Emo

Western Weyr - Living Caverns
Here is the center of Weyr life, the living caverns. These two main rooms were man-shaped from smaller caves, and are joined by a carved arch with depictions of dragons in flight and dolphins leaping in swirling waves. One room has many round stone and wooden tables and a stone fire-pit instead of a hearth. Over the round-walled, gas fired pit is a large conical hood made of polished bronze, with reliefs of dragons with their riders flying over ships guided by dolphins. This hood and chimney keeps the room smoke-free. Through the archway is an enormous hall, with long tables and benches, some carved from the rock floor, many crafted of wood. This room is a combination dining and meeting hall, and can seat over 300 comfortably. Above both rooms, angled shafts lined with polished metal bring in sunlight during the day. Electric lights also burn, day and night.


Summer afternoons are probably better spent out of doors, but the living caverns - with their angled shafts, drawing in sunlight - are an acceptable facsimile for those who don't want to be blown away by the gusting winds. It's entirely possible that Rhysanna is within that particular category, given she's set herself up within a patch of sunlight at one of the round tables, working through something that apparently requires her to stuck on her pen. There's an ink stain at her mouth; there's another on the rim of the glass she's been drinking out of, too, though she seems to have noticed neither.

S'rorn is not far from the table, mournfully poking at his food with a fork. His chin is propped on a hand with his elbow on the table. The brownrider sighs, letting his hazel eyes drift lazily around the room. He pauses, slowly sitting up straight as he lowers his hand to the table. The fork is left behind and he clears his throat as he stares at Rhysanna. What is that on her face?! "E-excuse me, Weyrwoman Rhysanna?" he begins nervously, scooting his chair a little further under the table. During his moping session, he took to slouching. Not really a professional image for a wingleader, is it? "There's um… there's something on the corner of y-your m…m-mouth." Rorn begins scratching the corner of his own.

"Hmm? Oh! Goodness. Thank you." Rhysanna hastily sets down her pen, which proceeds to dribble more ink onto the table; it must be defective. She, however, sets to hastily trying to rub away the ink about her mouth, which is, at best, a somewhat inefficient undertaking. Pink stains her cheeks, now; she's embarrassed, clearly, though not so much that she can't manage a quick, grateful smile - and then pause, still dabbing at her mouth with her saliva-moistened handkerchief. "Is…" she begins, cautiously. "Is everything all right?" Embarrassment or no embarrassment, moping is a pretty obvious thing.

The brownrider takes a deep breath and lets out a heavy sigh. That was a little awkward. He resettles himself in his seat, the bells of his belt jingling with the movement. Once a trader, always a trader down to the gaudy clothing. Well, at least they're clean and well mended? S'rorn brushes his blond hair from his eyes, a crooked smile on his face from his foolishness. "Y-yes, ma'am. Just… just thinking too much about things I have little control over. I just need to let go, but it's a little bit on the difficult side as of yet." As soon as the words are out, Rorn deflates in his chair. He picks up his fork and proceeds to jab at his food once more. He glances back at the pen for a moment though, chewing on his lip in thought. "I'll make sure you're brought a fresh pack of pens. If they're not shipped right, they uhm… They're defective."

The dabbing pauses as S'rorn answers; Rhysanna sucks in a breath, resting her front teeth upon her lower lip. "Rhysanna," she corrects, quickly and firmly, despite whatever it is that has her looking so intensely thoughtful, now. "Please. There's no need to stand on ceremony." Her gaze drops towards the pen, though her attention doesn't really seem to be focused on it. "I'm sure I've just… mistreated that one. It's fine. I can't imagine you'd let them be incorrectly… if you figure out how to stop thinking too much about those things, let me know? I've never managed the knack. It's hard: I just end up working things over and over in my mind and it makes things worse. So… I'm sorry."

"Don't be, Rhysanna." S'rorn replies softly as he reaches over with his own napkin and begins to clean the ink off of the table. "I'll gladly share my secrets as soon as I can find out what they are. When I do, I'm going to feel like the biggest fool on the island for not figuring it out ages ago. I'll be a little wiser in the end, at the very least." Once the the last little bit is gone, he simply folds it up and tucks it under his tray so it's not knocked off somewhere. It'll be dealt with later. "I'm sure there's a case of mistreating on my end with my dilemma. I thought it would be so simple but it turns out there's more to it then I imagined. You start thinking of every possible scenario that could possibly happen. Naturally they're the worst and you're feeling every bit of it even though it's not real. It might as well be. The next thing you know, you're at wits end and near tears for something that hasn't even happened but you're dreading the possibility all the time. Meanwhile, nothing's changed. If I could… if I could just stop being so afraid of…" The brownrider's words cut short and he finally manages to eat a bite of food, chewing slowly in thought. Either that, or he's counting the faint woodgrains on the tabletop.

Rhysanna, hastily going back to blindly removing the ink from her mouth (which is, at least, finally beginning to see results), nonetheless sucks in an awkward breath, and nods. "Thank you," she says, with a gesture towards the now-cleaned stain on the table. Dark eyes drop away from the brownrider and towards the work she's not really paying much attention to; she considers it for a moment - or, at least, stares in that direction - and then says, "I wish it were easy to simply… force yourself not to be afraid. Especially of things that might not be anywhere near as bad as you imagine. I do that, too." She looks up again, setting down her ink-stained handkerchief and reaching, instead, for her glass (which gets turned in her hand, hastily, so that she can avoid drinking from the side with the ink on it). "I'd listen, if you needed to vent," she offers, uncertainly. "To a near stranger."

The brownrider smiles nervously and exhales, almost seeming to deflate. He glances around the room for a moment, trying to find the words that could spell it all out in a meager few but they never come. He glances over at the weyrwoman, slowly nodding his head. "Turns back I fell in love with a woman and now it's sevendays at a time if I ever see her at all. When she comes back to me, it's few words or none at all. She's a Journeyman that works with runners, it's her passion so I support her in it. It just seems like we've grown apart. She never comes home anymore. I've tried talking to her about it to see where we are, if I'm… If I'm lacking in something she needs but she's… emotionally unavailable. Meanwhile, I've been talking with another person that I'm starting to have feelings for but I can't take a step forward in that direction until Qiana talks to me. I don't want to talk at her, and a letter is just to… heartless." S'rorn throws his hands up in the air and crosses them over his chest with a frown. He peers at his food. What are you looking at, food!

Rhysanna's expression turns troubled as she listens, a short, sharp exhale marking her only audible reaction until the brownrider is finished. "Oh," she says, tone carrying the hint of a sigh, and more weight than ought to be possible which only a single syllable to carry it on. "I'm so sorry - that sounds awful." She sets down her glass again, pushing it away so that she has an empty space in front of her upon which to rest her hands. "I think you're right that it can't be done by letter. Perhaps…" she hesitates, her brows knitting in consideration. "I don't know. I wish I did. Perhaps you should suggest to her that you take a vacation together. Maybe if you're both away from your normal lives…" Her mouth twists, crookedly. "Not that I can claim to be any kind of expert in any of this. I'm ruled by my emotions; sometimes I drown in them."

"Everytime I've asked her to go on a vacation with me, it'd only make her mad and she'd not talk to me for the rest of the night. I've given up on that front. All I can do is wait til she's ready and just tell her. I don't want to make her feel confronted or that I'm giving an ultimatum but this isn't something going on for a few sevendays. It's turns, now." If it's dead, then it's dead. There's no sense in putting it in the freezer in hopes of it reviving itself in the future. You must never go there, Simba. S'rorn pulls his plate a little closer, the lighter load on his chest made room for more food. He eats a little more of what's on his plate, eyes shifting around the caverns. Neither familiar face he was hoping to see.

Flushing, Rhysanna drops her gaze back towards the table, and her entwined hands resting so loosely upon it. "I… hope that day comes sooner rather than later, then," she says; it's just about all she can say at this point, as awkward as she is. "And goes as well as it possibly can, given… everything." Her frown, however, has deepened, caught somewhere between sympathy and a certain amount of disapproval that can't - surely - be for S'rorn himself. "It seems… unfair to keep you in limbo for turns, though." She seems to regret saying that the moment it's out of her mouth; hastily, "Not that it's my place to judge, or… I'm sorry. I should stop talking."

Hotaru would love to be hanging out at the beach right now. Or stretched out on the ledge of the weyr. But she's had work to do all day and is just now getting in for lunch. Boo. The vintner heads to the serving tables to poke through what's there, and manages to at least construct herself a sandwich and get some lukewarm tuber straws to eat. Then she looks for a table! And spots Rhysanna. Sure it's been a while since they've talked and the last time they saw each other was… awkward. But time heals all wounds, right? And so the redhead heads to sit down next to the goldrider, nodding hello so she doesn't interrupt the conversation already going on.

S'rorn doesn't say anything, he just reaches into his pocket and pulls out a flask. The lid is hastily removed and he takes a long pull from it before holding it out in offering to Rhysanna. Whatever it is, it smells like it'll eat through the table if she spills it. The brownrider's eyes are watering and turning a little red, but he doesn't care. He'll only feel as though he is on the verge of spontaneous combustion for a few days. "I just gotta be patient, it'll work itself out in the end." If the goldrider doesn't take the moonshine, he's going to offer it to the scary and questionable looking ginger sitting among them.

If it helps, Rhysanna's table is conveniently located beneath one of the shafts built into the ceiling, and is presently partially centered within a sunbeam as a result… but only partially: the sun is moving, inch by inch. Stupid sun. "I… suppose so?" The flask is given a wary glance, and refused with a quick shake of her head: she likes her insides in their present form, thanks all the same. Hotaru's interruption is probably a timely one; the awkwardness, well, it exists with high potential, here. Thus, despite any existent awkwardness between goldrider and vintner, the red-head is greeted with all smiles. "Hotaru, hi!"

Hotaru wrinkles her nose at the smell of whatever's in that flask. "Good god, wingleader. Did you make that in your bathtub? If you're gonna drink yourself to death, you should at least do it with something that won't take the skin off the back of your throat. I can hook you up." Hopefully that's as much of a refusal as Rorn needs. Hotaru smiles to Rhysanna. "Hey Rhysa. How's it going?" Hotaru is grateful to be in the sun. Even if it is a little warmer.

"Family gift. Care package." Rorn shrugs and clears his throat as he recaps the flask and puts it back into his pocket. "I'm a trader, if you've got something I've haven't seen or sampled already, it's on." The brownrider rubs his face for a moment and quietly goes back to his food. Precious food, have you been sitting there this whole time? Now that the moonshine is likely devouring the wingleader's innards, there'll be more room for his stomach til it decides to go to.

"I think that's a challenge," puts in Rhysanna, laughing, as she picks up her glass again. She's only drinking juice, and there's not much of it left - but at least it isn't going to burn on the way down. Or the way out. She's still got half an eye on the brownrider, and it could well be described as 'concerned,' but it's easier, clearly, to talk to Hotaru. "Well enough. My plan to get some work done, and be around people has hit some snags," given she's clearly not working, now, "but never mind. It's not urgent, at least. How are you? How is…" She pauses. "Uh, everything?"

Hotaru laughs. "Well I'm a vintner. And I make my own. Using actual equipment and not a bathtub. So I'm sure I can make you something good that you haven't had before. I'll even make it strong." Drinking before eating was a sure way to end up drunk. Hotaru is also drinking juice. Despite the temptation, she doesn't do a ton of drinking during the day. The redhead laughs a bit at Rhysa. "Yeah, I can imagine that doesn't work out too well. Tired of just being around the other goldriders?" Hotaru stretches out a bit before going back to eating. "I'm good. Nae and I just got back from a few days at The Pearl Dolphin Resort. Have you been there? It's awesome! They have a sauna. And mud baths! Nae of course didn't wear clothes the whole three days we were there."

S'rorn brings his fork to his mouth to take another bite, only to miss and hit his cheek at the mention of naked women. He blushes, trying to take a bite again only to have the food fall off of his fork and onto the table. He clears his throat, reaching for a napkin to clean up the newly created mess, only to grab the ink coated napkin to make it a darker smudge. The brownrider scowls, glancing around for his clean napkin before spotting it on the floor. He pushes his chair back just a little, leaning over to get it… then promptly falls out of his chair. Jingly belt and all. He's not drunk, just a little clumsy for some reason. Maybe. After the napkin is gathered, he slowly cleans off the table and carefully takes a seat. Now where did his fork go, now?

Nae. Not wearing clothes. Rhysanna's blush is pretty spectacular, this time, and has her looking rather hurriedly away from the Vintner: clearly, that's brought back some, uh, memories. Or flashbacks. Deep breath, and then, "No, I've not had the pleasure. It sounds lovely, though. I…" Anything further she was going to say will have to wait, because S'rorn has fallen out of his chair, and that has certainly stolen her attention. Distraction! Good! She blinks. Then, quickly, "Are you…?" Okay?

Wow, it's an easily embarrassed crowd tonight! Just mention a woman naked and everyone can't contain themselves! Of course Rhysa was intimately familiar with Nae's nakedness. There's a blink as Rorn misses his mouth, then falls out of his chair trying for a napkin. Rhysa's look away isn't even noticed. "Er… you alright?" She asks the brownrider, standing up to peer over the table at him. There's a glance to Rhysa. "You should… come with us next time. It'd be fun." And maybe Nae would behave a little. Though probably not.

The brownrider offers a nervous grin to both ladies as he straightens himself out and picks up his spoon instead. There's no telling where the fork went. "I-I'm fine. Just a little out of it, perhaps." A little, lot a bit. S'rorn chuckles and sends his gaze back to the plate. Not the women folk and their conversations of nude cavorting. Naked. No clothes. He blushes furiously again and lowers his head even more. My! The plate in front of him still looks rather lovely. This time he /carefully/ spoons himself up some food and it makes it neatly in his mouth this time. Ignore the nervous leg jiggle and bells chiming as a result. He needs food, he came here to eat. Nothing strange going on, not at all. This is perfectly normal.

Perfectly, normally weird, maybe. Rhysanna's dubiousness does not entirely dissipate, even with S'rorn's reassurances, but being another of those people so very inclined towards flushing, she does avert her eyes; she'll be nice, she won't stare. "If you're sure," she says. Hotaru's invitation draws a pause, and then a wry smile. "Oh," she says, after a moment, "Well, maybe. It is nice to get away, sometimes. When I can. As long as I wouldn't be…" Interrupting things? "In the way."

Hotaru has lots of stories about nudery. Mostly because her weyrmate is basically a functional nudest. She blinks a bit at the brownrider, then sinks back into her seat. Ooookay. Hotaru goes back to eating slowly. Then she looks over at Rhysa. "Trust me, it was great! We didn't even get to do everything we wanted, so we'll be back soon probably. You'll obviously want your own room, but you won't be in the way. You will probably have to put up with Nae's nakedness, but uh… you've seen her naked plenty of times I'm sure."

There's no food left for the brownrider to distract himself with. All he can do is take his napkin and hold it over his nose and mouth while he glances around the room, seemingly in thought. In reality, he's chanting to himself to keep from nosebleeding. That's it, he'll go for a walk out on the beach when it's too cold for nudists and hope to see Sundari out there somewhere. Someone with clothes on in a less awkward setting to talk to. The leg and bells are still jingling, the sound must not have made it through S'rorn's head yet.

Despite her best efforts not to stare, it's a little difficult for S'rorn - with the jingling, and the napkin - to completely escape Rhysanna's notice. Her mouth opens, though she stops short of actually reiterating that earlier question. Instead, after several seconds of semi unobstrusive study, she glances back at Hotaru, bewilderment obvious in her expression. "I— well, that sounds like fun. It's a good thing I'm immune to Nae's nudity." You know. Mostly. Mostly.

What's Rorn got against nudity? Surely he's seen his share of nekid gals over the turns. At least at the Perfect Alibi, right? The beach was the worst place to avoid nude people. Or at least people without a lot of clothes. They bred there. Sometimes literally. Hotaru looks over at Rorn a few times, not really sure what to make of him. Hotaru chuckles a bit to Rhysa. "Mm. She doesn't let me get immune. I make her at least wear undies around the weyr though. Otherwise it can be distracting. You know. When she bends over or something…" Hotaru shivers.

S'rorn sighs heavily and shakes his head. "I grew up in a caravan, I've seen lots of things that would make people go off their feed for a while. I don't know if this falls in the same category or if it's something else entirely." He reaches for his untouched mug of now cold klah and takes a drink. He frowns, sighs, and keeps drinking. His mouth is now occupied, it's safer. Nevermind he's had a weyrmate for a few turns, his current state of relationship is well…

"I'm not sure I want to know what kind of thing that could be," decides Rhysanna, answering S'rorn's comment with a wrinkle of her nose. "Although, on the other hand…" If this conversation is enough to make the brownrider so very uncomfortable, perhaps not. She, at least, has managed to stop blushing, even if she's hesitant in answering Hotaru. "I'll… take your word for it. I mean… yes, I suppose that would get distracting." She reaches, visibly reluctant, towards her pile of papers, and the clearly-broken pen (which at least has run out of ink to leak). "I should get back to work, probably," she says.

Hotaru laughs. "Worse than things here? I've seen some crazy things here. And at the spa. And you know. Places." Or she hasn't seen much at all. Whatever. "You haven't met Nae? I guess she doesn't fly in your wing, so probably not a lot of chances to cross paths." Hotaru nods to Rhysa. "Mm. So how's your boyfriend?" She coughs. "And uh… I guess his boss." Hotaru's not done eating yet! NO ONE CAN LEAVE!

Rorn just glances between the women and doesn't say a word. Nope. He's just going to reach behind him and pull his small leather bag from his coat pocket. He removes a black braided cord and a couple jars. One jar contains a variety of polished sea glass with small holes drilled into them. He'll just distract himself a bit while he finishes off his mug. After peering at what he has already, the brownrider shakes his head and pulls out another jar but before it hits the table top, it's back in his bag. Maybe this one? No, colors don't match. This one? Too gaudy. He grumbles quietly to himself before settling on a small drawstring black velvet bag. A pearl is pulled from it and the braided cord is fed through while he continues to debate on what colors to follow. Seafoam or red?

Sadly for Hotaru, Rhysanna is being diligent… for better or for worse. "He's good," she says, answering that question as she gathers together her things. "Busy. We're all busy. There's— well, always lots going on." Stuff that is now dragging her away? It's possible. "It was good to catch up with you," she says. "And— S'rorn, good luck with everything. Oh, that is pretty." But now? Now she really, really, really is actually going to turn and leave. Sadface.

Hotaru is at least finishing up her lunch. There's a brow raised to S'rorn as he starts… making necklaces? Rorn is the hippy of Western. He just needs some dreadlocks and a tie-dye t-shirt. And not to bath for a while. Maybe a van to live in. There's a brow raised to Rhysa at her curt answer about Zi'on. Maybe they were on the rocks? "Er, alright. I'll see you later Rhysa…" Maybe? If she leaves. Which… it doesn't seem like she's doing. At least not very quickly.

Rhysanna's leaving! She's just… distracted, suddenly. Who even knows. Maybe her dragon is being a pain (again). MAYBE SHE'S PRODDY (she's not). Maybe she just likes confusing people.


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