Hurricane Risa

Half Moon Bay Weyr - Living Cavern
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.


Misery, thy name is Half Moon Bay. It is a damp, dreary, rain-sodden day, clouds hanging low enough around the weyr's jagged peak that the watch dragon's usual perch has been rendered useless, air traffic heavily regulated from the floor of the bowl proper. Even so, there are challenges keeping airborne dragons apart, rain coming down in absolute buckets, accompanied by the dull and distant rumble of thunder, driving weyrfolk indoors outside of absolutely necessary tasks. It is almost unfortunate that the kitchens have been repaired, because it means the caverns are fit to bursting by the time the lunch hour arrives, with only small pockets of tablespace providing reprieve. It's one of these tiny spits of table that R'hyn claims with a vicious slam of a satchel, glaring down the poor rider that had likewise set his sights on the space, huffing floppy, wayward hair out of his eyes when the woman pats the air and relents, moving to find somewhere else to go. Her reaction is… not unfair. There's likely no need to describe the fact that R'hyn is still tired and still on the verge of something that might be an apoplexy; the signs are all still there in his form as well as his attitude as he shifts off to collect a pile of food that no Healer however poor would call a balanced meal before stalking back towards his chosen space. Interrupt him if you dare!

If Heryn is on the verge of apoplexy, Citayzleat's coming up on a nervous breakdown, dancing along the edge of the precipice. Running full-tilt, the healer skids into the caverns on wet shoes, coming to a stop only when she runs smack into a burly rider. "Sorry." The apprentice laughs inappropriately, strained, and ducks around before she can be detained further. She is on a mission, and that mission is to get food before one more sharding-damn person comes into the infirmary injured. At least today Cita looks like she's showered and assembled reasonable clothing, and her hair is yanked back in a rather severe bun at the back of her head, but it doesn't help much. She's still got deep bruises under her eyes, and moves like somebody's controlling all of her strings, glitching randomly. Being blocked by a short line to the klah causes her to jump up and down a few times on anxious feet, eyes wide as she stares at the person ahead of her. They take one look at the dead-eyed stare and get out of the way, and Cita dives in, grabbing a mug and dumping entirely too much sweetener into it. The large bowl of theoretically-salad that she all but shoves people out of the way to assemble is, well…probably healthy? It's hard to tell, under the pile of gloriously non-barbequed meats and. Fruit. She doesn't have time to put it all on a plate and eat it, and when she barrels out of the lines of food-gatherers, the apprentice parts crowds. Shoving the only temporarily-abandoned plate across from R'hyn's away — its owner shouldn't have gone to get more juice, now should they — Cita throws herself down and starts in on her meal like she's been starved for six months. Does she actually realize R'hyn is across the table? Does she know she's still dripping water everywhere? Probably not, actually.

IS IT THUNDER? /IS IT/? It /could/ be, but between thunder storm R'hyn and tropical storm Cita parting the hungry sea (like little Cita and R'hyn Moses'), it's really probably /NOT THUNDER/. (Hint: It's not thunder). In fact, amid so many men and women cloying like love-sick teenagers at a Dragosmith concert, where EATING THE MOST FOOD benefits small, starving children in some Hold nobody's heard about before /somewhere/, there is Risali. Risali, who is LIGHTNING to R'hyn's thunder, HURRICANE to Cita's TROPICALITY, and THAT-DICKHEAD-PHARAOH GUY TO THEIR SEA PARTING MOSES. She comes in like a woman with a mission right on the tail of an arguably deranged (and overworked and underpaid) Healer (CITA), but /she/ doesn't stop to gather food, or turn sleep-laden eyes onto unwittingly IN-THE-DAMN-WAY patrons here for their meals, or DRIP OMINOUS PUDDLES ON THE FLOOR UPON WHICH THE WEARY MAY SLIP AND PROVIDE MORE WORK FOR CITA; no, Risali's legs take even strides until she's a good four feet away from R'hyn (and now, oddly enough, Cita) without so much as even a 'Hello!' One leg comes up, the woman hauls a small-but-not-small-enough package back in both of her hands with the /perfect form of a pitcher/ and after she winds up her toss, she LETS FLY with a bubbly-burdened box in brown, that probably looks about as lovely as it must feel when it connects with R'hyn's head. And then the box opens. And then bubbly explodes everywhere. "/You/," she spits, like a feral cat finding scraggly-ass Tom Cat Number Two of the day on her turf. That's it though. THAT'S ALL HE GETS. Just some MURDER EYES, and some bubbly pie MADNESS - that has probably made some of its way to Cita for an additionally healthy topping to her all-the-things salad.

Plate-clatter. Bag shove. Chair kick. Butt drop. Though R'hyn's movements lack the ragdoll quality Citayzleat possesses, they are no less jerky, barely controlled irritiation at what is probably the world and all it's people's expressed in harsh movements. The Healer might not notice R'hyn, but the weyrling sure as hell notices her, shoulders lifting around his ears to bristle, looking about a nanosecond away from some whipped insult about her lack of dignity, lack of matters, or perhaps both to send her off again until he realizes just who she is. The bluster billows right on out of the man, though equally-baggy blue eyes narrow, cutting from tidy (if damp) personage to more-or-less healthy food and, finding these things as satisfactory as he can manage, he eases back to rest shoulderblades against wood, head tilting uncannily to one side, mouth open to offer what might be a greeting, or a suggestion as to what the wher drug in (both? probably both) when he's promptly smacked out of his chair by a box of bubbly to the face and oh— OH. IT'S ON. Watch R'hyn surge to his feet like the Red Sea at Moses's hand (SINCE WE'RE ALREADY USING THE METAPHOR YOU KNOW), rage personified, whatever shred of control he had over temper and frustration fleeing for the damn hills as he pulls bubbly filling from his person in great gooey glops, completely ignoring the fast-reddening imprint of the box's corner on his cheek. Stormy blue-greys FASTEN on Risali, and boy howdy, 'murder eyes' just doesn't quite cut it. What's worse than murder eyes? Death-ray vision? YES. DEATH-RAY VISION. Let's go with that. "What." Welp. "THE FUCK." Here we go. "Is your PROBLEM." And back goes his arm to launch the handful of crust and filling back at the young woman, possessing none of her finesse and style, less like a pro-baseball player and more like a six-foot trebuchet, going less for damage and more for SHEER AMOUNT OF BUBBLY PER SQUARE INCH. Because civil discourse. Who needs it.

Something ticks the warning bells in Cita's distant brains — the bristling, the energy in the air, or maybe the silence, as she glances up sharply. A few leaves of redfruit-sauce covered spinach are shuffled on in as the apprentice narrows her eyes, catching the tail end of the confrontational tear. Then the weyrling slumps, and Cita shoves another bite down, mumbling something that probably isn't complimentary. Or maybe it is, and it's just the speed at which she's currently doing everything. She doesn't comment on R'hyn's food, because it's food and he might actually eat it, and as with toddlers, sometimes you just have to take the win where you can. See what I mean about not being terribly complimentary? And then, mid-fishing for one of the meat types in her bowl, there's bubbly, and Cita stares at it for a long moment. The 'was that already there or am I seeing things' is real, and pretty evident on her face, only her face is the last thing anybody should be paying attention to right now. Apparently deciding that she doesn't give a wher's tailfork, the healer eats that too, completely oblivious to the cage fight about to go down over her head. Or well, off to the side. It's only when she reaches to grab her klah that the healer realizes that there's Things Happening; she looks to make sure she's got the right one, and blinks at the bubbly-covered Heryn rising from the ground like an angry pie monster. Taking in the scene with slow blinks and an utter deadpan stare, Cita goes back to her meal. She's got food to eat. Very briefly she looks like she might like to be angry on R'hyn's behalf — the weyrlings are hers and she can bubbly-toss them and put them back together and nobody else — but food wins out. "Why are you wasting food? Isn't there an easier way?" The apprentice asks instead, glaring up from around a mouthful of 'salad'. "Sharding wasteful." HUFF. There goes the pies, too, lobbed right back at the offense. Citayzleat sighs, longsuffering. THIS QUARTER CAN ONLY GET WEIRDER. THIS IS FINE. NORMAL. They can duke it out. She is going to eat until one of them starts bleeding everywhere.

IT CAME FROM THE DEEPS. Oh, R'hyn might RISE LIKE JESUS ON EASTER (we'll just keep going with the biblical metaphors), TRADING IN BENEVOLENT FORGIVENESS FOR VENGEFUL SPITE IN THE FORM OF 'F' BOMBS AND BUBBLY GOOP GATHERING RAGE (was that enough CAPS LOCK EMPHASIS FOR YOU?), but six-and-a-almost-half feet of enraged bronzerider doesn't even /faze/ her. Risali, in fact, has the gall to hold up one hand in a dismissive manner towards the fitting weyrling that clearly depicts: HUSH, CHILD, THE GROWN UPS ARE TALKING. WAIT YOUR FARANTH SHARDING GOSH DARN MOTHERSUCKING TURN while grey eyes cut to Cita and her profoundly enviable ability to worry /more/ about food and /less/ about R'hyn's well-being - all while making /scathing remarks about wastefulness/. "And who, exactly, are /you/." It's not a question because it is a STATEMENT; it is a rhetorical 'asking' that actually translates into: NOBODY ASKED YOUR OPINION. NOBODY ASKED YOU TO BE BORN, EVEN. GURL BAI and ends with Risa holding her hand up at the /healer/ this time as if to stall her from trying to do something /ridiculous/ like trying to respond. "I-eeeeEEEYAAARGGGHALH." SPLAT. She is getting crust-goo'd because /somebody/ at this table doesn't have /manners/ (HINT: IT'S RISA) and SOMEBODY is making good on bubbly-per-square-inch because she is /covered/ in it. "You," she spits, like some kind of deranged donkey that hasn't figured out it's not a tiger yet. "WHAT IS YOUR PROBLEM?" Goopy-gooey insides get flung side-long, PROBABLY RIGHT AT CITA, but Risa isn't looking. She tries a couple of more words that simply come out as violated, harsh syllables without any real distinction, and then she gives up the ghost altogether on civility (WAS THERE EVER ANY?). The not-/tiny/-but-tiny-/enough/ woman closes the gap separating her from R'hyn by two whole feet, and then /LEAPS/ with a snarl fit for a rabid monkey. She's gathering some of that goop, shoving it into FACE AND EYES and this might all be terribly awkward because at some point she has to get up on a chair to do it and IS THAT R'HYN IN A HEADLOCK? POSSIBLY. "/YOU/ ARE THE ONE. YOU. WHY ARE YOU HERE? WHY AREN'T YOU OUT THERE?" AND SO IT COMES: THE TRUTH.

Oh, Cita. Dear, sweet, precious Cita. You should have just stayed quiet. He might have let Risali give the Healer woman the what-for with only a SLIGHTLY demonic look in his eyes for her insulting tone (I know, I know, what is 'demonic' compared to 'DEATH-RAY' really but just ROLL WITH IT OKAY), but that doesn't mean he's above exacting his own revenge, using the momentum of his throw to duck back to the floor, scooping up another handful of bubbly crust, before he flings it at Citayzleat like a goddamned frisbee. "You're wasteful," R'hyn rejoinders, all snark, though at least his eyes glitter with something that might be amusement before they go totally flat when his head whips back around to face Risali. His lip curls not-at-ALL kindly for her mulish braying, throwing words back with a cutting, "You said that already," as though, if she can't get to the freaking point already, he might just leave off and be done with her. BYE, FELICIA. Then: "MY problem? I'm not the one picking a fight here. You didn't see me throwing a box at your face, you two-faced, half-pint harpy." Brows twitch up, clearly awaiting her answer, smile twisting cruelly when one doesn't come. "That's what I thou—" But then there are SHRIEKS TO WAKE THE DAMNED and FINGERS aiming for his EYES and BUBBLY-BUBBLES up his NOSE, and wait just a cotton-pickin' second here, when did she get tall enough to put him in a headlock?! Senses reassert themselves enough that the bronzeling gives the chair she's on a swift kick, then another for good measure, content to play dirty if she is, even if it just might wind up with him being strangled. DEATH BY RISALI. WHAT A WAY TO GO. And then he jerks to a full-bodied halt, probably giving her entirely too much of an advantage for getting in a few offensive, gooey attacks in before he snarls back an equally heated, "OH, FUCK YOU." One hand lifts to scoop muck off his cheek, flinging it back in the general direction of her face. "WHY ARE YOU HERE? YOU HAVE LEGS. YOU HAVE EYES. IF YOU'RE SO FUCKIN' SMART, QUIT BAKIN' BUBBLIES AND FEEDING STRAYS AND GET OUT THERE YOUR OWN DAMN SELF." RIPOSTE.

Cita sighs. It really is turning out to be One Of Those Days. Her tapdancing merrily at the precipice of a nice quiet room at Honshu apparently grants the healer serenity she ought not be able to possess. Or maybe she's just so far done with this whole thing THAT SHE JUST DOESN'T CARE EVEN A TINY BIT. Still industriously shoveling food like it's her last meal, Cita eyes the fighting pair, watching the physical altercation dispassionately. A few more rounds and she'll probably start giving tips; TUCK YOUR ELBOW IF YOU DON'T WANT IT OVER-EXTENDED. WATCH YOUR EYES, DUMBASS. Risali's snark and R'hyn's flinging a bubbly-frisbee at her apparently go right over the apprentice's head (well no, it hits her on the side of her head, but), as she dumps the wasted food back onto the floor and continues eating. Who's going to stay dirty, out in that rain, anyways? Even the flung bits of goo don't distract her. She's got things to do, and those things involve food and only food. The mysterious, extremely angry stranger is a problem to solve later. And so far above her pay grade that all she has is a big, fat pile of NOPE. "Do you think you could continue this outside?" The healer asks loudly, once she's taken a swallow of her klah. They're shouting now, at least, rather than attempting to throttle one or the other — only a minor improvement, if Cita's vaguely ruffled look of dignity has anything to say. LIKE SHE'S NOT EVERY BIT THAT CRAZY. CITA. "If you two geniuses get yourselves thrown in a cell, you're not helping anybody." She doesn't seem overly optimistic, though, instead appropriating some of R'hyn's lunch. He doesn't seem like he's making use of it.

R'hyn is /KICKING THE CHAIR OUT FROM UNDER HER/? It does give the bronzer some reprieve, as lady-arms go FULL ON WINDMILL, footing nothing short of precarious until he does it /again/ and this time she shifts her momentum like DADDY TAUGHT HER to throw herself /RIGHT BACK AT R'HYN/. And oh, oh yes she /does/ strangle him, arms coming around his neck as surprisingly strong legs wrap around his torso so that she can hang on like some kind of marsupial with /rabies/. "WHO KICKS THE CHAIR OUT FROM UNDER A WOMAN?" comes Risali's shriek - or what /might/ be a shriek, but has reached ear-splitting decibels that are probably better translated by dogs (who are probably going bonkers somewhere, in answer to such CHAOS). And then she sputters her INDIGNATION and being told to go and - "YOU GO FUCK /YOURSELF/, PRETTY BOY." And Risali scrabbles on R'hyn's person so that she can heft herself up /higher/ in a hold that would be surprisingly intimate if not for the fact that Risa was hellbent on /murder/ and not seduction. "ME? /I/ am not the one with a SHARDING DRAGON. YOU -" She is cut off, as Cita's voice breaks through animalistic snarling shrieks to earn her the woman's attention (and ire) with whip-like speed. "If you don't like it, you take /yourself outside/ you… you." BECAUSE THAT IS AN INSULT, RIGHT? RIGHT? Don't mind her, she's just trying to strangle the life out of R'hyn with nonchalance bordering on psychotic while telling Cita where she can get off at. "You are both /FUCKING USELESS/." ANGRY LADY SHRIEK PART TWO.

"NOBODY," R'hyn shouts back, or, you know, he tries at any rate. It might be a little strangled around the edges what with the OOFING as Risali you know COLLIDES WITH HIM and makes with THE CHOKING, but he soldiers on, stubborn to the end. "'CAUSE YOU'RE NO WOMAN. YOU'RE A SHE-CAT." Or maybe a she-BAT, considering that screeching that she takes up that earns more than one curious head-tilt from firelizards whose owners are probably OPENLY STARING or being like Cita and just trying to eat their goddamned sandwiches thankyouverymuch. "PRETTY BOY? Is that supposed to be INSULTING? I'm flattered." He tries to laugh, but then she's climbing him like a JUNGLE GYM and re-strangulating him, so it probably comes out clipped and wheezing in turns but. Again. Stubborn. He's going to talk even if it means a crushed windpipe in the end. "I DO have a dragon. One that has been told BY HIS WEYRWOMAN and her SCARY-ASS DRAGON that he's NOT ALLOWED TO LEAVE THE WEYR." SO THERE. And for a hot second there, Cita's gone ignored, but then she's suggesting really truly terrible things and RISALI IS NOT THE ONLY ONE TAKING LESSONS FROM ILA. The weyrlings smile is feral, horrible, as his gaze snaps from Citayzleat to Risali, and grows only more terrible still, spreading slowly until it about splits his face in two. "Outside." Where it's raining CATS AND DOGS. "Yes. What a splendid idea, Citayzleat. This IS a conversation best held outside." And before she can think too much on it, R'hyn all but CRUSHES Risali against him, pinning her there so he can walk right the fuck on out, pausing only long enough to tweak a brow up at Cita and tilt his head. "Join us, if you're quite done stealing my food?" YES HE SAW THAT. DON'T THINK HE DIDN'T. AND THERE HE GOOOOES, making his awkward and probably painful way out into the weather beyond to SHED SOME LIGHT and more than a little rain on a few subjects on the way to somewhere less obvious.

The only thing to actually break through Cita's indifference is the suggestion that she's useless. Affront is obvious, a GASP, WHAT YOU SAY kind of look as the healer draws a hand up to her chest. "Excuse me?" She barks, but lo, the altercation has gone a little beyond pissing word contests. Or any other kind that don't involve insults like 'poophead' and 'snotbrain', if the apprentice's sniff and chin-lift are any indication. She finishes off several of Heryn's strips of porcine belly, expression flat, already looking around for more. Clearly, today is a day that she's going to need to eat some more, if she's going to get through it unscathed. Finishing off her klah, the healer at least doesn't go so far as to snatch the weyrling's — she's not stupid. She doesn't seem to have any shame about working through the unhealthy plate, though, working hard on ignoring the pair again until her name comes up. "What?" Automatic, and there it is, and oh, shells. This would be the day he decided to listen to her, wouldn't it. "You're not making use of it! I was being sarcastic, Heryn!" Cita fires back as the angry bronzer waddles off, Risali in tow. Muttering to herself, she finishes off the choicest bits, and like a civilized person she takes the PLATES to the BINS, GUYS. FOR FARANTH'S SAKE. Only then does she follow, grumbling some of her better pilfered swears at the retreating pair.

"YOU'RE DAMN RIGHT YOU'RE A NOBODY YOU SECOND RATE, GOOD FOR NOTHING, SON-OF-A-BITCH BASTARD." COMMENCE THE COLLISION OF TINY TECTONIC PLATES NAMED RISALI AND R'HYN. She pulls /HARD/ to try and cut off his air supply for all the good that it does her, because the man just /soldiers on/ with his annoyingly incessant prattle, intent on paying back her every insult with a tongue lashing of his own - which just seems to dissolve further and further into the realms of a ridiculous fucking debacle. "SHE-CAT? YOU /WOULD/ FIND THAT FLATTERING, PRETTY BOY. YOU'RE JUST GETTING MY MOM'S SLOPPY FUCKING SECONDS ANYWAY." Which is actually insulting her father but WHO IS KEEPING TALLY ANYWAY? NOT CITA. SHE'S CLEARLY more interested in food than ANYTHING these two mongrels have to say - except for that thing, which she interrupts with, and Risali only bothers to give her the bird for in response because /SHE HAS BIGGER FISH TO FRY/. Or in this case, /weyrlings/. And so R'hyn does the logical thing, explaining to Ila'den's psycho spawn just /why/ THEY CAN'T HAVE NICE THINGS (like searches) and Risa spits back with venom. "Rules be damned. YOU DON'T DESERVE HIM. He would be OUT THERE HUNTING FOR YOU UNTIL IT FUCKING KILLED HIM AND HERE YOU ARE BEING USELESS WHILE HE — WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" Risali seems to be NOT AT ALL AMUSED by the arms that cage her against an /alarmingly/ delicious — NO SHE WILL NOT GO THERE — "PUT ME DOWN YOU OVERSIZED, DERANGED WHERRY-LOVER." Awesome how she continuously finds ways to take jabs at her father. And so the woman is subsequently taken AGAINST HER WILL to A WHOLE NEW WOOOOORLD without princes to take her on magic carpet rides — just /stupidly ripped/ bronzeriders with their /stupidly good-looking/ fa— NO. MUST THINK HAPPY THOUGHTS. "I HOPE YOU DROWN YOU—" The rest of her insult will be left to the imaginations of those left behind in the living caverns, as a continual litany of high-pitched shrieks accompany the trio out of the living caverns to be drown by the waiting deluge. GOOD LUCK, R'HYN. THIS OUGHT TO BE FUN.


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