain, sweetly trying Aeroulyn who appeared at Boll to 'take her revenge' and ended up falling for him instead. She flips her hair gingerly as fingers reach down to tickle Laeryn's tummy as she hears the relation of the library mishaps. She can't help but grin. "Ryn, you know better. Tsk." But she doesn't sound terribly upset about it. She lets her stormy gaze linger on her son's cheery face as she takes him up into her arms at the request of chubby arms extended towards her. After giving him a little motherly squeeze, she sets him back down on the ground, and finally turns her face towards Marryn. The question of whether to lie or tell the truth is plainly spelled across her face. She settles on somewhere in between. "I'm managing." Pause. "You? I get nothing but colorful stories about the denizens of your jail when I get letters from my friends here." She swallows uneasily and diverts her gaze.

The hint of a smile appears within that perfectly groomed goatee, hindered by a sadness that doesn’t quite leave his expression. Memories are indeed nudged from their hiding place and wishful daydreams dusted off while watching mother and child. But no. That was then, those are only fantasies, and this is now. Reality bites. Marryn nods acknowledgment, followed by a meaningful snort. “Colorful is not quite the adjective I’d use. The man was going to kill me and then he nearly killed himself before we got him out of here. Amazingly enough, I think he’s even more messed up than me.” She gets letters? He makes a mental note to have outgoing mail checked. He’s the only one allowed to spy around here! Irrational and knowing it he rises suddenly and turns, reaching for a pitcher on the table. A good stiff drink would be nice but with his luck its just juice.

Aerou, ever the hot-headed, can't help but let the words slip, "Oh, no, Marry, not more messed up surely. But your taste in women would say equally so." It is /not/ a well thought out comment. It only even half makes sense. But its delivered with the same usual zing of her heated anger. Of course, that she still cares enough to get angry about it speaks volumes. There's instant regret. A cringe of her shoulders and a curling of them. She takes a moment to place a few colorful blocks in front of Laeryn to keep him occupied and then she's pushing up onto her feet and turning towards Marryn. "I'm sorry. That-- wasn't fair or-- anything. I--" And she just trails off, letting both hands rise to find her face and rub across it.

*BAM* The pitcher lands back on the table loudly. Marryn stands rock still, his back ramrod stiff. He doesn’t turn to face her. He doesn’t dare. His precious self-control is ever precarious around this woman and now she’s done it again. If he were to turn now she’d read every bit of his feelings on his face and pride won’t let such lack of control show. Teeth grind as his jaw works, breath coming hard through flared nostrils. Aware of Laeryn’s proximity he swallows hard to wrestle with his emotions before he speaks, not wanting to alarm the child with harsh tones. He doesn’t turn even when he hears Aeroulyn rise, the soft rustle of her clothing making it no surprise when her voice comes from behind him. “For the last time, Aerou, I didn’t /choose/ Thera. You grew up in a weyr - you should know how flight influences work. I didn’t even have that.”

Eyes flutter closed at the tone of his response, bracing herself to take acid for acid, even if the tone itself turns out to be surprisingly free of it. Its not that Mother doesn't consider her babe.... its simply that... well, the babe doesn't change how much self-control she lacks! One of her lightly calloused hands rises tentatively as she steps up behind the Lord Elect and she places it lightly on his shoulder. "Until I was eleven, Marryn. You give weyrbreeding far too much credit. I didn't learn about /sex/ until I was thirteen. All I ever knew when Inigoth caught was that Dad didn't come home, and once I was the a big sister." This is hedging though. There's a heavy sigh from the woman. And where before she simply couldn't bring herself to explain why she was hurt by all of this - besides the obvious she now voices in a quavery tone that speaks of great vulnerability on her part, "You're so much bigger than she is though, Marryn. Its not like-- she /isn't/ large enough to force you unwilling." She swallows, "Everything-- was supposed to be perfect. Why wasn't having one child with a woman you loved good enough?" This last comes in a whisper as her hand recoils from his shoulder as though singed by the very thought of it.

The merest shiver runs across his shoulders at her touch, setting nerves on edge all down his back. He doesn’t move a muscle otherwise and the fall of his hair hides his expression from her angle. Emotions are barely held in check as he listens until at the last they burst in full rosy bloom beneath his deep southern tan. Turning on his heel he faces her fully, copper-bright anger flashing in his eyes and muted in the lowered hiss of his voice. “Is that what you think, Aeroulyn?? That I wanted another child so went out and purposely got one? That I wasn’t happy with what you and I had so sought something else? Blazes woman! You don’t know me at all!” He takes one step toward her, closing the gap till there’s barely a breath between them. Incredulous heartache makes him quiver with the urge to shake her, and insanely enough, to kiss her at the same time. His fingers clench at the thought. “We can never be perfectly happy – because you won’t allow it.”

"Not knowing each other at all seems to be a perpetual state of being for us, Marryn!" Aeroulyn responds, whirling to face away from him, though not stepping away. "Maybe its because we've never spent any proper time with one another - uninterrupted. We've spent so much time --- /fucking/ that we never spent much /talking/ except to yell at one another. Relationships aren't built on feelings and fast fucks." Nevermind that that's an unfair statement since some of their more passionate and spontaneous sessions were anything but 'fast fucks'. Her voice is laced with emotion, having the distinctive quality of one on the edge of tears. "I have no idea what possessed you to sleep with Thera - flight or no flight. Flight feelings can be bloody well resisted - that's one thing I learned - if you don't have a dragon to coax you on - and even then, riders are supposed to have enough self control to stop their dragons from catching if they can't perform the requisite duties. So either she wanted to sleep with you or you wanted to sleep with her or -- shells, I don't know, Marryn, but its not a case of her tripping and you falling in just the right position, for Faranth's sake. Why did you do it?" And here she breaks, shoulders shrugging into silent sobs that she struggles to control. Has any of her love for him abated? No, but once again she's hurting and doesn't know how to reconcile the two. "I would love nothing more for us to be perfectly happy, Marryn," She manages in a whisper, as though revealing something for his ears alone, "But what am I supposed to do when every other month you're rumored to be sleeping with a woman, got a woman knocked up and engaged, slept with a woman and maybe got her knocked up-- the first time I was wrong, the second time we were tricked, and the third? What's the excuse for the third?"

Marryn flinches as if struck at her wording and sucks in a quick breath. “I wish that’s all it was, Aerou. Because if it was that simple then I could just walk away. But I can’t. Even when I try.” One hand rises to rake back harshly through his hair, pulling long-ish bangs into the rest of feathered locks. “Oh yes, I tried. I was hurt and angry and sick of feeling that way over you. But you know what? It didn’t work. Little things reminded me of you constantly, and even when they didn’t then I was wishing you were here so I could tell you about it. Why?? It’s never been like that with anyone else. Why does what you think matter? Why do I care how you feel??” The words spill out in fast procession, poured out easier against her back for not having to look at her directly. His head tips forward slightly as if to lean into her but he stops just short of contact, wisps of her hair tickling his cheek. Instead his hands rise to either side of her and he curls his fingers around her arms lightly. “I’m sorry, Rou. I know it’s not easy to be around me. My past – is going to haunt me for a long time and my position draws trouble on its own. I can’t do anything about it. I would shield you if I could, but I can’t do that either. You have to be strong and let our love be strong. If not, well – “ His voice fades, not wanting to finish the thought.

Aeroulyn's stormy eyes flicker closed, sensing his closeness - and that almost-contact until his hands are on her arms. And she remains there, body tensing slightly under his touch. She might be trying to talk herself out of surrender. But-- well, its /Marryn/. She lost the war before the battle even began! After he's done speaking, she catches her breath, and her body melts back against his, her body-weight falling none too easily to close the gap between their forms, head slightly bowed, trusting him (in spite of everything!) to catch and support her weight. "I didn't think Thera was part of your past." She mutters, shaking her head slightly, and then she's shifting to turn to face him, though she allows her body to remain in contact with him, "Marryn, will there ever be a time when there are no more 'oops'es?" This is quietly pleading, eyes desperate for a favorable answer as she searches his face. "Can you arrange a sevenday away?" This, wholly off topic perhaps, is tacked onto the end with a touch of curiosity.

A breath escapes that he didn’t realize he was holding, rushing past his lips with aching relief. Strong arms slip around her and hold her to his chest, easily balancing them both as she leans into him. Laying his cheek against her hair he lets his eyes drift closed for just a moment. Thick brows furrow as she mentions Thera – something he’s still trying to work out himself. His friendship with the brownrider has been on rocky ground since that fateful flight with neither of them knowing how to fix it. Lashes rise over a softer expression as she turns in his arms and her question sends a flash of sadness through it. He wants to give her a favorable answer, but if he’s to be honest he can’t. With unknown enemies still lurking and his confirmation still ahead nothing is certain. He hesitates long enough for her to surprise him. Worried thoughts fly like scattered leaves as she changes direction and for that, at least, he can answer quickly enough. With T’jano gone and no other major issues at hand the Hold is facing a rare moment of possible peace and quiet. “Probably. Why?”

Aeroulyn swallows hard, looking up at him. Her expression turns rather grave. She closes her eyes, steeling herself for the next words she must deliver. "Hear me out, Marryn, please." And then with that request made, she launches into what she has to say. "Experience has taught us both that you have enemies out there who will do whatever it takes to make you miserable. I'm a simple Smith, Myn. As much as I love you, I don't have to choose this life for myself - for my-- our son. We've learned that two out of three times, someone was trying to frame you for one thing and another. But-" There's always a but! She swallows hard, "Once, it was a kiss, the second time a genuine report came in, you'd slept with another woman and she ended up pregnant. I can't go through life with you if you don't realize that your choices have consequences - and that those consequences are visited upon my heart. If you care about me at all, you wouldn't want me in that kind of agony." She's making mistakes in what she's saying, but she doesn't realize. "I love you, Marryn. More than anyone - I don't want us to be done. Even if you have gone and got some brownrider knocked up on top of everything." She sighs heavily - for it is the idea of a babe that gets under her skin - that permanent reminder of infidelity. "I-- if you can promise me that no more 'oops' will happen when its within your control," And the way she says this indicates she believes the flight to have been within his control regardless, "I will give us one more chance. I will even have patience and wait to see if rumors are debunked before making a decision to leave. But-- one more kiss you could have stopped and didn't - one more trip-and-fall-fuck, flight influence or no flight influence, and we will be done. My heart can only take so much pain before it poisons my love." She flicks her intense gaze away from his eyes to the ground. "And there's one other condition. That if we want to try to make this work, that you find time in your busy schedule for us to go away somewhere - maybe down South where there are no Northern politics to interrupt us. Just you, and me. I'll leave Laeryn with my older brother for the sevenday. Because as you so elegantly pointed out - we may love each other, but we're strangers, Marryn." She ends with a look up to meet his gaze and her lower lip sucked into her mouth, nibbling on the lip nervously as she waits for a reaction to the ultimatum.

Marryn opens his mouth several times throughout her speech, but one look at her expression and he closes it again to simply listen and let her say all that she wants to say. By time she finishes his mind is flopping like a fish out of water and concern sets heavily on his handsome features. One hand slides upward off her arm to weave fingers into her hair and smooth it down around her ear with a gentle caress. “Rou,” he starts, breathing her name on a sigh, “The one thing I will swear to is that I’ll never break a promise to you. But that means I have to be careful what I promise because things are often beyond my control, even when they may appear otherwise. I love you and you alone, Rou. No one else will ever touch my heart the way you do.” His fingers spread to cup her cheek, thumb tracing the curve of lower lip. “I didn’t know then that a kiss between strangers would bother you so much, and you’re simply not going to believe me that goldflight was more intense than I could handle.” He falters slightly, admitting that anything is more than he can handle taking a sharp bite out of pride. “What I can promise you is that I’ll never do anything to intentionally hurt you, Aeroulyn. Other than that you’re just going to have to trust me.” And there’s that word again – the one thrown between them in nearly every argument they’ve ever had. “As for your second condition,” and he pauses again for the simple choice of words. No one puts conditions on his actions. The mere fact that he allows the phrase says volumes for how much he cares. “That can be arranged. Amarik sits in for me often enough with the cotholders, Shel runs the staff sufficiently as Headwoman, and Mother can make any major decisions that arise.” Dropping his thumb beneath her chin he tilts her face upward slightly. “I think a sevenday alone with you would be perfect, Rou, but just so you know you’re not a stranger to me.” Closing what remains of a gap between them he kisses her soundly, reminding with lips and tongue just how well they’ve known each other.

It is that perpetual torn state she ends up in around him so often. The wanting to kiss him and sort of wanting to slap him. Because nothing he said was actually justifiably slap-worthy, she lingers in the kiss a moment longer than she intends to. She pushes back, hands flattening against his chest before the kiss is truly finished - but then, hasn't some of this been about how they always end up kissing instead of talking?? "I--" She closes her eyes, brow furrowing and face scrinching up slightly. "While I recognize the broad scope of your promise and appreciate the amount of-- sacrifice or-- whatever-- that it takes to make that... I don't know that a promise so vague is... acceptable. If you can't promise me you're not going to go around sleeping with other women --- how am I supposed to think of you as more permanent than passing in my life? Marryn, when I get married, I want to marry a man I trust not to end up in bed with someone else." She sighs heavily. She licks her lips lightly. "I-- how about we go away for our sevenday and we can see if we can come up with-- terms-- we can both agree to. Carefully made promises. And all that." She tilts her head questioningly up at him.

Marryn sprinkles an extra couple of kisses around her mouth as they part, barely able to stem the flow of wanting her after so long apart. Maybe she has a point, but he refuses to believe their relationship is nothing but purely physical. He, at least, has had plenty of physical relationships and he knows without a doubt that this is different. Frustratingly? Yes. Annoying? Definitely. Love? Most truly. And that’s what scares him more than anything. A pained expression tightens his features, hawk-ish nose wrinkling and lips drawing a thin line. If she doesn’t want to believe that he wants no one else’s bed but hers then he’ll just have to show her, so rather than protest further he simply nods at her suggestion. Dark eyes search her face gravely for a few seconds, then he releases her to slowly take a step back. The distinctive sound of baby-ish gurgling draws his gaze downward briefly and his expression softens noticeably. “Call your brother then. I can be ready to go as soon as tomorrow.”

Its far from perfect. Really. Its not everything she had hoped for out of this conversation (not that it was planned!). But, for the moment, this will do, and-- well, so long apart... leaves plenty of room for wanting. So she nods, lifting a hand to trail a finger down along his cheek. "I'll take him with a rider tomorrow, get him settled and get some things for myself." She pauses, canting her head and letting a playful sort of smile curl her lips, "Have any plans for tonight, Myn? We might just stay if my room is free." 'Her' room. The one down the hall. *cough* The coy little smile she gives him indicates that baby or no baby, if he didn't have plans for the night before, he most certainly has them now! And then lips are pressing to lips and-- well, getting down the hall with baby in tow does take some effort!

END OF LOG.

Solutions and Conclusions

Sat, 13 Sep 2008 08:41:38 GMT

On behalf of Fort Weyr, Madri and R'ish find Marryn to talk about the situation with T'jano and Thera.

Front Porch

Strong breezes from the ocean help keep this covered porch cool. A swing/hammocks hang from the rafters, and vine-woven benches are scattered about. A low cedar railing separates the wooden planking of the porch from dusty ground of the courtyard below.

It is a summer late night. It is extremely hot and a slight sea breeze does little to alleviate it.

Marryn

He wears the knot of the Lord-elect of Southern Boll.

Marryn is 26 Turns, 10 months, and 21 days old.

Madri

The Turns have been kind to this woman: few lines mar features save the fine creases that mark humour and nature and the jagged scar that now highlights her right cheek from apple's crest to angled jaw-line. A lasting reminder of her recent encounter with Thread. One time sun-caught wavy brown hair has been bleached a lighter brunette by daylight's kiss, while rich carmel-hued rivers cascade into loose curls and layers that swing mid-back. Skin, now caressed with the sun's golden light would have been fair were it not for the long hard days working out in the elements. Evenly set eyes slanted just enough, reflect a more amber tone rather than the one time hazel, but still glow with an inner exuberance that can only be credited to her adored lifemate. Full lips, high cheekbones, and a firmly set chin add to her overall appearance. Height is on the average to tall-ish side and the overall frame of her body is curvy with lean and toned muscles keeping things slender and fluid; a 'gift' from long turns of active riding.

Light has been eclipsed by night: blackness dominates across a tunic of nubbly linen plunging neckline nearly meeting the hem as it falls only halfway down her torso. Raven hues of the outer jacket drape shoulder from round neckline, edged in fine woven trim. Shadows play along fitted sleeves, desinged not to impede but yield to Madri's movements. The night is again confined by the blackened skin tight leather of her trousers that follow her legs to greet her boots a study of midnight indifference. Styx -glares- malevolently back at you just because he can.

Madri is 43 Turns, 10 months, and 2 days old.

R'ish
Feminine? No. R'ish could quite easily pass as a teenage boy what with her narrow hips and small chest. Her hair is kept on the shorter side, and always a mess. Her sense of style fits her attitude and the tough look she goes for. Long legs add to her height, just a few inches short of six feet, while the body of an athlete does nothing to help her look female. Generally, she appears is as if she just got out of bed.. Someone else's bed. There is a confidence that seems to ooze from R'ish that is somehow, in a way that likely can't be unearthed, intriguing. Possibly the way she moves without a care towards others, who knows..

R'ish wears the complicated knot of a Fort Weyr Assistant Weyrlingmaster. Brown and black twist together in a complicated double loop, with a silver tassle hanging down. A lighter brown cord winds it's way through the knot to indicate the color of her dragon.

R'ish wears a set of comfortable clothes today. Comfortable for her at least. She wears a mid-weight cream colored tunic laced up with a thin strip of leather at the collar, and the wrists. The laces at the wrists are tied a bit looser than the one at the neck, so that the cuffs of her sleeves drape slightly over her hands. The tunic is belted at the waist with a long black ring belt, and drapes over a pair of worn brown leather pants cover her lower body, worn at the thighs and knees so that the color is much more of a tan than the rest of the darker brown hide. These pants may have seen better days but they're still wearable and functional. The pants are tucked into the tops of a pair of black hide boots. The boots themselves, like the pants, are well worn, but still in good condition. It's obvious that the clothing this woman wears is of top quality. On the outside of boot, hanging over the sides is an odd shaped metal piece. These odd metal bits are, upon closer inspection, attacked to a pair of boot knives that the woman has. Odd knives, and likely a specially contracted set of weapons. R'ish loves her knives, it's obvious. She normally carries several other blades, besides her boot knives. Today she's got a small belt knife, as well as a longer dagger, and yet another, of a length in-between the two hoped on that black ring belt of hers. In between the knives on the belt she wears several leather pouches, it's hard to say what she keeps in those. Though likely at least one is used for the more traditional things, like money.

R'ish is 45 Turns and 2 months old.

Late summer nights at Southern Boll are often as hot as the daytime and only the slight sea breeze offers small relief. Marryn has sought that relief and sits in the farthest hammock on the porch. Only the soft creaking of the ropes as he sways gives him away - otherwise he's a shadow within a shadow.

A gold firelizard will blink in from *between* swoop around the Lord Elect once and vanish just as promptly. A few moments later she will reappear perched atop Madri's shoulder as Fort's newest WeyrlingMaster strides through the doorway. She will have changed significantly from the last time Marryn would have seen her. Healed, and very definitly pregnant. At five months now, she looks more like six or more, but regardless of her condition, she is here on business and her features show just that. Spying the man, she will hault and take him in. "Lord Marryn?"

R'ish is following close to Madri, muttering something softly to her as she walks close. Though she halts just short of running right into the Weyrlingmaster, her eyes moving to where Madri's eyes are looking, spotting the shadowed figure. She eyes the figure carefully, head tilting slightly as she looks him over. Hrrmms.

Marryn’s head turns slowly to register the source of the unfamiliar voice. One leg touches the floor and stops the sway of his hammock. Her figure might be different but her face is not. It takes a moment but her name is recovered. “Indeed I am,” he offers in a cheerful but weary voice. “Won’t you have a seat, Madri? And your friend, of course.”

Madri will offer the Lord Elect a tired, but genuine smile and that seat will be taken up gratefully. The weight of the triplets having gained an edge over her will, she tired more easily these days. "Thank-you." She'll wait for R'ish to join them before offering any introduction. "Lord Marryn this is R'ish. One of my assistant weyrlingmasters, second in command really." She adds that information just for good measures. "I regret it is under these circumstances I see you again Lord Marryn, but I understand that you were expecting us?" Well her at least.

R'ish nods and offers a little bow to the Lord Elect. Planting a heal slightly in front as she bends at the waist just slightly. "Lord Elect." She greets before she sits when it's offered. "Well met, Lord Marryn." Other than that she'll remain mostly quiet, still.

“Welcome ladies.” Marryn stirs himself enough to shift in the one-seat contraption so he can see the woman more clearly. The glows have been shut on this end of the porch but shadows mingle from the front door and courtyard lighting to give sufficient detail. One leg is bent and tucked into the hammock while arms curl across his stomach. Something flashes briefly in his hand, catching the light. It’s a small knife. “Somewhat,” he replies to Madri’s question. “I figured it would be Thadd but he mentioned he might have to send you.”

"Good." She will notice that glint, hard not to really, but will only respond to it be leaning back. She is tired and has no interest for conflict. "He had other duties that required his attention, but I have his trust enough to at least have an open discussion with you in regards to the situation at hand." She motions then, indicating her hands are empty, in the direction of the jailhouse. "And I come of my own accord. I care for both Thera and T'jano and the situation does not bode well for them, nor do I suspect, make you all that comfortable in your own hold." She does stop then, casting a glance towards R'ish, checking in to see if /she/ had seen that knife and hoping beyond all that her second will not respond in kind. She clears her throat and dares to move on, "We have a proposal that we hope might settle the issue to some degree."

R'ish's eyes dart to that little flash. Eyes noting the knife in the Lord Elect's hand. An eyebrow arches slightly as she looks back to the Lords face. She shifts slighty to remove the riding jacket she'd just put back on before they stepped out onto the front porch. Making just a few of the sheathed knives she carries perhaps a little more visible... and accessible should the need arise. Though Like Madri She leans back in her seat, lifting one of her feet to rest her ankle across her knee, relaxed in posture. Though she does watch the Lord Elect carefully, Though Madri's glance to her distracts her slightly.. and she looks over to her...her best innocent expression. What? Though back to Lord Marryn.

Marryn is certainly out of sorts this eve. Normally he’d have risen immediately to offer a sweeping bow of greeting and perhaps tried to snatch a hand or two for a kiss brushed over knuckles. But no, not tonight. Tonight there is simply too much weight on his young shoulders. Hawk-ish features are set in the stoic expression of the seasoned poker player, only the faint hint of copper giving emotion to mocha dark eyes. “Good,” he says rather suddenly. The knife flashes again as it rises – and is thrust in what appears to be directly into his other palm. But no, as his fingers uncurl there is a small piece of wood speared by the knife – a woodcutters carving knife it would seem. Setting the trinket aside he laces his fingers over his stomach and gives the women his full attention. “I’d really like to hear a proposal about now.”

Madri will quirk at eyebrow at her unofficial guard. A mixture of amusement and respect lingers before Madri's gaze turns back to the Lord Elect. She won't bother worrying about that knife, she knows enough about hold politics to not give in to any minor distractions. "Aye, one that hopefully will rid you of one Barlord in your jail, and tend to Thera's health." She opts to stretch her legs out, hands coming to rest lightly on her rounded belly. "I took the liberty of discussing it with T'jano as well, as I could not immediately find you." She motions to R'ish at this point, "We've decided that he needs to be removed. Less you intend to kill him..." She pauses, "But assuming not. His rank as Rider has been removed and he's now a weyrling once again. He will fall under my responsibility, my care, my attention. As such, R'ish here will be the one assigning him his duties, monitoring his every move, breath, blink." She will stop here, long enough to let her companion add in any details. "As for Thera, for the sake of her health and the babe's, she too will, if she accepts, be in my charge." She lets those details linger, wondering idly if they are enough to touch Marryn's interest.

"I assure Lord Marryn, I will /not/ be an an easy taskmaster." R'ish Chimes in as Madri pauses after informing the Lord Elect that she'll be the one giving T'jano his tasks. "Also we are concerned for the health of his dragon." She'll add on to Madri's talking of worrying for Thera's health and wellbeing.

Marryn listens with head slightly canted, long-ish bangs partially shielding his view. His jaw works slightly, lips set in a straight line within immaculately trimmed goatee. When they finish explaining he continues his regard in silence for a few moments, apparently deep in thought. Finally he lets loose a heavy sigh and straightens his posture against the form-fitting back of the hammock. “I believe you,” he first directs to R’ish. His thoughts roam over snippets he’s heard from Thera – frustrations over being a weyrling everlong. Being knocked back down to that level has to be even worse. “I agree that they both need to be in the weyr. Boll is not the place for… them.” He tactfully avoids using adjectives like ‘insane nuts and fruit-loops’. “I wonder if some service might be provided as compensation?” He obviously has something specific in mind.

Madri will quirk an eyebrow towards Marryn her own curiousity now tweaked. "And what service might this be?"

R'ish tilts her head back and studies the Lord Elect for a moment. "Well.. We'd be taking him off your hands, Clearing your Jail. Getting the languishing green Dragon out of your hold." She offers, though her tone is quite mild. The Brownrider leans forward slightly. "What other kind of service would you have in mind, Lord Marryn?" Though as she and Madri come out with that particular question at nearly the same time, Madri gets a little glance from R'ish and a very brief quirk of the lips before her eyes return to Marryn.

Marryn clears his throat, one hand rising to feather back through those long-ish bangs. The better to see their reaction to his suggestion. “Our watchrider is old, as is his dragon. They’ve served well for many years.” He pauses but decides to leave out the more unflattering adjectives that are commonly applied to the pair. “Perhaps a stint or some time spent filling that role would help us as well as them? Fresh air and warm sun when it turns colder up there in the north?” A bit of quick mental calculation estimates that would give either of them time to recover enough, or so he hopes anyway.

Madri is always wary of such propositions. She will remain silent for a moment or so, thoughtful. "Aye. I would, of course, have to run this by Th'deus, but 'tis likely Fort could spare one rider." She will cast a sideways glance to R'ish before returning her calm gaze upon Marryn. "But I will not have it be either Thera or T'jano. Pick another if you favour one, or trust in us to offer you one." She could come up with several quite honestly. "But it would seem that you have one in mind?"

R'ish nods to what Madri suggests. "Aye." She'll agree with her boss. T'jano would just not be a good pick and she'd be surprised if that was who Marryn meant. And Thera being moved to Boll as watchrider would only make matters worse. "Though.. obviously we can't give you a certain answer to that request without bringing the suggestion to Weyrleader first." She restates that point.

Marryn shakes his head slightly. “I was thinking of either of them, actually. Not at the same time necessarily, unless that worked out better. Thadd had mentioned to me before about keeping T’jano here, and well, with Thera being pregnant and all…” He lets the thought fade, not sure just what he wants to suggest. “If there are considerations I’m not aware of then of course someone else can be considered.” His expression, though shaded, is amiably thoughtful as he regards the two women. A tired angle settles on his shoulders as he leans back into the hammock again.

Madri is still unsure just what the Lord Holder is wanting, or if she does know, she is not giving any indication. "Well, likely there are a few other... younger riders who would do well as watchrider." She turns her gaze upon R'ish, formulating ideas and suggestions. "What say you?" After that response she will regards Marryn again carefully. "My mistake Lord Elect, I had though you had someone specific in mind." She sighs then, visibly tired, possibly even exhausted. It's been a very long few days and the thought laying down soon is weighing a little more heavily at this hour. "But, keeping Thera here would only be asking for more trouble and I believe you are a wise enough man to see that."

R'ish tilts her head at Marryn, her eyes squinting as she tries to parse his request. "You would have him as your watch rider... yet you currently keep him chained up in your jail?" She asks shaking her head. Though she does look to Madri first before turning her head back. She gives it a shake and presses her lips together. "Sorry Lord Marryn." She apologizes for her question.. though She just doesn't understand that idea. Turning her head to look at Madri briefly. "I agree with you.. There are quite a few young riders that would be good for this position." Then looking back to Marryn. "I don't think that Thera or T'jano at this point in time are among those. Though, if the Weyrleader agrees, I'm sure we can find someone suitable for the position."

Marryn lifts one hand, palm outward, strong features wrinkling at the same time. “No, no, that’s perfectly alright. I don’t think either of them is in any condition to stay here now. I thought maybe later when it gets cold up there at the weyr and they are in better shape. A way to do penance? Serve those who he threatened for a while and see things from our view?” He shrugs. “Both of them seem to have some strong misconceptions I hope will be rectified some day.” Turning his gaze outward a moment he pauses. Did he hear something out there? He makes a mental note to watch for the guard that should be coming by on night rounds. Still looking outward he continues in the same vein as before as if thoughts were never interrupted. “I’ve never had an issue with T’jano before now – in fact the two times I actually spoke to him were at happy occasions. Toncho’s wedding and last turns summer Gather. Considering the way things started out when I first met Toncho and Thadd I’m starting to wonder if its possible at all to have a straight-forward, simple relationship with any Barlord.”

There is a laugh then, brief and light. "Aye, Lord Marryn it can be complex at the best of times." And if anyone knows this, it just might be Madri. "Their hearts are in the right place, /this/ I can and will vouche for." She motions absently with her hand, "From those I know well enough, they are intense in their beliefs and those beliefs lie very strong in family ties." Amber gaze flickers towards the Lord Elect casually. Something she suspects he can at least relate to. "What brought this on, is not my place to fully divulge, but T'jano has had a rough past and something in the threat of losing this child, coupled with Mrrth being proddy set him off." She frowns then, head turning slightly to acknowledge that 'plop' in the background. Right. Another sigh. "Teej isn't insane, misguided, young, hurt... not insane."

R'ish nods at Marryn's clarifications. "Well. The /best/ we can give you on that account is.. a we'll see. I'm still not sure that it would be a wise move. But rest assured, if the Weyrleader agrees, we will send you /someone/." Though she does glance to Madri after stating that. And after that she falls silent to let the two converse. Her attention however does go to those sounds out... /there/. hmmmm.

Marryn scratches his chin, thumb and forefinger smoothing over his goatee. “Ah, that’s right,” he says in a musing tone. “You have history with Thadd, don’t you? Well then you know what I mean, I’m sure.” His lips twitch. “An interesting bunch, aren’t they? And Faranth help us we’re unchangeably intertwined with them now – though moreso Amarik than I.” He can’t help but snort at her assessment of T’jano. “It sure felt like ‘insane’. I tried to reason with him but he flat out refused. And then Thera…” His words falter again, gaze flickering between these two whom he doesn’t really know all that well. “They’re a combustible pair, that’s for sure.”

*Poof* as a wherry hits the courtyard and feathers, feathers, everywhere. By faranth's third nipple, it's a pillow fight from 500 feet up!

Madri will nod slowly then, a slight flicker of emotion touches upon her otherwise neutral face. "Aye, a great deal of history." But in times such as this, that history and understanding tends to help. That she will know is a given. "Understand that they love fiercely and if they feel threatened in any way, they tend to lash out." She shrugs. "I don't doubt that it did feel very insane, but from his perspective he feared you would take the babe away from him, possibly from Thera." She will offer this to both present, privy to other conversations and confessions over the past. "Understand Lord Elect, my view on the Barlords in general is biased, I will not lie to you there, but in so doing I offer you my honesty: They are at times misunderstood, sometimes misguided, but always honorable." Some exceptions might apply. "I will talk to Teej and see what can be done as reconciliation, but I don't forsee it being appropriate in the near future. Let him heal, let him learn his lessons and come to an understanding. R'ish and I will guide him as best we can." She pauses then, adding as if in afterthought. "Also understand that T'jano's actions were by no means supported by the WeyrLeader." Truth is, Thad /still/ wants to strangle his younger sibling.

"I'm in agreement with Madri here." R'ish states. "We'll figure something out for a reconciliation. But, Like the Weyrlingmaster.. I honestly don't think that stationing him here would be a wise decision." She adds on... Her mouth opening to add more.. but then there is a wherry falling. It causes R'ish to jump just very slightly though her main reaction is to frown, furrow her brows and leeeeeeeeean out to try and peer up. WTF? Her eyes unfocus slightly as she exchanges thoughts with her own lifemate.

Marryn nods, hand dropping to fold with the other over his stomach. He listens to Madri’s comments with a serious air, unable to keep a frown from pulling at his lips when she mentions him taking the child. That particular sentiment has been repeated too often for his liking lately. He jumps as well at the sudden fall of feathers and sits up straighter, peering hard into the darkness. “I’ll check with the healer immediately to see how soon T’jano will be able to travel :between:,” he says with a huff. Shardin’ dragon is going to drop on of those on someone’s head sooner or later!

"In the meantime, might I suggest letting him out so he can be with his dragon?" Madri will smile then, satisfied with the response. She really did not want to have to stay here any longer than necassary. "The sooner those two are together, the sooner /she/ will eat." The sooner it will stop raining heardbeats and wherries. "The longer you keep a rider away from their dragon..." she opens her hands, palms up. "It's as good as torture to us." But she will take what he gives with a nod. "Thank-you Lord Marryn. I wish events would have played out differently, but perhaps some good will come of it?" What, only time will tell. "I will have Elsveth speak with Mrrth and see what can be done regarding the beats."

R'ish just.. sort of chuckles softly. Though she cuts it short with a clearing of her throat and a back of her hand over her mouth as she looks back towards MArryn. Noding again. "Yes... it would be better... for all involved if he were allowed to be with his dragon Until he is well enough." Better for T'jano.. better for Mrrth.. and better for boll as a whole.. what with the raining beasts and the depressed green. Though she will pause briefly and then finally offer a sincere "yes, indeed. Thank you, Lord Marryn."

Marryn sits back again, the mysterious sound firmly identified and a solution in sight. Is it possible that things might be looking up for a change? Again the thoughtful expression coats his features at their suggestion. “I think that can be arranged,” he says, mentally adding several guards to the equation just to be on the safe side. “It’d probably be best if you can get him home immediately. It won’t go over well that he’s out and about.” He looks mildly chagrined at that but can’t help general opinion as swiftly as he can his own.

Madri nods. "Agreed." She casts a sideways glance to R'ish before looking back to Marryn. "I can stay until his departure if you prefer? And R'ish will notify Thera of what we have agreed upon." She too seems to unwind some, though something will forever keep her on edge here. "Is there anything else we can do to make up for the inconvenience Lord Marryn?" She will be genuine, opting to go the route of diplomacy and keep the ball rolling on the side of good fortune for a change.

Marryn smiles then and for once the charming lilt of wolfish rouge is back. “You’re welcome to stay, most definitely. We’ve several guest rooms available if you’d like one of your own.” Surely they would prefer privacy to the public dormitory. As for their offer, well, that’s where the coppery sparkle in his dark gaze comes in. “Hm, now, I’ll have to think on it. Mustn’t waste an offer like that. No, for now I think giving our old watchrider some help would suffice. I swear riding with him is nearly as frightening as riding with Thadd.”

Madri /laughs/. "Then you would not want to ride with me." She'll motion to the nearly motionless green somewhere behind. "She's rather athletic when she's at full health and going slow was never one of her charms." She will rise then from her seat somewhat awkwardly and nod, "Aye a room and some rest, I must admit. Though we will both check in with our charges before then." She will pause then, snapping her fingers. "I think I might have the solution in part at least." Her glance is now at R'ish, "That N'tan character. He rides brown... no main duties of note." Is that a smirk?

R'ish chuckles softly as she rises as well. Offering another bow to the Lord Elect. "Nor have you ridden with me." Her brown may be getting old.. and on the ground lazy but get him in the air.. in the right mood.. and.. it can get scary. R'ish smirks. "Though you're welcome to a ride, should the desire strike." She'll offer that much. Another nod. "A room would be nice, Thank you once again." Though MAdri's suggestion gets.. a tiny return smirk. "I.. don't believe he does."

Marryn unfolds from the hammock as soon as the women rise and his attempt at a chivalrous gesture is thwarted by the immediate sting of biting tingles that race up his leg – the one that was folded beneath him for so long. With a groan he tilts to the side and grabs at the hammock supports. “S’what I get for getting myself distracted by lovely company for so long,” he says with a grin, tapping his foot on the floorboards. His head dips to the side, long-ish bangs falling forward again. The smirk on both faces is noted and he can’t help but wonder about this N’tan. “I’m sure I’m safe in the trustworthy hands of you ladies,” he muses warily. Still eyeing them curiously he attends to business adding, “I’ll let Shel know you’re here. If you need anything please let her or I know.”

Madri flashes one of her own charming grins. Likely the ones she will use on Th'deus from time to time when she needs to garner his attention. "The next time we meet Lord Marryn, I hope it is for a more enjoyable reason." She will bow then, as much as her body will allow and step off to tend to T'jano first and then herself. Likely a note will be written and sent to Th'deus if he does not opt to join her here first.

END OF LOG

Kicking and Screaming

Thu, 11 Sep 2008 08:37:34 GMT

Furious after his conversation with Taini Marryn goes to the jail determined to drag Thera out with his own hands if he has to. And he does.

Southern Boll Jailhouse

The front office, manned by at least two soldiers at any time the cell is occupied, is first through the door, followed by a series of four small cells, each with it's own locks. Each of the first three cells contains two small cots, a recepticle for bodily functions, and lacks in all privacy from the others. The fourth cell, farthest back, is similar to the others in being small and open, but differs in terms of security. The sturdy bed in this cell is bolted to the back wall. The pulley system that had been the pride of the fourth cell, is gone, and a gaping hole in the ceiling where the pulley had been attached.

Marryn

He wears the knot of the Lord-elect of Southern Boll.

Marryn is 26 Turns, 10 months, and 17 days old.

Thera

Long and lean are apt adjectives for Thera's physical and facial characteristics. Hip length black hair with indigo hues threading in the half light fall usually in a loose braid straight down her back. A darkened oval frame to a pale complexion. Bangs tendril freely over a deeply set bistre coloured and myrtle flecked gaze that is ringed with shadows from lashes and made blacker still by dusky circles beneath her gaze. With high and angular cheekbones, a slightly hawkish nose and wide set lips that rest above a pointed and narrow chin, Thera is anything but beautiful. Weyrling life attempts to add muscle to her form but it is all sinew and bone beneath a weedy form. Pragmatism and practicality are the veneer brushed over a bundle of raw emotions that simmer beneath.

A thin piece of leather cord holds a bronze wrapped shell that slips in and out of her clothing. Another small pouch of cloth tangles around the first, its contents can't be more then a hair's weight.

Dull dreary plain brown wherhide forms the shapeless baggy flight jacket of this weyrling's leathers. Thick brown pants, a little too large and which frankly make any woman waddle like a duck are shoved gracelessly into black boots. Gloves are stuffed somewhere handy and a belt harness is attached around her waist. She has to wear it - but really she doesn't have to love it - as outfits go this girl is decidedly not thrilled.

Thera is 20 Turns, 3 months, and 27 days old.

Early trimester of pregnancy should have her queasy and tired, but surprisingly Thera is rather peppy and famished /all/ the time. Beware those mood swings though. Cranky looms large in the background!

Marryn charges past the guards in the foreroom, startling them into rising with sharp salutes. He doesn't even pause or acknowledge them though, intent on his goal. Striding to the last cell he jerks the unlocked door open. "Thera!"

It has been quiet for the last few candlemarks and Thera is back playing her game, of covering T'jano's leg to keep the vtols away. Except it's no longer a game and T'jano doesn't try to remove the sheet anymore. So now she's curled up behind the man, who sleeps on the cot bolted to the wall, or feigns sleep and doesn't move. Her chin is pressed into his shoulder and she is just laying there, close to him. Another cot sits near, empty as she chooses to share this narrow space for now. Her own eyes are squeezed tight at the pain the man she loves must be feeling. The sound of a voice has her jerking around and she nearly falls from the narrow cot, feet finding the floor in time to have her sort of lying half off the bed. "What?" That's snapped back testily, her immediate thought it's another guard trying to convince her to leave. "We need numbweed and blankets and clean hot water. More then a pitcher at a time!" In truth the girl is rather grubby, the evidence of the flight, tending wounds and sharing the narrowed confines of space upon her, though she wears the sarong Taini brought, which was clean.

"I said you could... help him through the flight, Thera, not move in here. This is no place for you." Dark eyes roam over her sharply, flickering briefly to the sleeping prisoner as well. Something passes over his expression, bubbling up through obvious anger momentarily, but sinks again just as swiftly.

"Help him through the flight?" her voice turns incredulous and then is laced with scorn. Thera gets to her feet slowly, "and how exactly did I help him through the flight Marryn? Mrrth was caught before we even got him unchained. Hadamarth didn't catch Mrrth, I was a stand in and Mrrth almost went between. Have you seen her? Even through my Had's eyes, I can tell she's gray not green and it was a bloody awful and short flight." She'll reach down and jerk the sheet off T'jano revealing the wounds cut deep on his ankles, the one leg's infection spreading. The man may shiver from the fever for all he's fighting that infection, "and your incompetent healer has barely been tending to his leg. Just enough to allow his own body to try and fight the infection, but not enough to insure he's healing. My place is here making sure he doesn't die." The last is said with a catch in her throat, though her eyes and face are now livid with fury.

Marryn’s own anger is fast rising to fury level itself. One foot in front of the other he leans toward her as he speaks, dark eyes darting momentarily to the prone figure on the cot when she pulls back the blanket. His reaction is masked behind the firm set of strong features and tight line of his lips. “You /know/ how, Thera. Had was supposed to catch and you’d… you’d.. “ He leaves off the exact physical description knowing she can fill in those details. “We don’t have flights here – the guards were told not to let anyone but you inside so they didn’t know R’ish needed to get in. I thought that’s what a stand-in was for anyway? So she wouldn’t have to.” He rolls one arm, confused himself. His anger is two-fold and moves away from her as thoughts turn to T’jano’s condition. No excuses there. Obviously the guards have over-compensated in their paranoia about this man and his ability to escape – to the point of neglecting him physically. “I’ll have him seen to,” is all he says on that. “He won’t die, Thera.”

Thera crosses her arms in front of her and stares at him stubbornly, "I won't leave him. So help me Marryn. I told your guards they'd have to draw my blood to get me to go and you will too." She narrows her gaze and swallows. "He's not fighting with me here Marryn. They'll chain him and you know that true, and I'm not the best healer, but I can try." Squeezing her eyes tightly together, she shakes her head, "Please, at least until you know what you're going to do with him." Looking tired and weary all of a sudden, she sags back down to the cot, her hands coming to her face, "I want him back. I need him back. I don't think I can do this by myself."

Marryn is still fuming, moreso in the face of her adamant declaration. Muscles tighten along his arms, tensing for a physical altercation. By Faranth he’ll drag her out kicking and screaming if he has to! Her sudden change takes him by surprise and he automatically softens – though marginally. His stance remains firm but his tone takes a definite turn towards empathetic rather than dogmatic. “Thera, you’re not alone. We can try and help him but I need to know all the facts. No one told me he was addicted to fellis. When he told me it would get him through the flight I believed him. The guards are paranoid after all that happened last time he was here. Zarl and I came down hard on them.” One hand rises to scrub at the side of his face wearily. “I’ll have the chains removed – obviously he isn’t going anywhere on his own for awhile. And I’ll have the healer attend him more thoroughly. He has enough apprentices to post one here. But you have to leave. At least come freshen up; get some clean clothes and something to eat.”

Thera in fact looks horrible and probably smells worse. Apart from the clean sarong, she is covered in grime and the ooze and muck of T'jano's wounds, her braid is tattered and stringy and she shakes her head, eyes lifting to look at him, "I dont' trust you." There it is, plainly spoken, in a voice laced with fear, heartache and worry. She feels it in her bones, the pit of her stomach, "I'm so afraid that if I leave I'll lose him. He's giving up and getting lost and I can't help him. He has to do it himself, but I don't want to leave him." And this time it's worse then before and she doesn't know how to stop it. "He takes it to sleep. He doesn't sleep hardly ever." She doesn't even think he's asleep now, just drawn into himself, survival. "I think it has gotten out of control though, but the pain is real from his leg too."

Marryn’s gaze roves past Thera briefly and his conviction fades just a shade more. Why oh why did this Barlord have to choose his Hold at which to have a complete breakdown? He spent too many nights helping Aeroulyn through her recovery – both mental and physical – to be completely immune to how Thera feels. But at the same time the safety of everyone involved has to be his main concern. Her blantant comment helps by raising his ire instantly. Trust seems to be at a premium these days – especially when it comes to women. “Now that we know about his addiction, and I know about his condition, he’ll get the care he needs Thera.” His tone has returned to stony firmness, underlined by a hurt that doesn’t otherwise show. Setting his jaw he concludes, “You admitted yourself you’re no healer. You’ll only get in their way, not to mention distract them when they have to attend to you as well. Is that what you want? Leave with me now, Thera, or so help me I’ll drag you out myself.” Tact only goes so far before it wears thin. Unfortunately Marryn has his own nature and gender working against him.

"Who the shards do you think stitched him? Your healers? Who has been carrying for it? One finally came when I screamed at the guards. R'ish brought the first aid sack, not your healers. He's fighting the infection, but it has to be more then that. Taini brought water. Vyune was here, and brought Anzan. He hasn't seen him in over two turns Marryn, closer to three." Really, the cells have been Grand Central Station. Frustration grows in her, yet another man who doesn't listen and Thera has only room for the one. She shakes her head, "No." Fingers curl against the spare cot. "No." He'll have to drag her out. "So help me Marryn, I will have my dragon flame your Hold." It may be an empty threat, but will reveal the depth of her determination.

Marryn turns several shades of crimson beneath that southern olive tone of his, eyes burning copper bright. "I'm sorry, Thera!" he yells, no longer caring who hears. "If the man hadn't just tried to kill me or incited such distrust maybe everyone around here would be a little more concerned with his welfare, but the sad fact of the matter is that T'jano brought this on himself. He did it all alone. And he did it on purpose." His hand slides further north to rake back through his hair roughly. "I said I would get him help and I will." The mere fact that so many people have been in to see the rider tells him the guards are confused on several accounts. Tired of being doubted and things seeming to slip just beyond his control he reaches a breaking point. One look at Thera's determined posture and he moves toward her with a growl, bending even before he reaches her. Well-toned muscles tighten as he grabs her wrists and simply yanks, bending and leaning into her at the same time. Momentum and superior strength should carry through so that he can lift her right off her feet and toss her over his shoulder, but one can never discount those Barlord females - not even an adopted one.

Well, she's a skinny waif of an adopted Barlord and has thus far shown none of the signs of their toughness except for stubborness. As Thera is tossed over Marryn's shoulder, she shrieks. Fists pummel at the man's back and she'll kick him hard enough hopefully in a place that will insure he'll be fathering no more children that day at least. Frustration and tears colour her voice, "Did you even listen to me you fecking bastard? You've heared nothing I said. Let me go." A litany of half swear words choked out with tears. Teeth will sink someplace as well and nails scratch at him. She'll twist try and grab hold of the bars as they pass by.

Marryn grunts as a few lucky kicks aim true but otherwise anger dulls the pain – for now. He’ll no doubt sport more than a few aching bruises tomorrow. No comment to her demands – making her point even more valid. He simply plods on, steps faltering only slightly when she manages to get a hold on something. Sheer brawn yanks her grip loose instantly, moving them forward. One arm circles her hips keeping her balanced precariously on his shoulder, the other pinning at least one leg against his chest at any given time. To the shock of the guards on duty, he marches right on past without a word. Numerous mouths are left agape as he strides through the kitchen, one hapless cook dropping the mallet on his thumb instead of the dough he was pounding. Marryn kicks the back door open and steps outside. One of those brief summer showers is currently watering the Hold with heavy tepid drops that instantly soak both holder and rider. Marryn walks up to a huge trough and simply bends forward, dropping Thera into the water-filled container with a resounding splash.

And the fight will end right there and then. Thera manages to pull herself from the trough and then drop to curl into a tight ball on the ground. Arms circling her knees, drawing them in to her and she will shut down completely. No words, no angry look, nothing. Marryn will get nothing. No protest nor objection. Echoing Mrrth's earlier roars that rocked the Hold comes the louder roar of her dragon, bugling protest before from him to there will be nothing. The sound of rain will fill the spaces where noise just reigned.

“Clean up.” Marryn stands next to her like a statue, ignoring the rain. “Clean up, Thera. I’ll have Shel find some good clothes for you to wear and you can get something to eat.” A small nugget of concern worms its way through the testosterone, softening his roughened tone somewhat as he adds, “Do you want Teej to wake up and see you how you are now? If you want to inspire him to fight to live then look like something he’d want to live for.”

If she hears him she makes no sound or motion to indicate it. Would words like that have an impact on anyone. Is his version of love so shallow that it means looking pretty for someone. Thera is not pretty and will never be, but T'jano often tells her she is beautiful. So he must see something different then the man who stares at her now does, the man who did not listen to one word she said because it didn't matter to him. Silent wings through the sky though comes her Hadamarth, the snap of branches in the rain as the large brown fits into the small space. His eyes whirl white, orange and gray, but he is non threatening, just lands to curl over his rider.

Human relationships will forever pale beside that of dragons for this reason alone. Thera might feel Marryn is heartlessly cold in this situation but if she could read him like a dragon could she’d know how wrong she is. He doesn’t wear his feelings on his sleeve and is easily swept into action by his emotions rather than calm discussion. But they are there and he empathizes more with her than she realizes thanks to months of heart-rending ache over his own nearly-lost love. He lifts one rain-soaked arm at the sounds of Hadamarth’s approach, shielding his eyes long enough to make the identification. Then he’ll step back quickly, knowing instinctively that the big brown isn’t likely to wait for an explanation before acting in what he sees as defense of his rider. Still, he doesn’t want to leave her so he hesitates, blinking stoically through rain-laced lashes. “Thera – you can’t stay out here or you /will/ get sick. You’re already run down. Come inside.”

You sense Hadamarth bespeaks you directly with >> Hadamarth threads tight coils of smoke round and round in circles of fury. Anger in the brown is rare and he does not understand it now but it radiates from him in a web of heavy choking scent and cloying taste though he will try and be kind within the patience that rests so in his nature << LEAVE HER >> <<

Marryn reels, staggering back several steps. One hand curls against the side of his head, fingers lacing into obsidian locks. Dark eyes widen as his chin tilts upward to track those of whirling red and orange. As every Pernese child learns in early Harper songs those are not good colors. He might be willing to tackle Thera for what he sees as her own good but the biggest brown on Pern is another matter entirely. “Fine! Be a blasted fool Thera! Just remember its not only your own life that you’re endangering now.” For the sake of their child he might just rush the brown but thankfully that foolish thought is quickly swayed by the sheer magnitude and overwhelming presence of Hadamarth. The mental intrusion alone is enough to shake him, his holder senses not used to the sensation let alone at such an angry level. He hesitates a moment longer, then turns on his heels and walks back into the Hold. Once inside he immediately posts staff at the door to keep watch on her and plods off in a dripping trail to find Shel, the masterhealer, and Captain Zarl – in that order.

END OF LOG.

Disturbing Update

Thu, 11 Sep 2008 05:23:55 GMT

Taini visits Marryn with a disturbing update about T'jano and Thera.

Lady Holder's Office

Auryn's office is dominated by a really big desk. A solid and simple piece of woodwork, more practical than pretty. In fact, it's big enough to double as couch for a dragonet, making one wonder how it got in the room in the first place.

Jerry> It's girth might be better appreciated if it weren't cluttered from end to end with a variety of projects in various stages of completion. But don't be fooled. What looks like a disorderly mess is really a highly sophisticated encoding system, the deciphering of which is known only to Auryn. Livening up this scape of hides, books, and parchments is a glass bowl filled with fresh mangos, writing utensils, a pile of shells, sand, and even a feather or two.

A chair with extremely fluffy red cushions sits behind the desk, testiment to long hours of sitting. At least the large window behind the chair offers a nice view of the jungle glade outside. Two wicker chairs offer seating for visitors, while a number of glow baskets set high on shelves keep the room extremely well lit in the evenings.

Taini

Jerry> Standing taller than the average Pernese woman, Taini has a portly frame. She seems quite strong, and carries an air of someone who is unafraid to use that strength. Her long black hair falls down to the middle of her back, and she wears it in a braid, sometimes wrapped as a bun, sometimes just hanging down the middle of her back. Her thin lips wear a confident grin, and her bright blue eyes stare intelligently at the one being observed, not missing a thing. Her skin is darkened by the sun, and shows signs of work and a rough past.

Taini wears the knot of a Junior Weyrwoman from Fort Weyr. Brown and black, interlaced with one gold strand for the color of her lifemate.

Taini wears her normal trousers, brown and serviceable, but her tunic is slightly different. It's still her favorite shade of green, but it's buttoned up all the way to the top, perhaps a little warm at times. The sleeves go all the way down, too. Saffron regards you, perched atop Taini's shoulder. Katarina regards you, perched atop Taini's shoulder. Cerulean regards you, perched atop Taini's shoulder.

Taini is 20 Turns, 11 months, and 23 days old.

Knock, knock knock. Taini raps on the doorjamb, waiting until the man looks up before entering. A smile and a polite nod toward the guard, and she shifts a little, watching Marryn, gaging his mood. She coughs softly.

Marryn looks up at the first sound, a weary smile lifting his lips for just a moment. Shifting his chair back he leans against it. "Hello Taini," he starts, a small sigh escaping. "Please tell me you're here just because you missed me and not because there's a problem."

Taini moves in, nodding at him as a greeting. "I'm here because I missed you and not becasue there is a problem." She speaks the words dryly. "Actually, no, there is a problem. I'm sorry." She sighs as well. "I know it's probably just oversight, but it's serious oversight." Her expression darkens, and she nods sideways toward the nearest chair. "Mind if I sit down?"

Marryn looks relieved for about two seconds. Then her sarcasm registers. With a resigned shrug he gestures toward the chairs on the other side of the large desk. "Please do." Folding his hands across his stomach he settles in for unpleasant news. "What's happened now?" And, he adds mentally, why is /she/ bringing him the news?

"I went to visit T'jano. And Thera." Taini says, sitting down, leaning back in the chair. "I don't know what the Healers know, or what they've been told, but ... " She shifts, her irritation with the situation at odds with her desire to do this without letting her annoyance bleed through. A challenge for the woman whose heart resides right there on the sleeve of her tunic on a regular basis. "There are a couple things you need to know. Well, maybe three or four. Firstly, Thera has refused to leave the cell until you come down and talk to her. Secondly, whichever healer looked over T'jano's leg ought to have his or her knot burned. It's infected, and if not cared for properly, may need to be removed." She's in no frame of mind to be anything but brutally blunt. And she knows it's appreciated by the Lord-Elect. "I got them some redwort, and Thera has been tending to it, but she may not be able to give it the care she really needs. Thirdly..." She inhales deeply. "He needs to be given no more fellis. He's been taking it for months now, Thera tells me, and if he gets much more, ..." Lips set in a thin line, grimly. She sighs. "Thera's scared, Mar." She looks down, not really having intended to say that. "Whether because she listened to T'jano, or the natural..." He might not know. "Sometimes, when a lady's first carrying..." Speaking obliquely in favor of the Holder's preference for the euphimism. "she can get ... scared, or anxious easy. I had a few nights when I woke up in a cold sweat. For no real reason at all. But she's scared." Okay, four things.

Marryn sits perfectly still while listening, his expression an attentive if blank slate. Only the darkening cast of his gaze betrays what might be passing through his thoughts. When she finally finishes he draws in a breath through nostrils alone, his jaw set firmly unmoving. Lips scarcely move within his goatee as he says, "Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Taini. I admit I... have been avoiding going to the jail today after what happened last night and I hadn't gotten to the days reports yet." One hand twitches toward the piles of scrolls and hides on the desk. Suddenly his fist lands hard on the arm of his chair, calm demeanor scattering like a pack of dragon-spooked wherries. "Blast it! No one told me he couldn't have fellis. He asked for it. He said it would get him through the flight." There's a moments pause. "She isn't supposed to still be in there."

"Not many know. I only know because Thera told me." Taini says. "And ... " She appears a little sheepish. "I don't know whether they want you to know or not. I mean, Thera and Thadd. But /I/ trust you." The implication that some of her family do not. Not right now. "She figured it was the fastest way to see you, I guess." A mild shrug. "I've been enlisting some help in keeping their dragons washed and oiled. I'm struggling as it is to keep /Bee/ taken care of." She sighs, reaching up in that everpresent signal of the nervous and restless energy that is often her companion. "It's only a seven or so until I can between again, and I'll probably have to go back to the Weyr..." She says, her face tightening even more at the thought. "If they're here longer than that, someone else might have to do that." She has been spending a lot of her days lately sleeping. Really. Sleeping.

Marryn blinks, head canting slightly as the emphasis is noted. He grunts softly. "Thadd I can understand. He's had no reason to tell me. But Thera." He pauses again, gaze going distant briefly as he looks to the dark window. "She should've told me when we spoke before the flight." Strong features sharpen with a deepening frown. The look he turns on the goldrider is both angry and forlorn. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised actually. I only found out Thera was carrying my child when Teej threatened to kill me for it so why would she think of a little thing like fellis-addiction."

"She couldn't between, Marryn. She flew here straight to talk to you. That's why she came. It wasn't for the flight...." Taini finds herself defending these friends to each other. "Teej just got here first. Angry, proddy and scared of losing another..." She stops, closing her eyes, the hormones in her system making the tears nearer the surface right now than normal. "She was going to tell you. She just had to deal with it first." There's so much more to this, but Taini doesn't say, because it's not her place. She might be speaking out of turn as it is. "I guess they're scared, especially with your momma's reputation of not appreciating riders, that our children will be in danger of you wanting them raised here instead of at the Weyr." Yes, they included her offspring in this as well. "I don't think that's a worry, but it is one of those things that crosses my mind during those nights." The ones when she wakes up scared. "Family's a big deal." He knows that. "And they're worried that as 'Lords', we Barlords don't have..." Don't have a chance, don't have a hope of recourse?

A flush darkens Marryn's olive-toned tan and his jaw works noticably, severely biting back the words anger would have him spew and later regret. Not at her so much as simply an overly defensive response to mention of his Mother, a habit he adopted after the death of their Father that only strengthened with time. Sitting up he leans his elbows on his thighs. Realizing she included herself in the worries that so upset him coming from T'jano and Thera he lets out a deep sigh before speaking, his tone carefully controlled. "Taini, Mother might not have liked riders but she's warmed considerably considering the circumstances." His expression gives nothing away if that's not exactly the whole truth, so is it? "To be honest, having half-bloods floating around is not so uncommon for Holders at all." He tactfully avoids mentioning the common philosophy refering to them as spares or back-ups. "If anything I'd worry about their safety more if they lived at some little cothold somewhere, what with Bitra and pirates determined to wreak havic in our lives."

Taini sighs, nodding. "Well, there's that. We are a big target..." As he mentioned so long ago, "but we're pretty well able to defend ourselves and our families." She defies anyone to try to change that. "Like I say, I'm not worried. I'm expecting our little one to spend time here with his or her father. It wouldn't be right otherwise." She believes strongly in that. "Even if we aren't..." She inhales sharply. "I'm sorry. I'm tired, and thinking about this is making ..." It's frustrating, being so strong and yet, now being so weak. "I should probably just go get some rest." Cry her stupid emotional tears on Rik's shoulder or something. "I'm sorry to be the bearer of bad news. I know Thadd wants to talk to you, as well." She stands, moving toward him to give him a hug. He's pretty much family, in her mind, regardless of her brothers' opinions.

Marryn stands immediately when she does and much of his own anger melts with the familial gesture she offers. He can understand that. He may be cautious about lending his own heart but when he does open up he feels deeply. The hug is returned, though he automatically checks his enthusiasm for caution over her condition. Pregnant women are combustable, after all, in more ways than one. "I know Taini," he assures, "That's why I'm not worried about you two." His own situation - now that's another story. But for now he lets her go so that he can go personally wring a certain brownrider's neck, pregnant or no. "Get some rest. Try not to worry." As they part he gives her a wry smile, knowing how far-fetched that advice is when applied to her.

Combustible indeed. His words, and hug nearly set off the tears, and she nods. "Thank you." His attempt at humor makes draws a quiet snort. "I try. But I guess I'm too much like Momma and Rik in that way." Worriers all. "Goodnight, Marryn." She nods, releasing him, and turning toward the door to go. "Maybe next time, I'll come just because I missed you." Her own wry comment floats back as she steps out into the hall.

END OF LOG.

Jail Flight

Fri, 05 Sep 2008 07:10:20 GMT

Marryn just can't catch a break. T'jano's green flies while he's still shackled in the jail cell and the rider's drawn by the proddy green's call wreak havoc.

Southern Boll Jailhouse

You see Tugger here.

T'jano, G'dal, Thera, R'ish, Dia, and Sh'dan are here.

******************

T'jano twists in his shackles, as Mrrth fell off the ledge, and his reaction mirrors hers, except for the limitations imposed by the shackles. T'jano's should may attract the attention of the guards, as the greenrider himself twists against the irons with a violence he has not here-to-fore displayed. Lips peel back from his teeth, and his body arches against the cot, with shoulders pressing into it. One, then two guards, come in, to stand and watch and boggle. Call a healer? There's a discussion and one of the guards is dispatched. The other remains, and is joined by the third who had remained in the front room. Yo, T'jano's firelizard, was startled away from her friend and she now zips anxiously around the interior of the cell, perhaps adding to the sense of frantic motion, within.

Inattention to the voices in the hallways, T'jano settles for a brief few moments, then shifts, dips and tangles himself in the chains as he twists. Still once more, now with the links pressing against his flesh, T'jano opens his eyes fully, the pupils having nearly swallowed his green irises as his face turns into the caricature of a grin. The guards stare, noting the lewd state of the man's bearing, as well. "This be the flight, they were telling us of?" Thus one asks the other, and the other responds, "I'm not bringing him wine, if he's looking like... That. Heard stories about those greenriders."

The guards are watching what may be the most peculiar show of their lives. With shifting, lightly clicking chains as facsimile wings, this half-dressed man mimes in aborted half-motions, something that happens without. The rider's eyes are glazed, yet he seems to be seeing something else, hearing other conversations. Gone mad? Then there's the motion, a hard left that the already twisted chains disallow, but only at the limit of the forces and T'jano falls against the chains again, lashes out in instinct and an unfamiliar terror that slaps back and forth on the link between rider and dragon. T'jano's scream, they will remember. Perhaps they hear the dragon's echo, in the sky.

*****************

It's really not a good idea to stand between flight-lusted riders and the object of their 'affections.' G'dal, drawn past the redhead, past the other women, strangely, storming through the kitchens, into the jailhouse, where the man is. Where the green's rider is. He bellows almost as loudly and in the same timbre as his dragon, and at a comparable speed. Fanneth may be slow on the ground, but Turns and Turns in the past learning how to move as an older, larger man have paid off. It's like a wagon with spooked horses.

Marryn enters at a near run and comes to a jarring halt at sight of so many people in the jail. The young guard who rushes in behind him looks sheepish and worried at the same time, having gone to get Marryn as soon as things seemed amiss. Dark eyes swing about the room, noting the pair of guards blocking the crowd from entering the cell area, and come to rest on Thera. "I thought you were going to him? What is everyone else doing here?" So asks the hold-bred.

"I was here to come visit my family, Marryn." The way Dia rolls his name off her tongue it's like a feline's purr. Oops. Dangerous ground... He knows that voice. Or he should. "It seems we have a suite reserved just for us, right here in this lovely little vacation jailhouse." She's lounging against the wall, the guard nearest her holding his upper arm and glaring daggers. "Unfortunately for me, this idiot's lovely Mrrth is up and Tor is, of course chasing her. So, if you would kindly open the cell for the catcher so Teej doesn't drive himself insane." She glances over at the man in chains. "Or break something... I'd be..." She turns to Marryn again, definitely the air of a predator about her. "Most grateful..."

R'ish is too lost in the skies to pay much attention to Marryn and his questions... Her lip curled up, teeth bared briefly though as the man enters. Guards stand between her and the green rider.. and they get a withering glare, Though there are others in the room.. Others that will do if she can not make it to the green rider. R'ish.. does not do seduction when affected by the lust of flight. No.. Instead there's a small gasp from the Brownrider and she surges forward towards the guards to try and push through them. If she makes it that far.. the fact that she does not have the keys will slow her up.. as she turns on one of those poor guards, snarling at him. "Open it." Low.. dangerous. And should he move too slow.. Her eyes will fix on one of the others.

Thera swirls through the door with the crowd of riders, half lost within the path of her Hadamarth and half stressed with worry. The first glimpse of T'jano has her stuttering to a stop, a strangled sound squeezing from her throat, and so she is at the back of the pack when Marryn finds her. Heaving a breath and shaking her head, she whimpers, "I tried. They wanted to check with you and they made me wait.. it was too late, Mrrth rose.... ca.. catch faster...." The last is wildly whispered and she will steady herself against the cell bars. Fingers curling around the metal. She'll turn and stare at the others. "And you can't deny ... don't Marryn, please. It was wrong. I should have been with the rider that time." A flicker towards R'ish. A lesson learned.

Damnit. Lost again. G'dal grunts, turning right around and walking back out. There is a chair in the Passionfruit pit with his name on it, as well as say, four skins of wine? He gestures toward R'ish. "Let /her/ in, unchain him. Just for the night, huh?" Let nature take its course and then he can be back up against the wall or whatever. "Bad fer th' dragons." This coming from the man who called him a numbskull. "Aw, Fan, it's okay, bud. Y'll catch one someday." Piteous, but hopeful at the same time. As he leaves, he chortles. "Aw yeah, and yer guards might wanna close their eyes...." And he's off to find his drink. Lots of it.

Sh'dan will actually intensify his out persuit for a moment or so, but Kayth will not win this win and the bronzers shoulders will sag. Disappointment? Relief? Either way there will be a long exagerated sigh before this bronzer turns on a heel and makes a rapid exit back out to the Pitt and a whole lot more drink.

Oblivious, unaware of who is here, who is not here, what the words are, T'jano is with Mrrth, but for the shackles that yet bind him, steal from him his sharp balance, lean strength and ability to move. He tries, yet, and slams himself against the limits of the chains, panics and fights panic. He isn't hearing, but wild eyed and wild-haired, struggles with chains that do not feel like air, with arms which do not act like wings. Scrabbling, at best, he continues. The point, exactly, when R'ish's brown catches can be marked by another lashing battle with the superior and inflexible strength of the chains. Mrrth's surrender is reflected in T'jano's shuddering collapse into slow-writhing tension on the floor.

"Don't let anyone in!" Marryn barks the order to the guards at the door as soon as several push closer. Grabbing Thera by the arm Marryn bulldozes past lingering bodies, the guards automatically parting for him to pass. "Only her. And get it right this time!" Anger flashes in his narrowed eyes as well as sharp tone, boding ill for whomever didn't pass the message along that Thera was to be allowed in during the flight. Guards scramble to unlock the cell. "Lock'em in and everyone to the front office. No one leaves till this is over. Make blasted sure the cell is locked again when she comes out." Marryn delivers quick orders, voice crisp and allowing for neither delay nor a hair's varience. "Everyone out!" he bellows last, swinging an arm at the rest of the room's occupants. Guards not otherwise assigned move to nudge the riders out, lingering regretful glances given to some as the hold-bred men are affected by the pull of the flight.

"Yes, let Thera through." For some reason, despite the increasing haze and rage of disappointed lust, this seems very important to Dia. Stepping between R'ish and the cell, she rests her hands on her hips. "Sorry sweets, nothing personal..." But then one of those 'helpful' guards tries to nudge her along. "Now, /this/ is personal," she informs R'ish brightly before whipping a longer dagger from her hip sheath and whirling on said helpful guardsman, slashing down and across at an angle. "Don't /touch/ me!" she roars. "Don't you fecking touch me."

There is an instinct in her that coils around her heart as Thera moves along with Marryn. Her dark eyes widen as she stares at the thrashing T'jano and she would, without so much as a blink a thought a breath, rush to him. This is the man she loves beyond reason. She is his anytime, anyplace, but not here or now. She can't. She pulls and whimpers. "Noooo," comes out in a gargled gasp and she pulls at Marryn's arm. "It's too late. Marryn! Hadamarth didn't catch. Maialeth caught... R'ish!" She turns, torn, the remenants of loss still on her face.

There are people barring her from her target. Lust and Rage having built up during that flight. Lips curl back in a snarl as she's touched by a guard.. and then by Dia.. and again by yet another guard behind her. That guard's hand is grabbed, twisted.. yanked.. to pull him forward and closer to her as she twists slightly, ensuring his position as she cracks her head back.. to hopefully hit him in the face. Then, with Dia in front of her, back turned.. she lets go of that guards hand and her eyes fix on Dia. Again she surges forward in an attempt to wrap her arms around the other woman.. much as if she were a dragon catching.

The guards seem torn, momentarily hesitating, eyes dialating as they roam over Dia and R'ish. Mr. Helpful yelps as the dagger draws a thin red line across his forearm. The spell is momentarily broken and the hiss of steel rings loudly as he draws his own sword.

G'dal stops in his tracks. "Huh?" The first thing he notices is that the Lord wants them all ... where? And the second thing he notices is that the wrong female brownrider is being ushered in. "Naw. Not her. Not her. Th' other one.. Less'n she needs..." Still thoroughly riled by flight lust, he turns and leers at R'ish. "Less'n y' prefer a bigger man." He knows the old practice of stand-ins. But it requires /two./ His grin turns toothy, white beard full of little bits of things. He watches R'ish grab Dia, and sighs gustily. "Aw, feck. Need me some booze. Wal, there's yer stand-ins. Let 'em be." He'll go anywhere with whoever, back to being his normal state after a flight,: unsatisfied. "Jest let us get some good wine in us, and go t' sleep." He means the rest of the losers.

At some point, T'jano comes back to himself, to some extent. He is no longer falling Mrrth, pressed against her brown mate. He recalls to himself situation and restraint, and draws up his hazy regard, distracted, to land on R'ish. Mrrth knows who the dragon is, as T'jano understands who the rider is. Ice green gaze focuses on the older brownrider and T'jano seeks to straighten up, to meet her. Tangles of chain yet harass him, and he'll snarl, lashing a foot against his shackles in a motion that he immediately regrets. "R'ish." Quietly spoken, the name is acknowledgement and, perhaps, request. He sees Thera. T'jano's eyes even seem to focus on her, regret washing over his expression. But that fleeting glimpse turns back to R'ish.

"What??" Marryn's head whips in a double-take as Thera's words register. "Can't you still... we did." For a moment he's at a loss, not as familiar with the fine details of flight mating as those who regularly participate in such things. He only knows that he and Thera were together when Thera won a flight, so the urgency flung in his direction from Thera, R'ish, and lastly T'jano himself is at first confusing. "Shardit!" he yells, language slipping worse with anger. Turning back to the cell he reaches for Thera and pulls on her arm. "You want out?" he asks, making sure.

Mouths drop as the two out-most guards stand riveted by R'ish and Dia. Someone fetch the drool buckets. And so much for guarding.

The metallic sound of a sword being drawn has Dia's mouth watering and her free hand reaching for her second hip dagger. Two short blades against one long one. The trick is to keep in close, where the sword is too clumsy and unweildy to be of any use. But there's R'ish with her arms around her waist and the other guards are watching avidly. So, with a sex-kitten smile that would make Kylara proud, she grinds her hips back into R'ish, arching her chest forward in a slow, erotic motion. Only when she's sure she has their attention will she lunce forwards, blades flashing and singing as she moves with lust-fueled speed to fight this upstart guard who would /dare/ raise a blade to a dragonrider. Marryn and Thera are noted in her peripheral, but aside from a jolt of lust that only fuels her anger, there is no reaction to them.

Thera shakes her head, even as she continues to stare at T'jano. She squeezes her eyes shut and whispers, "It has to be R'ish Marryn. Not me" Her own fingers lash around the fabric of Marryn's arm and she pulls. "We caught then. We didn't now." Her voice is hollow and her breaths are coming shallow and soft, but she nods. A struggle still and then she whispers, "Please. For him. For me. It's how it should be."

R'ish is not to be evaded so easily. As Dia manages to slip from her grip after rather promising gestures, there's a shout of rage... frustration that comes from her. While Maialeth indeed caught Mrrth... R'ish was barred from T'jano. The brownrider just wants release, and she had that possibility within her grasp. Her surge forward to try and Tackle Dia away from that guard, has nothing to do with saving him.. and everything to do with reclaiming something she had... and lost.

Unfamiliar anger slashes through shaking T'jano, translating to battling motion and leaving impotent violence in its wake. Again, the shackles bit deep into his flesh as he fights to go to /her/, the rider of the dragon that caught Mrrth; the bruises on his extremities will be nothing short of spectacular. Above the hold, even as brown and green are forced to disentangle or plummet to their deaths, Mrrth flies in rhythm and sweep with her newest mate. But Mrrth will roar again, vocalizing T'jano's intense, silent frustration. The bizarre dragon-engendered ritual is not yet complete.

G'dal is old. Weyrbred. Some things are just not done. Watching the man on the wall is sheer torture for the old man, and he stomps toward the Lord Holder. "S'like ..." He cannot think of the words. His voice catches. "Let 'im get t' 'er. Jest t'night. Jest now. Ain't him. Ain't the people now. They're brown and green now." Nodding toward R'ish and T'jano respectively. "When they're done, y' can do what y' like. But ..." This is worse than the loss for G'dal. Way worse.

Marryn swallows hard past the unbidden passion that rises at Thera's touch, the pull too reminiscent of other memories. Giving his head a hard shake that sets long-ish obsidian lengths askew he pulls her rather roughly the rest of the way from the cell. The clash of metal whips his gaze in the opposite direction and he bellows a sharp, "Holster that sword!" at the guard, visions of mangled and limb-less riders dangling in his mind's eye. Dia he can do nothing about and doesn't even try, simply hoping she isn't too far gone to start aimlessly slashing. He doesn't know R'ish but it's apparent enough who she is and he uses sheer strength and elbows to shove people out of his way. "R'ish!" he yells and swings an arm, hopefully breaking her out of dragon-lust enough to get her attention.

And suddenly her foe is no longer foe, but unarmed victim. Snarling in frustration and anger, she whirls, about to give Marryn a piece of her mind about his interference when suddenly she's tackled by a flying R'ish, falling to her back with only one knife left in her hand. So, now, pinned to the jail floor by another flight-lusty brownrider, she does the only logical thing her weyrbred mind can tell her. She leans up to kiss R'ish--hard, if she gets her.

Thera can't stand this. Can't stand watching T'jano in pain. "Give me the keys to the shackels," and her fingers release his arm and open and close. Amazingly something is thrust into her hands and she stumbles back towards T'jano. "R'ish!" she calls to the rider currently stalking Dia. Here kitty kitty.

Marryn’s attention flicks from Thera to the women on the floor and with a groan he rakes one hand back through his hair, squeezing the back of his neck. This is exactly the sort of mess he’d wanted to avoid. “Blasted riders! Cracked heads on all of’em!!”

R'ish has her! She has... someone! It's a moment before Marryn's voice sinks in.. Calling her name.. And she shifts slightly, her head starting to turn, but Dia catches her before she's fully snapped out of it. And she's gone again. Caught nearly on the cheek at first, her head turns into the kiss of the pinned woman, pressing back against her hard. R'ish isn't here.. not completely. Those calling her name are drowned out as that flightlust surges back up within her. She has what she wants now... Or someone to at least fill in, and in R'ish's current state.. That will do. Bird in the hand, worth two in the jailcell.

"Jest open th' damn door, and let 'er get to 'im. Ougtta really unlock 'im, too, jest fer th' night." G'dal opines, loudly; his own unsated flight-lust turning quickly into frustration. He won't pull a blade, but he might just bowl and barrel his way through the situation to do just that. Then, Thera does what he was thinking of doing. "Ain't nothin' worth lockin' up a proddy green, Holder-man. Yer folk'll be complainin' about this fer a while." The sights, sounds, emotions and everything involved with a dragon flight are not meant for Holders. Hence why the riders cloister themselves up at Weyrs during these times. As R'ish grabs Dia, G'dal shakes his head again. "Naw, if she's goin' there, young brownie, get yerself in there, and ..." The old man knows that Thera is his weyrmate. "Th' rest of us c'n leave them alone. Ain't our business."

Thera pulls herself from the bars with a growl of frustration. R'ish obviously not coming near the greenrider and whirls towards the cot. She descends on T'jano, blanketing his body with her own. She murmurs to him, tries to soothe him, sliding across him and finding his lips, kissing him hard. Fingers fumble for the keys in the shackles and the click is loud in the shocked space of the jail's interior. She knows him, will pull him towards her with urgent touches and nudges, seek and find and let the dragonlust claim the rest. And in the morning, she'll have words, lots and lots of words, with a certain Lord Holder! Many many many words.

Marryn staggers out then, leaving strict orders with the senior guard that T’jano is to be securely shackled again as soon as its over. As for the rest, he can barely think straight anymore let alone worry about them. The riders may have taken over the cells but the guards man the only way out – the office.

END OF LOG.

T'jano in Jail - Again

Thu, 04 Sep 2008 06:24:33 GMT

Marryn visits T'jano in jail intending to talk but ends up having to deal with an urgent situation instead.

Southern Boll Jailhouse

You see Snake and Tugger here.

T'jano is here.

Marryn

He wears the knot of the Lord-elect of Southern Boll.

Marryn is 26 Turns, 9 months, and 17 days old.

T'jano

Pale green-grey eyes, laughing, betray a cheerful nature that if not for force of habit, might also tend toward frivolity. T'jano's about 6'2, and has the whipcord appearance of the racing runners and the natural grace of one of those creatures. Dark hair, nearly black, falls in waves as the length pulls out what would be curls in shorter-shorn hair, and is usually tied back out of his face. Lean long fingers and tan skin and shadows and angles of feature and lately sporting a moustache, soul-patch and small goatee, T'jano usually conveys a presence of heat and motion and vitality. A dapper dresser who can evidently afford to indulge himself on his fashions, T'jano has outfitted himself in stylish green shirt of pale hue, a tailored dark-brown vest and charcoal-dark fitted pants that flatter his lean figure and compliment his dark coloration and light eyes. Well-made boots matching a belt tooled with small dragons forming the word 'Mrrth'. To his belt are secured two knives, a short hand-dagger and a longer, ornate dueling knife. A weyrling knot of Fort's brown and black is twined with another cord of weathered sea-glass green.

Yo regards you, perched atop T'jano's shoulder.

T'jano is 23 Turns, 3 months, and 15 days old.

Wearing the hand-me-down drudge's tunic, and nothing else, T'jano has been cleverly secured to the wall, to the same rings that held Th'deus once up on a time. The chains to his wrists are short enough that he cannot touch the one to the other, nor could fingers manipulate an object to open the cuffs. He is similarly shackled and thus restricted, has found recourse in the cot, only. So he has mostly lain there, in the company of his glowing gold firelizard, while his glowing green dragon crouches on the fireheights and hisses at any who come near her. Her straps remain on, waiting for a rider who has not come. Even Boll's blue cannot help but notice the allure of proddy green, and likely there's been some effect on the every-day dealings of the courtyard, around where Mrrth has chosen to perch.

Marryn approaches the cell slowly, sandals quiet on the stone floor. He stops just short of the locked door and crosses him arms, just watching. The lighting is bright enough to make all details plain, the guards not taking any chances by letting the slightest shadow darken the room.

T'jano hasn't done much. Given the restrictions on his movements and the constant bombardment of the equivalent of mental phermones, T'jano has finally opted to simply remain in the cot, and either sleep, or pretend to sleep. Yo has not brought him anything. The wine bottle and glass of before are absent. No hides to study. No stylus or ink. No words. Nothing. He is just /here/. Aware or not, is unclear, though the gold will raise her head, narrow muzzle pointed toward Marryn, and study him in silence. Nevermind the lavender hues of her eyes, which match the deeper colors of Mrrth's without.

A mental trail of musings, full of questions and accusations, parades across Marryn’s mind as he watches the man sleep. Loosed from the throes of unthinking temper he seeks to understand his ernswhile attacker. After several moments he ventures a guess and speaks aloud, saying, “You can quit pretending to be asleep now, if you’re ready to talk.”

"Marryn. What exactly have we to talk about?" T'jano returns. He doesn't open his eyes, but the words come readily enough. The man seems relaxed in the cot, or as relaxed as the awkward position in which he is forced to lie, might be. "We could discuss the marvelous accomodations. I particularly appreciate the complimentary wardrobe. The facilities are exactly what I would come to expect from such an oft-used area of the hold and their maintenance is, of course, impeccable. And I hear that you and the emergency backup Boll have managed to woo my sister over to your mentality, congratulations."

Marryn leans on the bars, arms still crossed. Ignoring the jab about Taini he logs that tidbit away for later and instead remarks on the attire and setting, “You threatened to let yourself out, T’jano. What do you expect?” So much for a subtle start.

"You know that my dragon is going to go up... Any minute, yes?" T'jano returns. "I hear it was great fun in Boll, when Neia's green went up. I'm sure you're all looking forward to a repeat of that adventure. There was a baby boom, sometime after that, yes?" T'jano returns. "I'm supposing, now that you know all about dragon-flights from just about every perspective, you'll still manage some excuse to keep me in here, during that. Alone."

Marryn straightens despite himself at that news and one hand encircles a bar, dark gaze intensifying on the prone man. Indecision tears at him. Despite wanting to make sure T’jano pays for what he did he doesn’t want to endanger the rider’s life or that of his dragon. Taking a chance he asks, “What would happen to you if I did?”

His answer is considered, and slow: "When you were with Thera while Hadamarth flew that gold, you know how she acted. Imagine, if she were alone." There's no jealousy there. No anger. Nothing of that sort. That Marryn was with T'jano's weyrmate, is not T'jano's issue. "It hasn't happened to me," T'jano admits. "But I'm feeling like I'm going nuts now. I am not looking forward to finding out the definative answer to your question. With enough wine, or fellis, I'd probably sleep through it."

Marryn suppresses a spike of panic at the scenario. The sheer ferocity of those few hours was mind boggling enough with two of them there to assuage the instincts of two great beasts. But riders are trained and more practiced at that sort of thing, aren’t they? While he wouldn’t want to see Thera in that position he cants his head slightly imagining T’jano in a similar situation. Would serve him right. But what of his dragon? What would her reaction be? Marryn can only come to one conclusion. Not worth the risk. Fortunately T’jano provides him with the answer he needs. “Done.” Turning on his heels he disappears and voices can be heard from the anti-room. After several minutes he returns and resumes his position at the locked door, one hand resting lightly on a bar. “You’ll have wine and fellis – as much as you need.” Scowling, he adds, “It’s more than you deserve.”

"Not at all, Marryn." T'jano returns. "I deserve to be able to raise my children, with my weyrmate, without the fear that some deranged, unbalanced individual will steal them away forever, so I am to miss every important development. Walking. Speaking. True affection. That's what I deserve. You -- You've got your Lord Holder life, evidently a son you can see and touch and hold and raise and no one able to take that lad away because your power is absolute. And you were raised that way. You have no idea, and never will know, I hope, what it's like to awaken every morning and every evening and wonder if your boy remembers you, would recognize you. Would care. If your boy wonders if you love him. No, Marryn. You've had a coddled and comfortable life with the assurances of station and confidence of position. Thera is my weyrmate, and her child will be my child. A 'Lord's .word. is easily forgotten; his written signature is forever his. That is what I deserve. Assurance that my next child will not be ripped from me because his sire outranks me." T'jano stares at the ceiling. "You do not deserve what you have, and in that, have no footing, on which to judge what I deserve or do not. Think on that."

Marryn simply grunts, not moved by the sentiments with what he knows of the pair's up and down relationship. He may not know the man personally but he's heard plenty and seen the evidence of his wild habits on those he cares about. Marryn is stable and he knows it, even if the world seems determined to jolt him around constantly. There's more he'd like to say to the other but it will have to wait. "You assume too much. Sleep well, rider. You're gonna need it," he drones and leaves the rider to his own musings.

END OF LOG

Sign Or Die

Wed, 03 Sep 2008 07:20:00 GMT

T'jano visits Marryn and makes a serious demand involving his weyrmate, Thera, and her unborn child.

Lady Holder's Office
   Auryn's office is dominated by a really big desk. A solid and simple piece of woodwork, more practical than pretty. In fact, it's big enough to double as couch for a dragonet, making one wonder how it got in the room in the first place.
   It's girth might be better appreciated if it weren't cluttered from end to end with a variety of projects in various stages of completion. But don't be fooled. What looks like a disorderly mess is really a highly sophisticated encoding system, the deciphering of which is known only to Auryn. Livening up this scape of hides, books, and parchments is a glass bowl filled with fresh mangos, writing utensils, a pile of shells, sand, and even a feather or two.
   A chair with extremely fluffy red cushions sits behind the desk, testiment to long hours of sitting. At least the large window behind the chair offers a nice view of the jungle glade outside. Two wicker chairs offer seating for visitors, while a number of glow baskets set high on shelves keep the room extremely well lit in the evenings.

Marryn
Marryn eminates a smooth easy grace, his confidence a gift of nature and providence. Raised with the knowledge of leadership on his shoulders, he carries himself with straight-backed surity and pride, topping off at just under six feet tall. Thick obsidian waves fall shoulder-length, slipping often enough into his view that he's acquired a habit of flicking his chin to swing them out of the way. Dark eyes light with copperish mischief, but most of the time he has a fine-tuned control over strong, hawkish features of angled nose and thick brows. With a ready smile, good southern tan, and trim, muscular physique he presents an appealing figure, something of which he's well aware and strives to ensure. There's a sense of restrained passion about the firm set of lips, copper-tinted gaze and solid step - a passion for love, life, and action. His motto: I see, therefore I do.
He wears the knot of the Lord-elect of Southern Boll.
Marryn sports a flattering loose white shirt with three-quarter sleeves and open partially down the front, the cut of which is crisp, neat and deceptively simple - the mark of fine workmanship. Charcoal trousers and a thick black belt with silver buckle complete his attire, finished off with the traditional southern footwear of choice - sandals.
Marryn is 26 Turns, 9 months, and 14 days old.

T'jano
Pale green-grey eyes, laughing, betray a cheerful nature that if not for force of habit, might also tend toward frivolity. T'jano's about 6'2, and has the whipcord appearance of the racing runners and the natural grace of one of those creatures. Dark hair, nearly black, falls in waves as the length pulls out what would be curls in shorter-shorn hair, and is usually tied back out of his face. Lean long fingers and tan skin and shadows and angles of feature and lately sporting a moustache, soul-patch and small goatee, T'jano usually conveys a presence of heat and motion and vitality. A dapper dresser who can evidently afford to indulge himself on his fashions, T'jano has outfitted himself in stylish green shirt of pale hue, a tailored dark-brown vest and charcoal-dark fitted pants that flatter his lean figure and compliment his dark coloration and light eyes. Well-made boots matching a belt tooled with small dragons forming the word 'Mrrth'. To his belt are secured two knives, a short hand-dagger and a longer, ornate dueling knife. A weyrling knot of Fort's brown and black is twined with another cord of weathered sea-glass green.
T'jano is 23 Turns, 3 months, and 11 days old.

Darkness pervades the office, perhaps in surprising contrast to the usual tradition of keeping this room well lit in the evenings. Perhaps some contentious drudge has taken it upon himself to stem the waste of glow-stuff, which has to come from somewhere, as some kind of a resource. And it isn't that late. Just dark, with blinds over the windows fully drawn as well.

In a rare moment of stolen ease, Marryn is perched precariously on the wicker-like chair with his feet hiked up on the edge of the big office desk. Head tilted back, his eyes are closed, hands folded over his stomach. Various hides lie open on the desk as if he was in the middle of working when the sudden inescapable urge to grab a nap struck. The lowered lighting is certainly no help.

Shadow within shadow, the thief strikes dark through dim light. Soundless, his own green sent away at the beach, and a rarely subdued outfit of browns and blacks donned, T'jano enters. His knot is not in evidence, his motions liquid, his intent to follow the little gold who'd acted as spy and sentinel. Yo appears, disappears, and now her bond has arrived. The door, courtesy of some efficient servant, does not squeak upon being opened, nor shut, and the bolt slides smoothly in place. The green-eyed hunter who arrives, crosses the room with the casual ease of someone who assumes time is on his side, though he keeps to the shadows. Forward, then pause. Forward, then pause. Until he has, finally, reached the desk. A pause there, while T'jano orients, his eyes adjusting yet to the dim light. Finally, Marryn might hear the sound of hide pushed over hide. Should he open his eyes, he'll notice that the conveyance is a bared blade that glints with wicked intent, even in the barest of illumination. "Take the stylus, Marryn, and the ink." Tenor, sober and somber, instructs. T'jano doesn't bother to hide who he is, though, as he stands near the man, with bared blade in his right hand. "You are going to be writing a contract."

Unfortunately for Marryn, T’jano does have all the time he could want. Thanks to Marryn’s randy brother and his lover he has been spending numerous evenings sleeping in the office instead of their shared bedroom so the window seat and chairs are well stocked with comfy cushions and those of the staff that work at night are used to his presence and not disturbing him. Marryn stirs a bit at the soft rustle of hide’s being moved but it isn’t until the threat-laced voice breaks the silence that he comes fully awake. Sandaled feet hit the floor with a solid thunk and he rises partially from his seat. The knife is spotted and he stops just in time, recognition following swiftly. “T’jano??” he blurts, astonished. “What in the name of the blazing Red Star are you doing?” Standing straight he sets his hands on his hips, feigning ease. Beneath his loose-fitting shirt muscles are tensed to spring and the swell of anger stirs copper hints in the shadow of mocha-dark eyes.

"Sit. And write. I'm in no mood for it. Stylus." T'jano murmurs, "And ink. I'm sure you have it. I'd have written the contract already, had you not been here. Second time now that you've inconvenienced me." His breath is nearly inaudible, as it escapes.

Marryn cants his head, ignoring long-ish bangs that slip lattice-like over one eye. The items listed are indeed readily apparent on the desk but Marryn makes no move to collect them. His posture remains deceptively neutral but his tone is under-scored by heat. His gaze remains riveted on the rider though the knife is kept it clear periphial vision. "I'll not take orders from you, Barlord. Explain yourself."

"You have reasoned with my brother. I am, however, unreasonable. Don't try me." T'jano's pale eyes have a certain gleam in them, that some might call madness. "What I am requesting is as reasonable as I can manage, as your death would suffice as much for my purposes. Please," T'jano speaks quietly again, "Pick up the stylus, dip it in the ink, and ready yourself to write. I will speak slowly, in case this is difficult: 'I, Marryn, abdicate my right as sire to Thera's offspring, unless such dire circumstances require that her child take my place as Lord or Lady Holder." T'jano's smooth tenor slides the words out, "I will not force, command or steal the child from her, other than reasonable visiting rights, but will allow her to raise said offspring with the weyrmate of her choosing, and'," T'jano emphasizes this, "'I will /not/ try to force the removal of said child away from those who parent him or her, on the honor of my word and my name.'"

“WHAT??” Marryn’s deepened tenor blasts through the room loud enough to cause an alert if it were daytime and the usual handful of people were wandering through the Front Hall at any given time. The room suddenly spins and T’jano is at the center of it. Marryn sways and leans forward, fingers gripping the edge of the desk with white-knuckle strength. “Thera is /pregnant/??” A madness of his own seers his eyes to T’jano’s face, looking for any sign of untruth. Fresh off the last fiasco of someone claiming to carry his child he has to remind himself that this time there’s no doubting the possibility. He remembers fully every moment with Thera. Quickly yanking his thoughts from those heated memories, his mind reaches for other options. “Why are you so sure its mine? You’re her weyrmate. Surely the two of you have….” He cuts off, rolling one hand. “Enough. I was only with her once!”

"Because. She. Said. So. Write." T'jano returns.

A moment of silence passes, though the air is charged enough to flame a clump of thread. Copper-flecked mocha locks on pale grey-green in a mental battle of wills. Marryn’s jaw clenches till his teeth nearly rattle and finally he breaks the deadlock with a bellow and spins on his heel, perhaps foolishly, turning his back on T’jano for a moment. One hand rakes back through obsidian locks and settles on the back of his bent neck. A hundred questions race through his mind and a hundred more angry protests. He turns again quickly, a determined set to his jaw. “I won’t do it, T’jano. I don’t know why you think I’d try to take a child of Thera’s away from her but you’re wrong. I love Aeroulyn and we have a son. I’ll acknowledge the child is mine, gladly so as I care for Thera, but I’ll not put it in a contract as if she were some hired whore.”

"Might be your feelings now," T'jano intones, "But we can't assume that's the way that you'll feel in a few turns. She's no whore and you and I both know that. She is, however, destroyed that it's your child and not mine. My concern is that you Blood cannot be trusted, that your mother will not allow a Barlord to parent her grandchild, or let him or her run loose at a Weyr, and you'll buckle. This contract will ensure that you are forced to a standard, and I can be this girl or boy's father, without him or her being stolen away. Now." T'jano evidently decides that this is enough of a conversation. "Sit your ass down and write that, or I'll start cutting you. I have... Very little left, to lose, Marryn. Don't push me."

Even in the lowered lighting the flush that deepens Marryn’s southern tan complexion is obvious. With no weapon of his own to use his posture takes on a fighting stance, prepared for defense if not offense. Fingers clench, elbows loosely bend, feet firmly set slightly apart – he takes a deep evening breath. He might not have much occasion to defend himself to the death but he’s been training since youth with a man renowned for such skills. Insulted now as well as angry Marryn still struggles with one vital flaw in that training however – his temper. “I don’t need a contract to keep my word!” he snaps. “Honor, rider. Do you know what that is? You who sneak in here like a thief and threaten a Lord Holder to get your own way? How dare you accuse us! We’ve already one Barlord child on the way in this family thanks to your sister and my brother. Do you think this will be any different?” Reaching for the ink jar he adds, “You have more to loose than you think.” And the jar is swung, shiny ink flying in a wide swath toward T’jano.

An accomplished fighter, who has fought for his life on many an occassion, and who has killed on many more than one occassion, T'jano's reflexes are quick, and his manuver, calculation. Eyes fully adjusted to the dim light, he sees where the other is, and shifts himself like some horrific feline, closer. The blade is held low. "Want a blade, to make it fair, Marryn?" T'jano asks. "That's my idea of honor." A knife is removed from somewhere on T'jano's person, equal in size to the one in his hand, and flicked toward Marryn. If the Lord Elect does not catch it, the knife-butt will sock him in the stomach. "Thadd can't take my dragon away from me. You all can lock me up, but I only humored you before, by staying in there. The contract is reasonable, does not disallow you as father. You afraid to sign it? Don't know your own mind? Afraid you might cave to your Lady or Mother?" Mocking, his tones, now. And cool.

Marryn catches the knife easily enough, hefting it quickly to better sit within his grip. Balancing it in front of him he turns it slowly. “You are fucking insane, Barlord!” he barks, reasoning failing to have any impact on the man. Marryn is losing his own powers of reason as well, emotions looming to over-whelming proportions. The insult to the two most important women in his life is the last straw, igniting the tenuous vestiges of control he held out of respect for the rest of the Barlords he considers friends. Kicking the chair out of his way it flies across to clatter loudly into the wall and tip over. Marryn moves slowly around the corner of the big desk like a walking flame, natural confidence and grace smoothed with a raging heated hatred. “I’m not afraid to sign it. I simply don’t need to sign it. It’s not me who’s out of his mind right now, Tejano.” The lack of honorific is intentional and with a bellow Marryn swipes his free arm across the end of he desk, scattering hides and paraphernalia in a whirlwind meant to distract.

Even at this late hour the amount of noise the two men have been making is sure to catch someone’s attention eventually. In this case it’s the late watchmen coming in from making their rounds outside. Hearing raised voices from within the office the older of the pair hisses for the younger to run the short distance for reinforcements while he approaches the door and inches it open slowly. Knowing the tempers of some of the royalty around here he wants to make sure he isn’t going to regret walking into the room.

T'jano has not lost his temper. Cold, easy and confident, he'll step in to try to catch the other man's knife-arm, once the knife has been given. The idea is to disarm, but he will shudder sidelong at the rush of paper and what-not, that comes at him. T'jano's knife tips in, distracted, meant to nick only, and perhaps to further enrage his opponent. "You should ask sometime, what 'Barlord' means." T'jano merely returns, cryptically. Then he smiles, just slightly. Evidently the man enjoys a fight. Even one against a Lord Elect, in his office, in the near-dark. "Closer, Marryn, if you're going to come after me. Come closer." Said the spider, to the fly.

Marryn has a bad habit of rushing people holding sharp objects, on more than one occasion Barlords. Youthful confidence shades those memories, none of which ended in critical injury. Not that that makes it any wiser but it does have a way of side-stepping caution. Marryn takes a step forward at the same time as the desk objects are thrown, knife already rising toward the other man’s arm. He too would intend only to disarm even though anger infuses his movements with more strength than is strictly necessary.

Fortunately for both men, disaster is averted. The guard need only see the glimmer of one knife, let alone two, and he is fully in the room with his own sword drawn and at T’jano’s back wthin seconds. Voice booming he orders the man to drop his weapon, adding a slight shove. “NOW!” The sound of approaching boots, numerous and fast, backs up his order.

Marryn will feel, of a sudden, flesh on his arms, a flicker of touch as T'jano seeks to deflect the other man's rush. How he averts the blade is unclear, for motion is quicker in the dark, and though Marryn will feel his own knife catch tension and tear something, it'll remain unclear. T'jano, rash and a risk-taker, none-the-less can recognize a situation that will cost his dragon her life. His knife clatters on the ground, his soft intake of breath follows as he is forced back into the guard's blade, by Marryn's. With no-where to duck, T'jano will suffer bleeding from both points, no doubt. "Cheat." T'jano only speaks, in a hiss at Marryn, as he raises his hands to visible.

Marryn grunts at the quick switch and lowers his own blade instantly, though apparently still a moment too late to avoid connecting. Slight damage is the least of his concerns at the moment, however, only containing the threat. As a handful of bodies pour into the room, swords drawn, Marryn takes a step back and lifts an arm to swipe his sleeve across his brow. Long-ish bangs are plastered askew, only emphasizing the wild set of his hawk-ish features. “Take this madman to a jail cell and be sure to chain every appendage separately to the bars or wall – I don’t care. All of you are now on inside watch till the morning shift. Someone is to have their eyes on him at all times. Got it?” Two men immediately step forward and grab one of T’jano’s arms each, roughly jerking them behind his back. Marryn takes a step forward again, lowering his tone as the knife is jammed into a wooden block on the desk and left quivering on its end. “You’ll not get off so easily this time Barlord.” Grimaces and grumblings from all the guards bode ill for the rider but Marryn simply jerks his hand sending them off with their prisoner.

He makes a nose, impotent and reaction only, as he surrenders his arms and the result is yet painful. T'jano narrows his eyes at the other man, though, and shakes his head. "Not a good idea, Marryn. You cannot possibly compete with Jerran and I really won't like you much if you manage to top him, but I doubt you will. And Thera's probably already gone. What more can you do to me?" The question is left to be academic, however, for T'jano will not fight his captors, merely steps with them, concentrating on gently thwarting whatever misuse to which he is subjected. While, indeed, T'jano is secured in the inevitable cell that his brother made infamous, the empty hide, ruined by the splash of ink across its blank width, and the scattered hides and knife in Auryn's desk will remain as the evidence of his visit.

END OF LOG.

Unexpected Flight

Thu, 28 Aug 2008 06:33:47 GMT

Marryn is called to a meeting of holders who support his confirmation bid so asks Thera to give him a lift. Things take an unexpected turn when a flight begins while they're at the weyr.

Fire Heights
A grand view greets those who venture to the heights above Southern Boll. Blue-green ocean lines the horizon like a glittering jewel from north to southeast, hedged by the lush green of tropical forest and stretches of golden beach. Some have even claimed on a clear day to have spotted the mountain peaks around Fort Hold or majestic volcanos of Ista Isle. The rock here is worn from turns of dragonic claws digging in for a landing or paws pressuring the rock for take off. A protective stone shelter has been built for the watchrider and those visitors who are caught in the frequent southern storms.
You see Saironth, Sireen, Nakiath, and Birgith here.
Obvious exits:
Alcove Down

In the sky above Hadamarth swoops down to the fireheights.

The late evening sky is large, warm and black, with only the glow of rubkhat to lighten the sky. A large brown dragon (HUGE even, but he wouldn't want that bandied about since some dragons think they're bigger and he thinks it's kind to let them continue on and think that way) blinks in from between and glides through the night sky with shadowed wings. Backwinging precisely and neatly onto the South Boll fireheights, the dragon will release its rider. "Marryn!" calls a contralto voice as a young weyrling slides down the brown dragon she's attached to. Delight as always shows in Thera's face as she sees her friend waiting for you. "We got your message. Are we late?" Expectation, curiousity and concern as well are in her expression. Gossip reaches as far as the Weyr easily. "How are you?"

Marryn steps forward out of the shelter, his dark coloring melding with the evening shadows. Backlit by the glows rimming the doorway he lifts a hand to the approaching pair. "Thera!" he calls in return, teeth white in a wide smile. "Right on time, as always." Stopping just out of reach of those wide brown wings he waits till she dismounts, head canted upward.

Sliding the last few feet downwards, Thera lands hard but with a bounce. Landings are not her specialty, but atleast she's not dangling upside down. A wry grin flashes across her face, "Had wouldn't let me be late if I wanted to. As soon as I say we have an errand, he starts worrying we should go." There are downsides to having an overly considerate dragon. Stepping forward she offers Marryn a quick and friendly hug, "what's up?" Dark eyes inspect the man who didn't answer her questions thoughtfully.

Marryn returns the hug thoroughly, casting a watchful eye over her shoulder at the waiting brown. Critiquing? Perhaps, but the look is gone by time he pulls back to give her a genuine smile. "Good for Had then. Thanks for coming, Thera. I appreciate it." Leaving one arm across her shoulder he turns back toward the light, nudging her away from the landing area. "Would you be able to leave the weyr for say, a day or two, without it being a huge hassle?"

Blinking in surprise and eyebrows knitting together, Thera quickly nods, "Yes, we can. Threads not due to fall anytime soon and well... we've not classes really." Not that she can fly thread anyways and the Weyrling program being in a bit of a shambles lately with the unexpected departure of I'nigo and the AWLM not having great gobs of respect amongst the older Weyrlings. Hands sliding into her belt loops, she tilts her head forward, "What's up? What do you need?"

Marryn's smile thins slightly, taking a more serious line. "A Holder meeting has been called and I need to attend but don't want to take our watchdragon away that long." His eyes flicker again over their shoulders toward that big looming brown shadow. "Appearances matter as well, and, Had /is/ a rather impressive brown." Will flattery get him brownie points? His arm slides off her shoulder, his hand stopping to squeeze her arm lightly. "It isn't a majority meeting, Thera. It's my supporters. We'll discuss other things, sure, but I'm to be the major topic and I think it's because they're ready to finally push forward my Confirmation." Thick brows knit slightly, concern obvious. "I wanted to ask if you would mind ferrying me? You'd have to wait around till I was done though, so..."

Flattery definately gets you brownie points, although rather embarassed ones. Thera glances back at Hadamarth and turns a little pink but tries to object. "He's not that impr...," and she gives up, he's huge, she better get used to it. Doing her best to draw herself up formal and act all Weyr official and all, though there's a bit of a tease in her voice well. "You don't have to ask us Lord Marryn. It would be Fort Weyr's pleasure to escort you anywhere you'd like to go." A wider grin grows even, "And Had's delighted and says of course."

Marryn's smile returns, bright amidst that dark goatee. Grabbing both her arms he squeezes and gives her a kiss on the cheek. "Thank you! I knew you'd say that." One arm drops while the other suddenly rises to rake back those long-ish bangs and settle briefly on the back of his neck. "Um, would he still be delighted if I told you I need to leave - now?"

She laughs at that, blushing a little bit at the kiss on the cheek and then rolls her eyes, "No he's fine.. I mean yes, we can leave now. I've got extra straps in the panier pack." Thera gets two, that's the rule and Hadamarth, dragon memory be damed, sticks to that rule. She casts an eye across the fireheights, moving to pull the passanger lead from the pack, "Do you have everything you need?" She'll debate a laundress whether his trousers will still have those pleats in them if he has to sleep in them.

With a sly grin Marryn turns back toward the shelter and leans down just within the entrance, slinging a good size pack over one shoulder as he returns. "Like I said, I knew you'd say that," he smirks, stepping close to nudge her shoulder with his. "Ready when you are, M'lady."

Thera snorts at the title and casts a glance back at him, "Amarik beat your record you know, but I still beat both of you for recitation of lineages." Sounding just a little smug she steps aside and gestures for him to climb up first. Weyrling etiquette and all. "I'm ready but you have to go up first so that we can buckle you in." That statement is accompanied with a wide grin and teeth, and another smug look. He may be the Lord, but she controls the dragon.

"Recitation of lineages?" Marryn repeats, sounding surprised. "Why would he be knowing those. Wait - what am I saying?" He barks a quick laugh as he reaches for the indicated straps. "This is /Rik/ we're talking about. He would read anything written on a scroll." With a grunt he pulls himself up, long legs making quick work of the height. "What is with lineages lately? First Taini, now you and Rik?" Settling in he automatically leans to offer her a hand up, not stopping to think she's probably done it hundreds of times on her own.

Thera's eyes go wide and then narrow, "Hah, I had to learn them remember, growing up at Nerat. You suck at them, Amarik's not so bad." She's shown off her memory skills for both Boll brothers on these very same fireheights. They both fail. There mother must be horrified. She'll take the hand anyways, grabbing the other around the straps and climb up up up to settle in front of him after making sure straps are secured. Going up ain't the problem, it's the descent where Thera flounders. She frowns though, "Taini's looking at lineages?" That's something to think about, but not now. "Alright, so where are we going. We've got all the Weyr visualizations but if it's a Hold I haven't been to, we may have to stop at their weyr to get an image. That okay?"

Marryn adjusts as she settles in front of him, sliding his arms around her waist. He nods at her question, though she probably can't see it with him behind her. Squeezing his legs briefly against hers he teases just beyond her ear, "This is much better than riding with Th'deus." Of course, remarks like that might get him just as hair-raising of a ride but he grins anyway. "Telgar. We're going to Telgar Hold."

Thera tsks at the man, "Behave Lord Marryn," she says, hiding a grin at the flattery, "not as much fun as riding with T'jano though." She makes her point. Maybe one day, if Marryn's nice, Thera will tell him about double naked dragon riding under water, but not now. "Okay, we're stopping off at the Weyr then. We've never been to the Hold, but it shouldn't take long to find a visualization." Hadamarth for his part has them in the air in a few wingbeats and then they are gliding over the hold and then ::between::

Marryn snickers, mumbling against her back as he ducks his head into the crook of her neck. "Oh, /him/." Only the man she's been pining over since the first time they ever met. He grins, shutting his eyes against the expected shock of **between**. "Can't blame a guy for trying."

(TRAVEL TO TELGAR WEYR)

Coming out of between, Thera's still rolling her eyes at Marryn's comment. She does turn her head and check on him though. Hadamarth's gliding over the evening skies of Telgar Weyr and starts to circle down. "I'll have to dismount and go inside and find someone and ask for a visualization Marryn. Had won't ask a dragon he doesn't know for one." She pauses a moment and then shrugs, "he doesn't speak to strange dragons. Do you mind?" Her Hadamarth is quiet and thinks it's an intrusion. "You're okay?" The last is tossed out there as a check. She knows he's a frequent flyer, just not sure how uptodate his points are.

Marryn raises his voice to counter the wind, tipping his chin over her shoulder to get closer to her ear. "That's fine. I wanted to try and catch the Weyrleaders anyway. Maybe we can burn two threads with one flame." His grip around her waist tightens slightly as they circle downward, the horizon tipping sharply. He's flown quite often on Boll's watchdragon but that cranky ol' beast is none too gentle of a flight. The wide swath of brown muscle beneath him now is pleasantly solid and definitely inspires more confidence.

Hadamarth is all about gliding and phenomenal muscle control. He could balance on a talon for hours. Takes up less room on their ledge then Mrrth because technically he's half off the ledge in an attempt to be kind and give her space. Thera does nod though and when they land, Marryn's arms around her do keep her from bouncing off the dragon, though she does rise up a good foot off the brown's neck. Unbuckling straps, his and hers, she twists. "After you kind Sir?" She's rather enjoying being of use for some purpose in the Weyr.

"Whoa!" yelps Marryn as they land, surprise snapping muscles tighter as Thera bounces in front of him. Not having that innate sense of security born of having a dragon for a protector he automatically tenses for fear of her falling off. When she doesn't he releases a sigh of relief. "Shouldn't you be better at that?" he teases as she works on the straps. Twisting and pushing off, he slides her a sideways smirk as he dismounts to the ground. Hitting the ground smoothly he turns back to offer her a hand down again, chivalrous to the bone.

Thera does make a face at that, though she pouts a little. "I'm working on it!" Grabbing the straps she slides her own self down the dragon and when she lands she takes his hand for only as long as it takes her to straighten her knees. The other hand thumps against the brown hide, "Okay boy, go be a social butterfly," though the giggle from her and the snort from Hadamarth suggests that is a jest, one that the brown's not appreciative of. Casting a glance at Marryn, she rubs the side of her nose, "I shouldn't tease him, though he forgets and sometimes he's the only person I talk to for days now." Realizing what she's said, she clears her voice and moves forward towards the tunnels that lead into the weyr. A little too brightly, "Okay, we'll try and find someone who has a dragon who will give Hadamarth visualization points." Really, being an intermidary between dragons is rather challenging sometimes.

The Telgari bowl is busy, as most Weyrbowls are, and there are dragons aplenty to choose from. However, most of them look busy. A blue and his rider stand idly in the middle of the bowl, the rider leaning up against her dragon with her leg crossed. She chuckles at something her blue has said, and turns around patting him lovingly.

Marryn waits till she's steady then uses that same hand to do some straightening of his own, running fingers through wind-tossed locks and feathering them back into some semblance of order. Long-ish bangs defy him, as usual, and fall forward again immediately as soon as he turns to look around the bowl. Thera's comment solicits a slight frown of concern which he files away for more inquiry during a quiet moment later. Instead he simply nods, gesturing for her to lead the way. "Is that unusual?" he asks as they walk, refering to the brown's quirk.

Rolling her shoulders, Thera shakes her head as she frees her braid from the back of her jacket and unbuckles it. "Well, not for him. They all have their quirks though. Orlaith hates males of any species. Bee invents drills she'll never fly. Jianth is really high strung. Mrrth likes to liste..." er, maybe she won't talk about what Mrrth likes. "It's personality I guess. Hadamarth thinks more then he speaks. He talks to me, but he's not a gossip. Won't talk to anyone unless they initiate it and they rarely do." She does assure him though, "He's great though. A wonderful flyer and knows his formations perfectly." She pauses at the entrance to the tunnel and smiles up at him, "I wouldn't change impressing him for anything now, even if I didn't want to impress at the hatching and even if we do have problems."

Kallah reaches into the bags on Joarrranth's back, and pulls out a hide, leaning up against him again. The blue lowers himself to enjoy the sunshine, and Kallah slides down, seated in the middle of the bowl, reading. It doesn't look like it's anything too serious, because the bluerider laughs as she reads.

Marryn listens, head canted with curious interest even as he evens his stride so she can keep pace. "Bee spoke to me once," he notes in random tangent. "She didn't say anything about drills though, thank Faranth." His smile turns a little inward, remembering that pleasant afternoon visiting with Taini on the sands. Learned quite a bit about being a rider that day, he did. Light-hearted laughter snags his attention and his dark gaze refocuses on a nearby blue dragon - or more specifically the rider leaning on him. Marryn nudges Thera's arm and arches thick brows, nodding his head in the direction of the pair. "What about them?"

"Really? Bee sounds like Taini as best as I can figure out. Or she did the once or twice she's said something to Had and he relays it to me, but he doesn't listen to her much. He won't after...," but then Thera's turning her head and looking towards the blue and her rider. She nods back at Marryn, "Oh yes, well, lets ask." She turns from the entrance and heads towards the rider. Suddenly feeling a little awkward and shy though she tries gamely to push through that. "Excuse me?" gets called to the pair.

It's Joarranth who notices Thera first. He lifts his head slightly, swishing his tail around to good-naturedly get his rider's attention. Kallah changes her position sligtly, tilting her head up to see who's talking to her. "B'rannis, I told you..." She starts, and then sees that it's not who she thought it was. "Oh. Hello. Sorry, thought you were someone else, for a moment." Kal moves to stand. "Yeah. What can we help you with? I'm Kallah, and this..." A nod toward the blue. "This is Joarranth.

"I noticed the same thing," Marryn comments. "Do all dragons sound like their riders?" A deep chuckle rises and he adds, "At this rate I'm in danger of sounding just like Amarik. He was always the one curious about dragons even when we...." He breaks off suddenly, realizing insuling dragon-kind while in the middle of a weyr is not very tactful. Ah, distraction! Perfect. Putting on a friendly smile he lets Thera continue the initial contact.

Thera inclines her head to Joarranth and then smiles at Kallah. Just the briefest bit of hesitation before she decides to continue. She knows enough that politics between Telgar and Fort are dubious at best. "Hello. Fort Weyr's duties to Telgar Weyr. We were wondering if you could give us a visualization point for Telgar Hold. I've only been to the Weyr before." Nodding back towards her big brown, "I'm Thera and that's Hadamarth." She steps back and motions to Marryn politely, "and this is Lord Marryn of Southern Boll. It's my duty to convey him onwards." She gives Marryn a quick and apologetic look for the formalities, hoping they'll help spread other awkwardness over.

"Fort, eh?" Kallah puts the hide away, snickering to herself about something. Joarranth regards the brownrider with a long, steady look, eyes whirling blue, lighter than the sheer royal of his hide. Kallah finishes what she's doing, and turns aroudn to regard the Lord. "Lord Marryn." She says, nodding, just perceptibly. Her knot is that of a wingrider. "Now..." She rubs her hands together, tossing her head slightly, in an unconscious gesture that flicks the short dark hair from her face. "Visualizations to the Hold. Right." The lanky woman quiets for a moment, and Joarranth turns his contented regard to the huge brown. << To the hold, 'eh? >> The tone is somewhat brash, a tenor with an accent. Not necessarily Telgari, but there is a weird twang. The scent of burning hemp floats through the background. Not quite Hadamarth's cedar wisps. << Now, see, it's like this... >> And he hands over the visualization readily, expecting nothing in return, although, for some reason, there are snickers in /his/ mindvoice, too.

Marryn is in full officious mode as he gives the rider a half-bow, bending at the waist and dipping his chin. "My pleasure, Kallah, Joarranth," he adds in smooth smiling tenor. His gaze flickers briefly to the blue over the woman's head, his discomfort around the huge beasts still lingering in his psyche like low-banked embers despite the way he's gotten used to those with whom he's become familiar. Expecting the quiet of mental interchange he merely watches and waits.

Thera is unsure at first and leans her head towards Hadamarth, mentally nudging him. "Telgar Hold," she repeats, just in case. The snickers set her on edge as they do Hadamarth. He rumbles low and loud before tempering it into a whuffle. Smoke and candlelight flicker through his mindlinks, soft and twining around the humour. <<Your assistance is appreciated>> Simple and hazy, a sudden chime within the soft haze. The scent of eucalyptus there as well, more a balm for the worry of his rider then anything. Thera leans her head down and sort of whispers to Marryn, "maybe we should get two?"

Kallah lifts her eyebrows, looking over at the brownrider for a long moment, then she huffs softly, and turns back to reach to get her hide. She /heard/ that. She frowns, just waiting. "Somethin' else you needed?" Sounding a little like her dragon's voice. "Directions, yeah? T' what?" She thumps on Joarranth's hide, and chuckles again.

"If you think that best," Marryn nods. "You're the expert." The mere fact that she asks raises a trickle of concern. Getting lost *between* is the stuff of nightmares used to scare bad children. Switching his gaze to Kallah he nods again. Someone's gonna put him on a stick if he keeps that up. "Yes, directions. I wanted to speak with the Weyrleaders if I can catch them. Would you happen to know where they might be this time of day?"

Thera tries to smile again at the bluerider, "I didn't mean... thank you both for the kindness." Hadamarth rumbles more at this rider. Nudging her mentally that it was not an especially kind thing to say and Thera sighs. She pauses and glances between the two of them waiting for the answer to Marryn's questions as well.

"Weyrleader/s/?" Kallah grins at the Lord. "Well, the Weyrleader is in the Headwoman's office right now, and ..." She falls silent, looking at Joarranth, checking with him. "And the Weyrwoman's a bit..." Snicker, snicker, "...indisposed." She moves a little restlessly. "But, if you want to see the Weyrleader, y' go into the cavern" She grandly points that way. "Then, y' take the third left..." She pauses, scratching her head. "Yeah, the third left. And it's the fourth door on the right." Telgar's inner caverns are a bit confusing, and riders just know where things are after awhile. Thera's attempt at friendliness gets a nod. "Oh, I know. Joar just kinda wondered... We go there all the time."

Marryn repeats the directions under his breath and tips his head one last time, still offering his best charming smile. "Thanks. I appreciate it. That'll do just fine. I hope your Weyrwoman is better soon. Clear skies to you, Kallah." Taking Thera's elbow he nudges her toward the tunnels.

(TRAVEL TO INNER TUNNELS)

Marryn walks two steps ahead of Thera, trying each handle they pass and poking his head in open doorways. After rounding yet another turn and facing yet another undistinguished hallway he stops and sighs, one hand rising to feather through his hair. "Blast-it!" he murmurs before darting an apologetic look back over his shoulder. "Don't you have some sort of inner rider sense of direction?"

Thera is somewhat distracted so has just been tagging along not really paying attention, occasionally mumbling to herself, or to her lifemate. "What do you mean you want to go? Okay, we'll be going soon...hmm?" She refocuses upon Marryn then smiles, "No, doesn't work that way. Maybe in the air, flying straight but not down here." She pauses and rubs hands across her hips, "I'm sorry Marryn. Had's jumpy, he must be getting it from me. Telgar Weyr...," and she glances over her shoulder before finishing, "Th'deus thinks, well...," she trails off again, "Nomi and the poisoned knife and...," her nose wrinkles and she sighs, "I am a lousy spy." She figures Marryn knows about that since Nomi is related.

Marryn knows surprisingly little about the circumstances surrounding the poisoning; only that it happened and a monitoring of her recovery. So Thera's comments raise thick brows and his tone darkens. "You mean he suspects someone here at Telgar did that to Nomi?" With her admission of no sense of direction either, he does a quick mental mark toss and chooses a direction, pausing at the first doorway to push aside the hanging cloth and peer inside. "Hellooooooo?" he calls softly.

Thera suddenly is not listening to Marryn anymore and grabs onto the stone wall, literally grabs, fingers finding grooves and cracks and holds on for dear life for a moment, reeling as her gaze loses focus. "Yes, he... Hello? Huh. No wait! Hadamarth, what are you doing... Oh!" Dark eyes turn and blink towards Marryn and suddenly go wide. "No no no, he's hunting. This isn't a food day, tommorow's a food day. Crap!" and then she lets go and is turning to sprint down the tunnel. A few steps away, she stops, turns and sprints back, reaching out and grabbing for his hand, "Come on. Bucket! I need to find a bucket." Priorities, trust her, this is one. Somewhere out in the bowl, Hadamarth's version of lets go fly really means something entirely different. He's young, forgive him. Their communication is a little off.

Marryn turns to look back at his companion, frustration at their situation melting away instantly at the expression on her face. "Thera?" he starts, concern dropping those brows back down. "What's wrong? Wait!" he blurts as she tugs him suddenly along. He follows quickly enough, unsure, but not even hesitating to stay with her. "Bucket?" he echoes, sounding like a parrot. Another look at her face and his own pallor fades. "Oh!" He might not know what's happening but he knows the look of someone about to toss their guts. The next few doors are quickly covered, the handles nearly ripped off the hinges. Third times a charm though, and opens the next door so easily that Marryn stumbles inside. "Here!" he yells from the shadows within.

The distant roar of dragons can be faintly heard, even down so far in the tunnels. The Queen rises, spreading her passion and calling out to those willing to chase. She descends to the feeding pens, mocking and taunting, killing two beasts with flesh sinking talons, muzzle deep into the first, drawing the blood and then a bugle. Fly with me.

A squeak, and a gurgle and another squeak. "Oh no! Crap!" Thera said that, yes she knows. A wild eyed look about her and Thera fairly stumbles back into Marryn following him into the room, "He's blooding? He's blooding! Oh shit, he's blooding kill! He's going to fly her. What are you doing Ferocious!!! Whawhawhat!" For the briefest of moments, the flicker of an instant in those shadows, Thera looks positively proud of her Brown. Go boy! But then the part of her frontal lobe that is actually detatched from said Brown kicks into high gear and fingers come out and find and grab Marryn's tunic, "He's sucking the bloo... Distract me!" Rational thought leaves her. There's a time and a place it seems, and at this particular time it decides to depart quickly for the next one, giving up this one for dead. Marryn's not listening fast enough, "Dammit distract me," she repeats and then before he can say or do anything, she leans up grabs the back of his neck and kisses him. Not the gentle, 'I'm your friend and you're cute and amuse me' type kiss, but 'full on lip locking trying to suck the other person's tongue clear out of their throat' kiss. Only Marryn doesn't seem to be cooperating. A second hand comes up to join her first on his tunic and she shakes him. Was that a ripping sound? Fairly shouting at the man, "Come on, what are you waiting for? Distract me by sticking your tongue down my throat and kiss me or I will be barfing all over your shoes." And they're sandals, that won't be pleasant! Squishy, but not pleasant. Flights are so sexy right? Maybe when they're airborne?

The room wasn't empty. A glow is lit chasing shadows away. Pella, long standing Lower Cavern woman chooses just this opportunity to wake from her nap. She spies Thera kissing Marryn and chuckles to herself. "Oh now der you go. If that don't be bringin the memories floodin back, but really you two... tsk tsk." Clucking and flapping her apron as she gets up from an apparent stolen nap. "The Queen abe risin no. Bout time, I knowed the feelin." Old bones get up from the apparent storage area and she continues to chuckle as she bustles towards the door, hand on the nob. "Jis so we don be scareun the younguns I'll be shuttin this. In ye go. I'm off to round em up and take em further in." Beaming she singsongs, "games an songs and activities galore'll keep em occpied till this ve ova." Surrrrrre it will. Clicking the door shut behind her she leave the two in an empty storage/sleeping room. A few cots against the wall, one obviously used recently and some wardrobes for keeping things from ruin.

Marryn is awash with confusion, the low lighting picking up copper glints in his widened eyes as they focus on Thera and try to figure out how to help the frantic woman. Her fierce instructions and bits of explanation simply don't click immediately for the hold-bred boy, and his brain goes into instant shock when she first kisses him. He may flirt and tease her a lot but he also knows how devoted she is to T'jano so its all in playful fun. But this kiss is not playful nor just for fun. It's pure, raw sexual heat and that is something that strikes right to Marryn's sensual core. The sound of buttons popping as she tears open the front of his shirt barely registers and somewhere deep inside a little voice asks why that is but its quickly drowned out by the rise of raw passion that surges from some unknown well inside him - or at least it seems to come from inside him. Doesn't it? Confusion is still whirling second to desire but without enough force gain a reaction. Used to controlling his own emotions he has no experience whatsoever with the strength and force of dragonic lust. The small basket he'd hastily grabbed falls from his fingers and clatters to the floor. The coming and going of Pella is only noted as a shadowy tangent as Marryn takes a few steps back drawing them further into the room. His heel bumps a wardrobe and breaks the contact of that heated kiss long enough for him to blink hard and shake his head. His hands rise to grip her shoulders and he blurts roughly, "Thera, what's happening??"

Dark eyes glaze as she feels through Hadamarth the beginnings of the flight. Watches through the faceted vision the dragons gathering, blooding, trumpeting. The kiss is broken and Thera shudders. "Oh cottled wherry testacles in cream sauce," is breathed in dawning realization and horror. Pella being noted with a sharp intake of breath but everything is moving way to fast. Ovewhelmed now. "He's not listening to me. He didn't either when we flew Mrrth. Oh shards and shells! Marryn, I'm so sorry. Hadamarth is flying after a Queen." Clinging to the man, the lovely green color drains from her face and she squeezes fingers into the fabric. No upchucking now, nope. Already she's feeling disconnected, feels the surge of blood, the rise and fall of her dragon's wings. Only want, desire, the urge to catch, her Brown's need to go and chase. "Up up up," and no, that's not a request to Marryn, well maybe? She focuses back on him, sees him through dragon's eyes. Sorry sweetie, you just turned into a big bright shiny gold dragon. A sudden intake of breath and Thera presses forward, rising up onto her toes and then into Marryn, pressure, sweet and painful but lost also in the sensation and welling pride in how her lifemates flies. She moves against Marryn, a pale shadow of how the darkling wings are dipping, planing, muscles rippling, and he soaring.

Out there, up there, the gold dragon is broadcasting from the air. The desire to fly, the urge for her suitors to catch, to reach her and make her theirs. Twilight is slipping to dark and settles across the bowl, and gold and bronze and brown become small specks in the air.

Talk about having to be hit over the head with a mallot! Marryn finally gets the big picture and confusion is scattered on the winds of panic. What's he supposed to do? All the old children's rhymes about mating flights spring to mind but none supply the procedure for this particular scenario. He ticks off what he does know: 1) She needs to get to the gold rider. That obviously isn't gonna happen. 2) She needs to be around other riders. He glances at the shut door. Uh, nope. 3) Leave her alone? No way. That option is tossed as soon as it appears, helped along by the sudden rise of Thera against him. At the same time a fresh wave of dizzying passion soars through his veins and nearly topples him for the spinning effect of the walls. Almost as if sensing reality through a bubble he reacts to the combination of that base emotional urge and the very real feel of Thera in his arms in the only way a man can. The sound of more fabric rending fills the room in his haste to free her of it, no apologies given as his mouth is too busy covering hers to form coherent words.

The Telgar bronzes are not pleased that Hadamarth is there, a lowly young brown, regardless of his size, and a stranger too. They roar their displeasure. He doesn't listen. This is flight, an elemental need, his ichor is warmed and pumped through veins to fill Hadamarth with singular drive only, flycatch. This is not Mrrth, and T'jano and Thera's relations play no part in this flight. His only, his need to soar and conquer, stretch wings to their limit. He roars back and flies harder. As Marryn finds her mouth, Thera kisses back, a whimper almost against his lips. She tries desperately not to fight her Brown, let him go and fly. Her teeth sink into Marryn's bottom lip, tongue dives deep while fingers come up and grip at shoulders, holding on but pushing him back, finding the cot or maybe not, doesn't matter. Fabric falls and with another groan, eyes shut to the roaring of blood in her ears, she pushes into him, finds flesh, feels flesh, tastes flesh. By whatever fluke or combination of dragon wings and air current, Hadamarth, her gentle giant catches the Gold and Thera echoes a roar of triumph with a gasp of breath.

Marryn may not have a clue what is happening with the flight outside but he feels the blind rush of adrenaline as surely as fiery dragon ichor and feels the soft curves and bare skin of Thera as surely as whipping wind and dragon wings. The more aggressive she gets the more he responds in kind, his goatee scraping her chin as kisses push fast and hard, strong fingers leaving blossoming bruises where his steely grip holds her, mouth and teeth trailing an unmistakable path along her neck and chest. The odd scrape and mar are garnered from being in unfamiliar territory as he pulls them both to the floor, missing the cot entirely, and then rolling, tossing, and crashing about in the small space. This is not the time for slow exploration or long, drawn-out pleasure but instead the unhindered heat of passion taken without reservation or elaboration. The coming together of two bodies without the mind, which catches up much later in full glorious detail. Marryn is extremely fit, lean but strong, and counters her moves to control him with those of his own, the result being one very energetic sexual romp.

Control, given and taken, wrested and rescinded, Thera finds Marryn in ways she never thought possible. Somewhere out there, teeth grip a neck, wings ensnare, tail twines, and two dragons careen through the atmosphere. Within - Thera's own long limbs wrap around Marryn as they roll, crash - two heaving bodies holding on and finding purchase within each other. Her braid unravelled, eyes wide and consumed with the passion of her dragon, the passion of her too, fingers sink into skin pulling closer, teeth leaving marks that will be a reminder for days of this experience. They dragons flew high and it lasts beyond endurance, beyond reason, until the two joined as one are left spent in an exhausted tangle of ripped clothing and quivering bruised flesh that splay across the cold stone floor.

(INTERLUDE) (No peeking!!)

Marryn groans in his sleep, shifting on the cot they eventually managed to find and stretching one arm that tingles of blood-loss from being wrapped around Thera. His fingers sift into her hair, resting atop her head. Dreams vivid in emotion but vague in detail play behind lowered lashes causing him to twitch the closer he gets to waking. Disheveled obsidian locks feather across his face, strong hawk-ish features more relaxed than they ever are when awake. Long legs wind around Thera's and nearly dangle off the edge of the cot, the cramped sleeping space barely accommodating the pair.

An answering groan is given and Thera burrows her face into the warmed skin pressed into her, shifting her body against the lean muscled one. Her sleep fuddled brain and an exhausted form combine to let reluctance from waking keep her just yet. Hip length hair spreads across both as a blanket, fingers curled around a waist to keep that precarious balance upon the cot. Eyelids flutter finally and she frowns, mumbling in her sleep. Her leg itches and her other leg rises to let toes find and scratch her calf, only relief doesn't come and it's apparently not /her/ calf she is scratching. Parts of this are familiar though, goatee check, lean and muscled form check, wavy hair check, smooth flesh beneath her fingers ch...No not check! No check mark! That's what does it, brings her to awakeness, the lack of scars so familiar, to send thoughts crashing through her brain and then the distant smug satisfaction of a Brown also in slumber.

It's hours later and Pella has been hard at work in keeping young minds away and occupied from the flight. She is now of the opinion that she deserves a well earned nap and down the tunnels she toddles to her favourite hideaway. The door creaks open and a healthy if crony chuckle drifts through, "You lot arna still at it now ar ya?" A snort is breathed through her nose, "why you'd think you'n were the Queen herself." More clucking as she bustles in, flapping her apron. "Bes be awake an off, thars a stir appenin to be sure. Sum youn brown don caught and they no not who his rider be. Can't find him anyweys. Oh an wasn she mad, you could hear her shrieks a mile off. Not there to claim her his rider. Unheard of. Tis no the same you know, lessen the two be one" The shredded clothing earns an eagle eyed look and then Pella stands hands on her hips and just shakes her head at the two naked youth. Nothing much flaps this one.

Marryn is yanked from the last vestiges of sleep by the sudden intrusion of a voice. The first sensations to return are those of a soft warm body running the length of his, curves pressing pleasantly against his skin. Fingers register the feel of silky hair and he tips his chin into it brushing her crown with a kiss. His mind makes the same sleepy type of connection that Thera's does, only the woman his mind inserts hasn't shared his bed in so long that he snaps out of that dreamy state much faster. Several other facts come to light in swift order, jolting him fully awake as if doused with a bucket of cold water. That's not Amarik's voice he hears, and this isn't his wide comfortable bed he's sleeping in. "Thera!" he blurts, the previous hours events crashing into his tired brain like a tsunami. His free arm comes around to encircle the brownrider as well, waking her but automatically protective for whomever else might be in the room. "Can we can we have a minute?" he asks Pella with some heat. She may be used to seeing naked youths but he isn't used to being seen.

Thera's eyes open at the claim and she tips her head wildly towards one voice then the other. The precariousness of their position causing the sensation of about to fall to drift through. Her fingers curl around Marryn's flesh instinctively and she jerks forward pressing into him briefly towards security. "Mm arryn?" her voice stutters the name briefly and she turns then, face blushing at Pella's words as they start to register. "Oh shards," she too gets flooded with memories both dragon kind and human. She's not moving, nope, not until that woman leaves, which makes this a little bit more embarassing as head curls to hide in his shoulder.

Pella bustles about, ignoring the two for the moment, picking up shredded clothing and expressing her dismay. "Now now, canna ave you two walkin throu yon cavern in not but your barenbottom." Holding up Thera's flight jacket she spies the Weyrling knot with the thread of brown and clucks asperity, shiftin gaze to the still naked pair and making an assumption upon Marryn then shifting her gaze back again, it growing shrewd. Lips perse and her manner changes perceptibly, "I be thinkun you'd better be repotin home youn man and you yon missy," and her gaze shifts to Thera's naked back, "new ere ar ya, you better be repotin back to where you came from. Fun's fun, but you've," and she eagle eyes Marryn once more and lets the tattered clothing drop, "may ave some dealins to report on." She'll sniff at Marryn's words but moves towards the door one last flap of the apron, "alf a candlemark an then I'm back."

Marryn hunches his body toward her, arms closing tight pulling her into his chest and hips twisting to roll partially over her. The duel instincts of protecting her and awareness of her body pressing oh-so-tantalizingly close against his war distractedly for mental attention. But its /Thera/! His long-time friend Thera, who will never be 'just' a friend again with the images that will come to mind at thought of her. Clenching his jaw he waits with growing impatience while the annoying Telgarian pecks about the room and finally leaves. The woman's assumption goes over his befuddled head, too many other concerns filling up limited space. With a twinge of chagrin he realizes his heart is beating so hard Thera can surely feel it and chest muscles remain taunt and hard as he holds his breath. Not until Pella is gone does he breath easy, letting out an exasperated sigh and lightening the hold he has on her. He almost wishes she wouldn't move because when she does he's going to have to face her, but the alternative is just as impossible. Half a candlemark. "Are you ok?" he asks in the silence of Pella's absence.

Thera lifts her head, face flushed scarlet as her own awareness of their close proximity is all to front and centre. Soft voice she nods, "Fine." It's sort of a lie, she feels rather sore and awful but kind of good too. There's a beat as she tries to will her own heartbeat to slow its thundering gallup through her chest, "Are you okay?" Head bends again and then a rush of explanation, "I'm so sorry. I didn't know, he doesn't chase often and he has never chased a gold before. Just Mrrth and one other and he didn't catch her and crap he caught a Gold!" Again there's a moment of pride for her dragon mixed with the realization that this is Marryn, her closest friend, her confidante. For a brief moment she wants to cry but forces that away. She pulls from him and continues to nod and babble. Scrambling out from beneath him with a look of embarrassment and chagrin and then Ouch, "Sorry, are you okay?" Arms do the 'what to cover first dance' and then she's grabbing whatever tattered remains of clothing she can find. "Oh Faranth. He caught. Wake up!" The last not being directed to Marryn at all. "Dear heart, wake up, we have to go. Yes I know that's not a kind thing to do. Love em and leave em, but if Ikaroth can do it dammit, you can to!" Thank heavens for Fort Weyr role models! Finding trousers she pulls them on only to realize they aren't hers and so has to take them off again. Undressing twice, now that's embarrasing! A wild turning flurry, finds hers and then realizes she can't wear them and now Marryn gets a stern look, memories again resurfacing across her face, accusatory "you ripped the clothes right off me!" Even Teej doesn't do that! Well now there's a fantasy for the future. Knock kneed, hands placed strategically, cause rational thought deems he might look and it's not like he hasn't just had his hands and mouth all over her, NO! That's getting denied as she speaks. She shuffles towards the wardrobe and rummages, finding some way too large dress that gets clutched in front of her. Really, she'll get better at this, a couple more flight and she won't act the wherry headed fool. Not!

Marryn lets her slide from his arms and shifts awkwardly to let her get up, all while trying not to look where he shouldn’t be looking. Its nigh impossible though, with the heady rush of amazement and shock still pounding his skull and logic trying to make sense of an experience like none he’s ever had. Those stolen glances confirm what he remembers and with a wave of shame he notes the marks and bruises on her skin. “Thera – you’re hurt! I’m so sorry!” he says hoarsely, sitting up himself and raking a hand back through his ruffled hair. He doesn’t have as much to be self-conscious about as her and even that doesn’t bother him so he merely sits with head bowed and forehead resting on his palms as he braces his elbows on his knees. His mind races with her explanation, poling his memory for more information. “I know the songs, I’ve heard the stories and talk but nothing - /nothing/ - even comes /close/. It was so… I couldn’t stop!” How could something be so amazing yet so terrifying at the same time?? Words fail him. Frustration sends a hiss past clenched teeth. Amarik would know how to express it. His brother always knows just what to say, and, with a shock Marryn realizes he’s also been in this situation. A glimmer of understanding falls into place for Rik’s actions since that first encounter with Taini, something he’d struggled with at the time. He looks up, a deeper hue suffusing his tan at her discovery of their clothes and he moans, embarrassed. Rising sharply he scoops up his own pants and shoves his legs into them, sighing when they hang loosely open around his hips where the clasps have been broken. Moving to stand directly in front of her he sets his hands lightly on both her shoulders, keeping his eyes purposely riveted on her face. The tent dress she clutches teases his stomach and chest but he firmly shoves that line of thought aside. Adams-apple bobs as he swallows hard. “Thera, please say you’ll forgive me. I’d never hurt you…,” he falters for the obvious marks on her skin to the contrary and moves one hand to brush a bruise by her lip with his thumb. “… on purpose.” Anguish brightens the copper flecks in his eyes, mocha depths still simmering with heat like banked embers.

Genuine surprise colors her face when he begins to speak. She's embarrassed, yes, but really more so that it was him then that it was a flight. That she's prepared for, not here, not now, but in general. Holdbred yes, New to dragonriding, definately. But the expectation and the knowledge that this will happen is known. She watches his anguish and the part of her that adores him for the friend that he's been to her melts. Slowly she tilts her head up, fingers clutching the dress up to her neck, naked flesh shaking from the cold, goosebumps popping up. "There's nothing to forgive. I've been lucky I guess, these two times Hadamarth has flown. First Mrrth and T'jano. He's... he's" she takes a breath, "the only man I've ever been with until now." Okay now the blush returns. Swallowing hard, "but really, it's new this. I love Teej and so when Had caught Mrrth it was easy and hard too. Flights are different, you are your dragon Marryn and gold flights are more powerful. The bruises..." she holds out her arm and then lifts her fingers to lightly touch one of the bruises she gave him on his torso, "part of that. It's not bad, it's dragon. It's not love, it's their need." Leaning up suddenly she presses a quick kiss to his cheek, "I'm glad it was you though. I don't think I'd have fared so well if I was in a ground weyr with all these strangers. I would have tried to stop him and that's not good, that's bad for dragons and Had would have listened to me and I would have hurt him. He caught though, I'm so proud of him, he did what he's supposed to do." She stares into his eyes, pleading and hoping that he understands, "you helped him fly." The political ramifications will come later, but right now, right here, Thera's pleased for that fact alone. "Please don't, please don't feel bad about it Marryn. Please. I'm more worried I'll lose you as a friend. I'd hate that, I'd really hate that." Tears now beckon and well in her dark eyes and she turns her head away so that he doesn't see the pathetic and lonely girl she really is, "I don't have any friends really and it has been difficult this last turn, loving Teej and finding my place in the Weyr." She falls silent then, waits, with an indrawn breath, a hope, that though this changes things maybe if they try, it won't change everything.

Marryn listens with a growing sense of amazement. A small breath is caught and held at her admission of having only been with T'jano before now and his hand slides back from her mouth to cup the back of her neck. Someone with a more rigid sense of decorum might step back and avoid touching her out of deference to her personal space and assuming a sense of discomfort on her part. But not Marryn. He's too passionate for that and feels things deeply, especially when it comes to those he cares about. Her words slowly smooth away the lines that crease his brow and crinkles around his eyes, loosening the stern line of his lips. Eventually the evident pride in her voice even tweaks the hint of a wry smile. Nothing like stoking his ego to wash away self-recrimination. Seeing her eyes brighten sparks a new sense of concern and after she looks away it takes a few seconds for him to respond. Again words just don't seem adequate and his mouth falls open but remains silent. So he reacts instead. The hand on her neck slides up into her hair and the one on her shoulder moves around behind, both pulling her close for a lung-crushing hug. The over-size dress between them helps alleviate awkwardness. Tenor deepens slightly and is muffled by her hair as he says, "Thera, I will always be your friend. If you're alright with this then I am too." A twinge of panic flickers but is firmly squashed. She may be alright, but he may lose his life if Aeroulyn doesn't understand. Plenty of time for those thoughts later. Right now he's sorting out his feelings for the woman currently in his arms, his friend, and now his lover, shifting and adjusting the niche she formerly held and making sure it's firmly founded as something new. Confidence re-established he falls back on wry humor, adding, "Might make it harder to joke about your firm butt now that I have such a lovely visual but I'll manage to keep it in jest only if you can manage to resist me."

Thera stares at him, chin tilted up, listens, hopes too. When Marryn pulls her into a hug, one corner of the dress is released long enough for her slide her arm out and around to hug him back. Her cheeks is pressed to his shoulder, eyes tightly closed and she's clinging to something she needs. She nods as he first begins to speak, squeezing tighter. Men though, they should really learn when to shut up. He was on such a roll too. As he tries to joke she turns bright black eyes up to him and a wave of new crimson settles on her cheeks and she pulls away. Finding the edge of the huge dress she slips it over her head to hide for a moment from awkward moments and take a few calming breaths and push tears from her eyes. A slightly stuttered breath comes from beneath, "Be nice or we'll push you off between." Empty threat really, since Hadamarth insists on two sets of straps. She tries to stick her head out the armhole and it would have fit too except that the neck hole reveals too much air on other parts of her skin. Finally getting it right she settles into the dress, the neckline slipping dangerously low off her shoulder and dropping volumes of material to swath and swirl around her skinny form. Turning briefly she pulls out its twin from the wardrobe and thrusts it at him, "Even you can't wander around with your pants unbuckled." It's such a pretty color too, with the wide daisy like flowers and the ruffles - a very pretty gather day dress for a woman the size of a cothold and aged about 70 turns or so. Thera's got the brown and blue serviceable one on and it's not coming off anytime soon. Pulling the neckline up, she clears her throat, still looking at her feet, "we should go. Had's awake, but he's ... he's ..." well not pleased. Her dragon wants to think this experience through, try to find the good and kind in it and learn something from it to make sure what he is doing and needs to do are right.

Marryn chuckles at her threat, the sound rolling low and warm from his throat. "Hey," he says, catching her chin with one hand and turning her head to catch her full attention. Humor still lingers in his eyes but his expression is serious and his lips set in a serious line as he seeks to reassure her despite his kidding around. "I mean it, Thera." Dark eyes hold hers for a moment. Letting her go he soon finds that revenge is ever swift in the hands of a woman. The hideous outfit is turned over in his hands, thick brows arching as he looks at her askance. "You can't be serious."

Thera stares back at the man, dark eyes wide and for the moment unblinking. She'll nod though and take a deep breath, forcing herself to relax. His expression at the dress helps and she'll actually smile genuine, wide, with her own humor dancing in her gaze. "Those are the only two wearable things in the wardrobe... Sir!" Her lower lip gets tucked between her teeth in an attempt not to giggle and she even steps back to let him look. A little more crimson colors her cheeks, "Your shirt.. well." Apparently he was not the only one who ripped the clothing off someone's back. She won't even glance down at the unbuttoned trousers, nope. "If we run fast enough, maybe no one will spot us?" Mentally, she's already nudging Hadamarth to meet them at the entrance and she hopes he still has his bloody straps on.

Marryn hefts the forsaken piece of cloth, expression taking on a frightened hue. Nevertheless he lifts it and turns it about casting her one last baleful glance before dropping it over his head. "Here goes nothing." As if falls into place he cringes and waggles a finger at her. "Don't 'Sir' me young lady. If word of this gets out I'll personally drag you down to Boll and drown you myself!"

Thera can't help it, once the dress descends over his head, she snort giggles and has to turn her back on him, hand coming up to cover her mouth. "That's a good color on you Marryn, really." What is it peach with pink flowers? It's rather hideous really. A few giggles escape. "Oh dear, and here I was hoping to describe it to Amarik and he could imortalize it on hide or something." She sneaks a peek at him and then clears her throat, shakes her head quickly, taking advantage of the light hearted moment to grab their flight jackets. "If you need to speak to the Weyrleader, maybe afterwards. When we come back. I don't want to cause a scene or make someone.. I'll talk to Th'deus or something." The whole idea of a gold clutching and whatever she's supposed to do just has her fuddled. She must have skipped that lecture.

Hands find a perch on his hips, an indignant pose made ridiculous by the over-sized decorative garb on his broader male frame. "We're lost remember? With my luck we'll walk out right in the middle of a crowd-filled hatching cavern or something. And stop giggling!" Mention of the Weyrleader snaps his head to attention, all playfulness leaving his demeanor instantly. "The meeting! Oh blast it! Thera, we've got to get to the Hold. If I've missed that meeting" He trails off, not even wanting to contemplate the political fallout of standing up every single one of his supporters.

Thera is trying not to giggle, but Marryn's starting to look like some great parody of her mother, with his hands on his hips and eyes wild. The urgency of his statement cuts off the next series of snorts and she nods, suddenly serious for his plight. "Yes, but finding your way out is easier then finding your way in. You breath for fresh air right? At least that's what it's like at Fort Weyr. We'll get there, what time was it called for." It's late evening now, likely. She doesn't know. "Can Had bespeak their watchdragon." She'll force him to.

Her /mother/?? Thank Faranth Marryn can't read minds. Her giggling was enough of a lash to his manly pride. Adding insult to injury would've been the final straw in his ability to wear the outfit. He'd rather go out half-dressed. Fortunately the moment passes before reaching that point and he merely hikes his pants up the best he can without being able to latch them and lets the dress fall as far as possible. Even so, it drapes amusingly to one side. "Ninth candlemark," he answers. "Yes, have him do that and let them know we're coming. I'll have to catch the Weyrleaders later."

"Alright," Thera says, face frowning in thought as she hands him a flight jacket. "I think we can make that." Really she has no clue. Looking him over, eyes now sober and not amused, she lifts a brow, "Shall we go then?" Maybe he can finagle a shirt from someone at the Hold or buttons or something, or has spare clothes in his pack. Lets hope by some stroke of luck that that's still attached to Hadamarth too. "Weyrleader on the way back."

END OF LOG.

OFF-CAMERA: They slip out quietly. Thera takes Marryn to his meeting and back to Southern Boll Hold.

Recovering Toncho

Tue, 19 Aug 2008 04:47:27 GMT

After several failed attempts at catching Toncho awake in the infirmary while he's recovering from Nienan's poisoning, Marryn finally succeeds and has a heart-to-heart with the bed-ridden Stablemaster.

Infirmary

Bright and sunny, with wide windows thrown open as often as possible, fresh air fills the room inviting health and energy. Cupboards line much of the available wall space, filled with the myriad tools and supplies needed by the Healercraft. Two special cabinets have been fitted with glass doors, the herbs and medicines stored there easier to find with see-through inspection. Two full size sinks sit along an inside wall. Several cots await with blankets and pillows neatly folded at their head; a sturdier table/bed in the center of the room for examinations. A few chairs are sprinkled here and there, decorous as always with their red and white cushions.

Toncho is here.

Obvious exits:

Hall

Marryn

He wears the knot of the Lord-elect of Southern Boll.

Marryn is 26 Turns, 7 months, and 5 days old.

Toncho

Muscular build, and tall at 6'3, Toncho looks like like he has worked hard for the bulk of his Turns. Dark-brown hair is sun-lightened to blond and he has somber grey eyes that contrast with deeply tanned skin that underscore the outdoor life. His large frame is complimented with long legs, strong hands and wide shoulders. Toncho is marked by a sense of awareness, and though he often carries a man-tall staff, his movements evidence a fluidity of coordination between brain and body. In addition the big man manages to maintain an easy self-confidence that comes of both habit and assurance of his place with respect to the world around him. At the moment, he sports a knot of the stablemaster of Southern Boll. Toncho wears the practical outfit of browns and greys that might be advised if one works daily with runners. His belt is tooled with the knot-style that is claimed by the Barlords, and upon it hangs a matching sheath and dueling knife.

Toncho is 41 Turns, 1 month, and 17 days old.

Marryn slips into the infirmary for the second time in as many days and stops at the doorway to cast his dark gaze ahead across the room, giving himself more time to prepare in case the man he seeks is awake this time. The staff is light, as are the occupants. Tropical living isn't too rough on its denizens - or at least the ones who /try/ to stay out of harms way. The wide windows are open to let in cooler evening air and the sounds of nightlife crick-creek-and-rustle like a soothing melody in the background.

And there he is. Toncho. Running a quick hand through his hair Marryn feathers long-ish bangs back into the rest of his neatly confined locks and dips his chin slightly as he moves forward.

"Toncho?"

"Aye, that's not changed, m'lord." Toncho speaks. His voice, rusty, suggests that he's recently come out of a deep sleep and not yet been required to answer any of the inane questions that healers invariably ask. "How are you doing?" A brown firelizard and a gold one keep Toncho company; the man's study is turned with some effort over to Marryn, to study that man. A healer, seated nearby, sends a rather proprietory look over to the Lord, but then, jaw twitching, looks back at her records.

Marryn takes the last few steps to the bedside distracted by a quick head-to-toe perusal of the bed's occupant. His gaze is hesitantly troubled as it finds the older man's, his expression left more unguarded than usual. He has seen the reports but line after line of healer jargon is empty without the personal reflections of the individual. The body and mind often react differently to injury and treatment. Thus worry, until he could verify for himself. And once assured, then the rest of his intentions.

The thin line of his lips quirks just a tad for the jest but it's the question that raises thick brows. "/I/ am managing, but what of you? I hear you're going to live," he states wryly, tossing the jest back.

"I heard that to. Hoping it's true. Too busy to die just now." Toncho replies, and he shifts himself so that he is, at least, propped up. Even this effort sets the man's hands to shaking, a detail that Toncho hides casually under the blanket. His grey eyes are nigh well crystal in pale hues; the healers reported that he was suffering a great deal of pain and occasionally violent convulsions. There's several on duty, and they've been keeping the Barlord fellised much of the time. "I hear you'll be living, as well. And no wedding, just yet."

Marryn snorts lightly, giving his chin a distracted toss as long-ish bangs drift into his view. “Your staff up to handling things while you’re in here?” he asks casually, dark gaze watching the man closely. Though not close enough to see through the blanket he does note the lighter palor and weakened state through tell-tale signs, watching for any indication of the severe reactions of which the healers warned. “Thanks to you and Rik,” he adds with a shake of his head. “/She/ is held up in the jail and Zarl is putting her through the ringer.” A pause grows, and then he blurts. “Blast it, Toncho! Why did you take the food yourself if you thought it might be poisoned? You couldn’t just tell me? Or at least find some safer way to test it? You could’ve died!”

"They should be doing fine. Tanika is giving me reports every day, at least, and Maus is keeping an eye on them." Though the harper doesn't know much about runners, she is a good judge of when lads are loafing. And because Toncho is largely expected to survive, the boys are keeping mostly to their jobs. "Aye well." Toncho considers the other question through a few breaths. "I wasn't sure, is the reason. Man doesn't go and accuse a woman who is about to become Lady Holder, of being a potential murderess." Toncho's regard is steady, for the most part; his right eyelid twitches slightly. The little brown firelizard stalks up to crouch near Toncho's pillow, his hostile gaze tilted up at Marryn. Trinc is always in a bad mood, though. "If I was wrong... I'm not thinking that it'd go well for us. I've a family to think about, Marryn. And you have bloody awful judgement, when it comes to women, 'far as I can see."

Marryn bristles slightly. One bad call and he’s black-marked. “I’ve never had one want to /kill/ me before. Not to mention it turns out she was lying anyway. I hadn’t met her, let alone slept with her.” Keeping a stoic front for days on end for the sake of cotholders and residents alike has taken its toll and the young man is ready to be more open around those with whom he’s more comfortable. Stepping over to the window he leans one arm on the open ledge, unseeing gaze turned outward for a moment. “I’m hurt Toncho. You think I’d ever treat you or your family badly when you were just looking out for me?”

"I'll be begging your pardon, Marryn, but the other one is loopy as a wherry too. The one who has your son." That's two for two then. A grand one-hundred-percent of Marryn-women surveyed, or shall Toncho add in some of the other notables? Toncho closes his eyes, unwilling to try to twist his neck to watch the young Lord. Instead, he'll consider those words. "No need to be hurt. But I'm not a risk-taker, Marryn. And a woman can exert a great deal of control over a man and ... Make it seem like it's a good idea. Reasonable. You were going to marry this lass, and it was a good idea if the situation had been what she'd said. Politically clever. She didn't make waves, much, either. Seemed as if she'd let you be you. But that was an act. Still." Toncho murmurs, "I'm not willing to risk Maus or my family on calling the niece of another Lord Holder, a murderer." Of course, he would have slit her throat if he'd been able to, and been alone with her long enough to do it. But he couldn't, and wasn't.

“Aeroulyn?” Marryn blurts, head turning though his body remains angled toward the window. “Don’t even compare the two in the same breath, Toncho. She’s just been through an awful lot, that’s all. That kind of stuff messes with a person. She was worried about me too and didn’t know what to do.” Defending her now, is he? Things have definitely changed; conversations obviously been had. His fingers clench the sill a little tighter for thoughts of his traitorous faux paramour. “I hadn’t thought of danger from outside. Still, I hope you know you’d never be in danger from me or my family, Toncho. She could never have convinced me ill of you. We’ve too much history for that.”

Never say never. Toncho knows that. He is silent on the matter, but his own bet to himself has been won -- and lost. "My debt to Boll is paid now, Marryn." Quietly spoken, Toncho's gravely basso can be heard, none-the-less. Toncho opens his eyes to study the infirmary ceiling. He knows it know, and could draw the view from any window here, if pressed.

Marryn is too young yet to know how ethereal ‘never’ can be; as far as he’s concerned its solid, unbreakable, and attainable with nothing more tangible than conviction. Surprise alights across his brow, pushing downward. “Your debt? Toncho, after all this time you still felt you owed us something? You’ve labored here for more than three turns now. You’ve handfasted here, raised your son here, and personally raised the quality of our runnerstock. You even helped keep Mother safe from those ruffians that time. There’s no debt we’re keeping account of.” One hand swings outward while he talks, coming back to rest lightly on one hip.

Toncho feels old, of a sudden. Some four turns ago, this same young man told him, in no uncertain terms, of this debt. Bound Toncho here by his honor. And he's /forgotten/? "Nay, Marryn. You held me responsible for your mother's wounding, for her pain and her recovery, and you bade me take the position of Stablemaster, to work off my 'debt' to you, to her." He /forgot/? Toncho exhales audibly and fall silent for the duration of a few of his own racing heartbeats. "That... Is the debt that is paid, lad."

Marryn nods then, understanding. A faint smile touches his lips. He remembers that conversation perfectly well but didn’t realize the weight of attachment Toncho still felt. “Is that all that’s been keeping you here, Toncho?” he asks a little sadly. “And here I thought we’d grown on you after all this time. If this is what it takes for you to feel satisfied, my friend, then so be it. But honestly I’d consider it long filled before now.”

Marryn nods then, understanding. A faint smile touches his lips. He remembers that conversation perfectly well but didn't realize the weight of attachment Toncho still felt. "Is that all that's been keeping you here, Toncho?" he asks a little sadly. "And here I thought we'd grown on you after all this time. If this is what it takes for you to feel satisfied, my friend, then so be it. But honestly I'd consider it long filled before now."

"Thread keeps me here. And the safety of my family. And I was hoping to see you confirmed. We'll see what happens, in these next few months, Marryn. But I've a sense of things..." He shifts to try to see the other man, and fails, so relaxes back into the bed. He's begun sweating at some point during the conversation. Beads trickle down his temple and his shirt darkens somewhat. "And I never felt I'd owed you in the first place." Toncho does manage a grin, humor infused in his voice. "If your mother can't ride," he murmurs, "This is not my fault, lad. But it's not seemly, that I teach her to ride." And Toncho is very good about mostly avoiding Auryn, the one woman he figures, besides Veronika, who has a good shot at ruining his marriage to Maus. "But your life, I wager, is a fair trade for your mother's pain."

Marryn notes the man’s difficulty and moves from the window, scooping up a high stool and dragging it to the bedside. Swinging long legs over the top he situates himself, bracing his feet on the lower rungs. “You will see me confirmed, Toncho. I guarantee that.” Again, that youthful confidence. Only mildly shaken by recent events his self-assurance is coming back full swing, too much a part of him to be subdued for long. He snorts again with mild amusement, canting his head at the other man for a long-ago argued line of reasoning. Neither anger nor pride is stirred from it any longer so he only remarks in passing and not a little self-interest, “I don’t know. You could always ask her. Would give her something to do other than look over my shoulder all day.”

"You're better for that." Toncho murmurs. "She's a wise woman, and you'd do well to listen to her. She," he grins slightly, "Is confirmed, after all." He rolls his head to look at the other, thankful that a convulsion hasn't yet taken his conciousness. "And she's better things to be doing than answering my questions, lad. Though I'd still argue that she should spend some of her time in riding practice." He shifts again, a discomfort stemming from a twitchy nerve, before he returns to the conversation. "So what will you be doing with the niece of a Lord Holder, Marryn?"

Marryn wrinkles his nose, copper hints catching the low glowlight as his eyes roll upward. No support here, obviously. Chagrin is lightly sprinkled with humor. He’ll not push the suggestion but slides the possibility of dropping a hint to his Mother for later musing. Anything to distract her from trying to build a bubble around him now is worth considering. Concern rises again as he watches the bed-ridden man twitch and squirm and he glances toward the healer sitting guard. Leaning forward slightly he laces his fingers across his thigh. “Don’t know yet but its been one blasted sharding time trying to keep her safe enough for Zarl to wring information out of her. And that’s the last thing I /want/ to do!” He sighs. “But we have to know why she did it. She can’t be working alone. Do you remember the man that escaped during the Gather? Zarl thinks she’s the one that helped him escape. It certainly makes sense. Any further word of him from your sources?” Short pause, and another glance for the man’s discomfort. “Is there anything you’d be needing Toncho?”

"Makes sense." Toncho hadn't considered that line. "And nay, no more. I'm not needing anything, but to get better and I'll welcome the day I'm free of having to be here, under the vigilant guard of these men and women." He directs his glance to the healer's desk, to imply the entire lot of them, with that. "And you could release her, when I'm better. I'm sure," he adds casually, "She is fairly accident prone."

Marryn does a double take, mocha-dark eyes narrowing slightly. “/That/ is exactly what I mean,” he simply says. “No accidents until Zarl is done with her.” The stark cold, harsh expression that washes over his normally jovial features bodes ill for what might happen after that, though in reality he could never stomach ordering or even arranging her death. His gaze drops to focus on a piece of fuzz working its way loose of Toncho’s blanket. His voice is lowered to reach the other man only as he adds, “She still denies it. All of it.”

(Toncho had to go so fade to him succumbing to sleep.)

END OF LOG