Winter - Month 12 of Turn 2715
Half Moon Bay Weyr - Galleries
An amphitheater cut of rock with row after row of hard benches to sit on. The galleries have a good view of the sands below and the action that takes place there during every hatching. Despite the times, people still come to see the new pairs formed and place bets on the outcome.
Language Warning
Most early mornings until late in the afternoon, J'en is doing his job, and he does it well. Archipelago wing was in tip top form and response time was kept only at the highest of standards, taking the role he was assigned seriously. Search and Rescue could be a matter of life or death, after all, regardless that it makes it appear as if the moodiest of bronzeriders actually cared about something. Not that it showed much aside from that, considering outside of duty J'en did his utmost to avoid people if he could help it. For example, right here and now on this lovely rain drenched winter evening, with most packed into the living caverns for the last big meal of the day. Where was J'en? Parked far in the back of the most vacant part of the weyr he could find, dressed head to toe in black, with his heavily booted feet up and hands shoved deep into the pockets of his zipped up flight jacket. You know, the usual. Slouched vaguely in his chosen spot, his eyes were closed, either asleep or soaking in the solitude of empty galleries over empty sands.
Speaking of people who take their jobs seriously: Xermiltoth enters the sands below with a low growl of content for the heat of the sands, enormous blackened form shaking to dispel damp weather from without. Wings remain wide with the gesture, allowing warmth to seep into his bones and eliciting low laughter from the rider just making his way into the galleries. "It isn't even cold out," accused aloud, and though there's an indescriminate wash of gold that likely announces the bronzeriding pair to J'en even if all the rest didn't, there's a surprising lack of words from the harlequinned beast. His quiet earns another soft laugh and a short stretch of silence that is then interrupted by spirited humming from R'hyn's direction as he sweeps the galleries in search of deficiencies. Is… is he humming his own theme music? He might be. It's certainly a song he's hummed more than once before, possibly long enough ago for even Jae to recognize, melody occasionally interrupted by the patta-patta-patpat of fingers on legs, palms, walls and eventually, as sounds and footsteps draw far too near, the back of J'en's freaking seat. Badada-ba-ba!, goes one of many sources of the S&R wingleader's permanent torture, but though the song is far from over, R'hyn lets up with a grin that pervades even when he hops over the back of the seat next to Jae and proceeds to occupy it. "Awful warm of a place for a nap," noted, brow lofted to as why even if he doesn't out loud, perhaps waiting to see how he'll be received today before pushing further.
It's the smallest break in the silence, the entrance of another living breathing creature that has sooty lashes lifting and golden eyes revealed, though those lids remain decidedly heavy. His gaze remains unfocused, suggesting it was indeed a quiet napping place that J'en was after, awareness of surroundings coming secondary. In those first moments of recognition, the young wingleader's shoulders remain tension free, for Xermiltoth was (even in the peak of his boisterous youth) easy enough for even he to get along with. That might be said for his rider as well of course, because R'hyn wasn't deterred even by the prickliest of Jae's thorns, another one of those precocious (to put it mildly) persons that wore at him like the proverbial sands of time hollowing out a place for himself even if that place was relatively on the metaphoric superficial surface. He stuck, like a sticking that that would be be shook. Very annoying. Focusing in, but otherwise unmoving, J'en watches rain being shaken from those great wings until that laughter. Well hello tension, welcome back, come in and stay a while. It was subtle just yet, golden eyes sliding unhurried towards the source if possible, exposure therapy having taken care of any visible reaction to that glittery thought shower. He'd had Xermi javelin himself into the deepest part of his brain, so that gentle twinkle was nothing compared to all that. Cue the personal theme music and a lowering of those lashes, expression the very epitome of neutrality, gaze sliding back just as slowly to return to the wing drying bronze taking residence upon the sand. Approaching footsteps to the back of his seat and J'en could just feel that grin, inspiring a long suffering sigh. Indeed, let the torture begin. There is no greeting, even as the song ends and R'hyn hops over the seat to drop in beside him. Instead, just the soft even reply without much force behind it to drive words into being, "Dun like bein' cold…"
RIP, quaint little naps! Replaced by thorns, or perhaps more ironically, burrs because Hamilton puns are funny, the annoying little prick that keeps on sticking. At least R'hyn seems conscious of the fact; it's not enough to dissuade him from engaging with the recalcitrant bronzerider, but it is enough that he stays still until mercurial moods can be marked. Words! Only four of them, but let's be real, that is a lot in Jae-land some days. R'hyn's eyes brighten with a fey light, fixed grin taking on a friendlier edge even as his eyeballs rocket for the ceiling in one great big roll. "You and Xermiltoth should have a bonding session over that. He keeps threatening to winter in the southern hemisphere. Argues some shit about migration and natural orders of the world," but R'hyn's not buying it. "Awful hard to keep his job from there, though, so here we are. Making excuses to find sweltering places to be." A sideways glance. "Glad you're making time to relax, though. Don't think I've seen you stop for…" His face scrooches, eyes going distant as though trying to do the math and… no it just… stays there… fixed… calling him out for working hard like an asshole. Why does anyone put up with him?
And then there is S'van, moving out of the rain-and-relative-cold and into the dry-and-definitely-warm. He moves without hesitation, a confidence in his stride that says he knows where he's going and is assured of his target. Namely, that black-clad figure trying to hide in the back there, disturbed from solitude by the appearance of boisterous bronze and precocious weyrleaders. He hasn't seen them yet though; taking the stairs two at a time and keeping an eye on his path to avoid unfortunate accidences. A necessity, considering he's dripping copious amounts of water from his person down onto the stone-cut steps; hands full of covered dishes (two of them) that require balance and care to avoid spilling. A flash of his gaze; a quick assessment that finds and settles on the pair in the stands and a flicker of a grin. Closer still, and then he's slowing down; ensuring that what rivers remain running from his person (jacket and hair, predominantly) do not drench weyrmate or weyrleader. "Hey," casual-like, shrugging out of his jacket to abandon it a few seats away from the pair. It's an awkward movement; moving his burden from one hand to the other so that he can remove the jacket and avoid dropping anything. Successful, he closes the distance and drops into a seat beside J'en, offering him a plate while setting the other on his lap. "Brought you dinner." And then, "Hey R'hyn. Didn't expect you here," or he might have brought some for him too? Maybe.
J'en had made his peace with it, for the most part, letting the idea of partaking in unmolested slumber go…albeit begrudgingly. Much the same could be said about ever shaking off someone who he had legit punched in the face the first time they met, and yet here they were turns later sitting side by side. Not that Jae had had much choice in the matter, other than to give up his parking spot, which it seems he wasn't quite ready to do just yet. Other than that smidgen of tension set into his shoulders, it was impossible to judge exactly what mood the wingleader was in considering his general lack expression and tone in most social situations, and as usual this was the case. He keeps his eyes forward facing, not needing to see the new and improved grin of ultimate friendliness because he knew R'hyn very well and it was practically equivalent to the man throwing his arms around him and hugging him to death. So, he doesn't look at it, remaining slouched and keeping up the appearance of complete relaxation as if the weyrleader wasn't even there. Except he was and talking to him, being nice and personable, to someone who clearly was not. Hey, R'hyn knew this going in, right? He apparently has nothing to say about bonding, migration, or the difficulties of managing a weyr from another part of the planet. However, after being side glanced at (yes, he sort of saw it), "It was gettin' dark," he replies in explanation, not mentioning anything about the rain which had been pouring down since before dawn. Half Moon winters man, they'll get you, but not an excuse to miss drills or whatever other horrible things that J'en put his wingriders through. Weather, was a non-issue, for obvious reasons and complainers got extra sweeps in the exact same conditions that they were bitching about. "Wouldn't be much of a wingleader if I assigned people shit and then went on vacation all the time…" No, he may work the riders under him harder than most, but he was right out there with them. A sigh follows, his eyes sliding to the side closest to the contemplating man beside him. No expression, but that non-look was so very 'really?'. Movement, someone on the stairs, and the scent of food. Enter, S'van, making Jae neither the oldest or youngest bronzerider in the galleries. It inspires movement of his own, a turn of his head only as much as necessary to watch, expression unchanging, the final leg of his approach. "…'ey." No change in tone either, but it proceeds into dropping his boots to the floor and sitting up properly so he can take the offered plate. "Thanks." He's start eating immediately, with his fingers as means of food transportation, because what are manners. R'hyn seated on one side, S'van on the other, it might have been awkward if J'en had given it a single thought. It simply was, well, and there was food.
Fret not, R'hyn is entirely too aware of who he's talking to; it's the reason he prattles on, content to speak without need for feedback, relying on J'en's knowledge of him, of his dragon, to carry the brunt of the conversation right up until it ends. He's still making that far-distant face when S'van rolls in, impossibly encouraged by the 'really?' that goes unexpressed except in that sands-ward staring. It's… probably an awkward tableau, really, both bronzeriders sitting next to each other staring into opposite eternities, but S'van enter's R'hyn's range of sight and blue-greys slide to take in the rider's careful dispatch of damp clothing. "Impressive," he notes of the plate-juggling, "but going back to previous conversation, I don't seem to recall anyone having any trouble executing tasks in the dark." Like sneaking out on his watch even for valid reasons, S'VAN. He leans forwards in his seat when the youngest rider sits, mostly because Jae makes a better door than a window, but also that hands might extend palms up as though to accept S'van's second plate. "You shouldn't have." JOKING. HE'S JOKING. It's all over his face and his posture as he pulls back to lean one elbow on his knee, shoulder rolling in a swift shrug. "Yeah, well, I got kicked out of my weyr for weyrmate abuse, so I live here now." That or, "Cita also asked us to scope it out to make sure it's all in working order before Ily sets to roost, but." They can pick whichever version of the story they find more entertaining and go from there.
Toneless greetings and expressionless thank you's. This is what S'van gets for braving the excessive rain in the bowl, and then the excessive heat of the sands, to bring his beloved weyrmate plates of delicious dinner. And what does he do when his heroic deeds appear to go unappreciated? Why, he slings an arm around those dark-clad shoulders, leans over and plants a kiss on that expression-less cheek, looking pleased as punch at his own successful endeavors. As for cheeky weyrleaders who think they are funny by pretending to graciously accept plates of dinner clearly not meant for them… well. He gets a grin too; a lopsided one with just enough sass to meet that offer and slap a buttery biscuit in that open palm. There. Enjoy. "Who's doing what in the dark?" because his curiosity is piqued, and he's new enough to this conversation to have NO CONTEXT. As for the sands, and their acceptability… "I didn't know they changed all that much," with a shrug of his shoulders; dismissive because Ilyscaeth is not HIS dragon, nor is she Aedeluth's mate, which means the condition of those sands are NOT HIS PROBLEM.
J'en had knowledge of many things and he almost entirely kept them to himself, which was both a blessing and a curse. Nope, he's just going to eat in silence there for a little bit, chewing and swallowing, all of the activities that keep him alive. Between bites however, "Pot meet kettle," he says in that deadpan way of his without looking up from his plate, on the execution of nightly activities, but doesn't elaborate. Certain someone's were more than welcomed to explain, but J'en was not that person. There is more eating though, yes, plenty of that even with arms being slung over his shoulders and kisses pressed to his cheek, glancing S'van's way and then following the placement of delicious hot buttered biscuits as they are bestowed. Not to him, though, no…not to him. It's given to R'hyn. While there might not be any outward sign of his disappointment that its flaky goodness did not land on his rapidly emptying plate, his gaze does distinctly flicker to the other one present. Did it have companions that might need to find sanctuary within his gullet? If there was, it's wordlessly pilfered, because Sev's plate was also his plate. It was known. Without looking at either of the bronzeriders surrounding him, "…'e's talkin' about ya sneakin' out to partake in activities unbecomin' a candidate…and a weyrlin'…" Biscuit, meet mouth and find the place that you've always belonged, vanished in just a few bites with a swipe of his thumb to clear up any sad remains. Then, it back to making sure he finishes every last morsel contained on the plate situated on his lap. As Leketh had yet to catch a single one of the queens that he'd perused, he has nothing to add to the second half of the conversion, setting his near spotless plate back onto the tray from which it had originated.
At first the biscuit plopped into his hand earns little more than a blink, followed by a vaguely-disbelieving, "Really?" To be fair, R'hyn didn't expect that to work, but he is no less pleased for this buttery turn of events. He draws the starchy substance closer to himself with a pleasant, "Thank you," spoken as one who means it. His expression lingers somewhere amicable, rather than its usual mischievousness, and though he pegs J'en with a sly look for that 'kettle' comment, its lacking in it's usual zeal. "We need a third. Cauldron, maybe, or pan, if that's your style." Because yes, he is talking about illicit activities, but, "This is also my tongue-in-cheek way of encouraging your weyrmate to take a vacation. He works too hard." There's a sharp smirk for the pilfering of S'van's other biscuit, and a choking gaggy kind of noise for cheek-kisses, but R'hyn hurries up and makes quick work of his food before it can be pilfered, too. "I meant more, are there seats in need of repair, damage to railings, perceived structural weaknesses on the sands, pits that need filling?" Handwave that encapsulates all of the et ceteras. "But I think it was as much excuse to get us to leave so she could cook proper, unburnt food as it was to make sure everything's still in place," he admits, sheepish. "I have yet to develop that particular talent." And by talent we mean travesty. "I think your wing's stopped reporting to the neighboring weyr's alerts." Ahem.
"You're welcome," because he hasn't reached the point of understanding that ACCUSATIONS ARE BEING MADE. And of course there are more biscuits! Those plates are (were) heaping full of delicious delights. Even if J'en's portion was rapidly vanishing from view, prompting S'van to casually and not so sneakily slip items of the savory variety from his plate right on over to the other. But fret not, he still has plenty of protein for all his muscle and calorie burning needs, even as half his portion becomes J'en's portion. "He's what?" because he's distracted, picking through his plate of items to find those that are acceptable for transfer and pushing them to the side for easy grabbing. But he's not oblivious, and quick enough the words click in that brain of his and motion slows; suddenly looking rather regretful for having freely given over a warm, delicious, buttery biscuit to someone potentially accusing him (albeit rightfully) of devious mischief. And oh, the gall, the balls on him to have a moment in which he deeply contemplates DENYING IT even when the other half of the equation is sitting right there and confirming things. It's in the wash of innocence across his face, that brief look of 'who me?' that is fooling exactly NO ONE, and fades soon enough because now they're talking about vacations, and time off, and that is decidedly less hackle-raising than allegations of illicit behaviors. "He does," is agreed for hardworking weyrmates, though it's amusement and pride, rather than wistful regret that colors his tone. "I'll be sure to haul him off to a beach in the near future." Spoken as if J'en wasn't sitting right there, in full view and able to hear him. "Make it an order, and then he can't punish me for it." The last of his meal is easily vanquished, given that most of it went sideways to another plate, and soon enough his empty one is joining J'en's on the tray they rode in on. "Fixing chairs and filling holes sounds an awful lot like candidate work," he notes with mischief, happy to assign chores to white-knotted innocence now that he is Turns past from being one himself. "But I see your point." For repairs, if not for cooking.
Of all the responses, J'en settles on the lightest of shrugs, completely unapologetic for all the sneaky sneaking he himself was responsible for in and out of rank where he obviously knew better. He'd certainly been a candidate enough times and as a wingleader it was a given, and yet all of the devious behaviors. "Ain't sorry," he confirms, as if the single lift and drop of that single shoulder wouldn't have expressed that clearly enough, leaving that a general reply instead of indicating which he was unapologetic for. Most likely, every single instance, because this was J'en we were talking about. A sigh follows between suckling of fingertips, finally looking directly at his illustrious weyrleader, "Ya know I'm sittin' right 'ere." Then fucking act like it, right? For S'van there is no further clarification, because he knew the youngest of the bronzeriders present very well and had probably anticipated that everything would fall into place and click eventually. And there it was, his gaze sliding his way, probably joining R'hyn in a combined 'yes you' moment of shared expressionless because of known things previously mentioned. His lips turn downward as his weyrmate joins in the emphasizing of vacation time, but might be also in part because someone else was talking about him as if wasn't sitting legit right there in the middle of their little chat. He takes in a deeper breath, mouth opening in protest as there is talk of dragging him but it snaps closed as S'van takes it a step further and includes orders, "Sevran…" is softly growled in warning, brows beginning to furrow in small increments. "I dun wanna take a fuckin' vacation, 'ad one like half a turn ago. Vacationed plenty…" Traces of irritation plain for anyone to see quickly appear, not seeming to like much the railroading that was currently occurring. Muscles were tensing again, a ripple, to the back of his neck and along his shoulders as if he were fixing for one of those fight or flight reactions of his. Which, remained to be seen. The state of the hatching galleries and the sands below, not topic of interest before, unlikely to be one now.
Damn that buttery biscuit! It's gone and shredded his sun-bright facade; this is real-R'hyn, like it or not, and when J'en reminds him that he's right there, the bronzerider focuses a weighty gaze on him. He knows you are, but it's easier to joke, easier to buy into a ping-pong match of back-and-forth amusement with S'van than it is for R'hyn to ever get directly to the heart of the issue, and so he tears his eyes back to the younger rider with a sharp snort and a look that nigh-on perfectly matches Jae's for sarcastic disbelief. There's tiny quirky differences - R'hyn's eyebrow lifts, for one, adding a certain undertone of 'yeah, right' to the whole ordeal - but on the whole it's probably a little weird and a lottle hackle-raising because S'van has come to the wrong place for fucks to give about making a jest. Vacations though… apparently those are no joke, not anymore. There's a glitter of blue-grey eyes for the pride in Sev's tone, amused, maybe pleased, but then Jae is making his argument and R'hyn bites out a quiet, "Take. Another." OH OKAY RUDE. R'hyn seems to realize it and backs off immediately, words coming out in a vague rush to clarify. "That is- what I mean to say- you should- yes, very deserving and-" SIGH. WORDS. "Look." He gives up the ghost, and though he can't seem to look Jae right in the face again, he does cant his head the wingleader's way, taking his time to properly collect words before he tries again. "The sevenday after next, Ista leadership's booked to visit. It's the usual bullshit, meetings, dinners," irrelevant, "but I thought that, you know, maybe…" Hesitation, a glance up at Jae's face, then Sev's, then out towards the sands where his dragon is moving towards the exit with a low, satisfied rumble and a widespread glitter of gold. "Maybe you'd prefer to be gone. No orders, but I'll approve whatever comes across my desk." AND ON THAT NOTE. "But alright. I've got the all-clear to go home. Something about forgiveness for my transgressions and promises to-" Scrooched face. "Gross. Anyways. Thanks for the biscuit, and the company." BYE! Because awkwardness dispensed with, R'hyn flees feedback like the coward he is, playing a too-fast walk off by shoving hands into his pockets and humming that ridiculously up-tempo song again on his way out.
At least S'van has the decency to look apologetic, flashing a softer smile J'en-wards for the growl; shoulder-looped arm lifting to run his fingers through inky-black hair as tension finds the Archipelago Wingleader. "I'm just teasing," in a tone that says 'I'm sorry,' and makes good on the sentiment with a clear cease and desist of said banter. Even if R'hyn is going the distinct opposite direction; from banter to bite, and there's a quick, sharp look; grey eyes focused and narrowed in a way that is not at all pleasant but not quite insolent. It fades, because explanations are forthcoming, and understanding dawns. But quiet remains on the part of the youngest bronzerider; hand moving lazily through dark hair as he withholds his thoughts and opinions on the matter; gaze drifting toward the sands so as to allow privacy. As R'hyn stands and announces that his exile has been pardoned, there's a brief twist to the side of his mouth; a flicker of a smile that is acknowledgement for his leave-taking. "Sure," for all that 'thank you' business, a quick "G'night," chasing him out into the rain as R'hyn makes his escape.
All that growly and snarly that both R'hyn and S'van know very well was emerging from behind Jae's comfort zone of absolute neutrality, jaw clenching as teeth are hard pressed against one another behind his then deeply frowning lips. This was for that whole vacation talk, golden eyes not seeming to know which of the two men on either side he wanted to glare and bark at first as they dart heatedly back and forth as the two exchange words across him rather than give him any choice in the matter. If there as one thing that was fairly well known, it was that J'en did NOT like being told what to do. To some degree it might even be one among the many reasons he agreed to leading Archipelago in the first place. Admittedly, he's distracted, otherwise he might of noticed the threat of insolence towards their weyrleader that S'van's gut reaction to defend him teeters so close to when R'hyn snaps. Weyrmate or no, that sort of shit would have forced J'en to discipline him right quick. Sometimes Wingleader and weyrmate, didn't mix so good. That distraction mentioned is that his hardened gaze had landed pointedly to do much the same, not because of the tone that was being used but rather the insistence. "Heryn…" All of the pre-impression names being used in warning, upper lip curling into a much more prominent snarl that apologies and hair petting from weyrmate's can't sooth. The coil was twining awfully tight there, but thankfully with the very clear explanation soon to follow it doesn't have a chance to spring into any sort of insubordinate action. Call J'en defused because his eyes widen to the size of serving platters for about a second before he curses heavily, "Fuck that," he spits, tossing S'van a look. "Request will be on yer desk soon as S'van can write it…" Because S'van was his personal secretary, because Jae's handwriting was illegible at best. Now there was all the glaring at the sands, even as R'hyn proclaims the all clear and makes his self-themed escape while the getting was good. "Fuckin' P'rel…." Growl, hiss.