Spooked Chickens and Straw Murder Parties

Rhodelia's Barn

Darkness can hide a lot of flaws, but it's not doing this particular behemoth of a building any favors. While the barn's peeling paint isn't visible but the shadows of every tree nearby are doing their best to elongate creepily. Despite the late hour, there's a very bright glow coming from the loft and Rhody's silhouette can be seen pacing back and forth from the windows. The large loft door has been thrown open in an attempt to catch a breeze to help with the late summer heatwave. A breeze which probably isn't coming as Insayth's trying to peer in. She seems a lot more collected than her rider with only an occassional tail twitch of excitement until her voice calls out to one of her favoritist brothers. « OOOOOH. GLORI! DOES THIS SOUND LIKE THE SOUND OF A FEROCIOUS RENEGADE??? CRRRRRRRREEEEEK-SKRETCH-SKRETCH!!!! » The sound seems like a combination of rusty metal gate blowing in the wind and nails on chalkboards.

(Un)Fortunately for Inasyth, HERDSLAYER the GREAT is still WIDE AWAKE in his sentry post outside the tower (yes, you heard us, tower) in which Sleeping F'yr gets his beauty rest. « WHAT HO, MY DUMPY DAMSEL, » from anyone else that would probably be an insult, but as ever, Glorioth would have to care about something (ANYTHING) outside of himself to care. So, the insult is at least unintentional, if insult it's taken as. « SHIFTY-EYED FOES, IS IT? RENEGADES OF THE WORST KIND. I COME! » Did she want F'yr, too? It's a good thing that the bronzerider has honed his ability to sense IMPENDING DRAGON DOOM in his sleep and is straggling awake and not down the stair but off the balcony of the tower directly onto bronze hide that's fully equaled to the task of being right there when it's needed and off they sweep, angling to land, without straps, without flying gear, with nothing more than teamwork and an melodious off-key, « ONWAAAAaaaaaAAAAAaaaard! » to warn of their arrival. Glorioth strikes his most braverous pose as he sweeps the area with great whirling eyes, up to the challenge this SHIFTY EYED FOE PRESENTS, but F'yr is looking for Rhody, real concern writ on his face. He managed to put on pants, so there's that? But otherwise, his hair is as wild as his eyes as Glorioth attempts to jostle his sister out of the way to deliver his rider in through yonder window door through which the dawn doth not yet break. "Rhody? Are you okay?" It's urgent and he's moving right toward her, blue eyes doing a mimic of his dragon's sweep without.

"What the… INA!!!" Even in the middle of the night when brain cells should be fast asleep, it doesn't take long for Rhodelia to recognize that very familiar battle cry. No more pacing now as she swoops over towards the second story door with no current ladder. Her dragon-glowering doesn't last long as Inasyth sniffles and shuffles out of the way even as Glorioth and F'yr begin there swoop in. « But they're only here to help!!! Tell here how much you'll help, Glori!» Those champagne bubbles flood with utter confidence that the enthusiastic herdslayer could solve ANYTHING. And then in a whisper that isn't really a whisper even if the gold should have long since learned volume control. « Plus… you'd been debating if you should investigate for hours!!! » Rhodelia sighs as looks like she's got company. She's not dressed for it, rather just the overwhelming heat, with a pair of workout shorts and a tiny tank. "I'm fine." That's a statement for both F'yr and her meddlesome lifemate as she sets her glowbasket down and crosses her arms across her chest. "I just got to… got to get used to all the new sounds, I think." She's never slept in a barn before, after all. And right now… it pretty much still looks like an empty barn given the very few possessions scattered around and a lack of everything but the most basic of furniture.

Good news, bad news, Rhody. F'yr and Glorioth's homestead is somewhere in the forest, too, which means it's never going to be enough time to re-think a bad decision in its entirety. At least, not more than once. « NO FOE CAN WITHSTAND THE RADIANCE OF MY VALOR. THEY SHALL CRUMPLE SQUISHILY UNDER MY MIGHTY TREAD. » There's a surge in theme music and clash of weapons to underline his VERY LOUD points. RIP good relationships with neighbors who had hoped to sleep tonight. Perhaps it's a redeeming feature of the pair that they seem to know how to divide and conquer. Glorioth is ranging in patrol of the exterior, while F'yr is ascertaining that Rhodelia isn't hurt, his hand reaching briefly to touch her elbows, even as he distractedly takes in the space. In fact, he's not really taking in the space, so much as anything living or moving within the space. The word 'renegades' does tend to get a person's attention. And yet, there's no judgment from F'yr at Rhody's words. "Okay," is ready acceptance. "I'll have a look around." Nevermind that he's not armed with anything other than his arms so impressively on display in his shirtlessness. And barring being stopped, he'll go make that sweep after asking, "Have a glow I can take?" Light would be helpful, after all.

"Plenty," Rhodelia waves a hand at the more than seven glowbaskets spread around the loft. The night might be dark and scary but that doesn't mean her room has to be! "The ladder's there, but I'm sure it's nothing. It's an old building… probably just settling…" Just as she finishes saying that, there goes the sound again. In reality, it's much quieter than Inasyth's reproduction (like that's new) and there's more of a soft tap-tap-tap to go with the scratching. The sound makes the woman shiver and take a step back from the edge of the loft. Inasyth is BRAVE, though! If Glorioth is patrolling, she's going to be right there with him, bouncing along. « THERE'S A BACK DOOR THIS WAY!!! OOOH, IT'D BE JUST LIKE A SNEAKY RENEGADE TO SNEAK IN THROUGH THE BACK DOOR!!! DID THEIR MAMAS NOT TEACH THEM THE COURTESY OF A KNOCK?? » THE SHAME!!!

The night is dark and full of terrors everywhere but at Rhody's place. F'yr can be grateful for the plethora since he won't be depriving he rof light while he fetches one and gets along on his way. « TIS TRUE, MY SPIRITED SHADOW. RENEGADES ARE THE DASTARDLIEST OF THE DASTERDLY. IT WOULD BE A SHAME IF WE FOUND ONE HERE AND HAD NO CHOICE BUT TO SQUISH IT INTO A PULP BENEATH OUR PAWS. » WOULD IT, GLORI? Fairly, his concept of renegades still involves a vaguely man-shaped body with a herdbeast head, so he's not quite toeing the line of where his genetics would disapprove. He'll continue his patrol. After all, he might get to squish something bloody-dead. That's his stake in this and really the only reason he responded to Inasyth's call. The thing is, once that sound comes, F'yr knows just what visitor he's looking for. Ma didn't raise no fool. In fact, there's some sounds from the bronzerider that might sound a little strange considering he's supposed to be sweeping for DANGERS UNTOLD and FOES UNTHINKABLE. But no, there's F'yr making little noises and eventually using a soothing tone of voice and talking sweet nothings. Maybe it was a good-looking renegade? But no, he comes back up that ladder, arm tucked around the saddest excuse for a chicken that Pern has ever seen It's scrawny, it's missing feathers here and there (probably a nervous condition that makes it groom too hard or too much), but looking just a little freaked out in the tuck of the big man's arm. He keeps his voice quite low, to give Rhody a fighting chance here. "Do you want me to sneak it out?"

« OH LOOK!!! » Inasyth tries to hunker her bulk down lower so she can HIDE even as her mental bubbles float over towards a particularly dark shadow in what was once the pasture. « COULD THAT BE HIM??? » Only if Renegades happen to be very, very square and as squishes as the haybale a needle might hide in. At least the destructive duo might be heading away from the living quarters, hopefully. Rhodelia's curiousity quickly gets the better over her as she's pretty sure she hears F'yr clucking as he is supposed to be searching for scary things in the night. Her blonde head peeks out over the ledge. "What are—-" She blinks in surprise as the VICTORIOUS F'YR RETURNS holding… that thing. "Is that a chicken?" She takes a few steps closer to look but it doesn't touch. "Where would you put it? And where did it come from? If it thinks this is its home, wouldn't it just come back?" SO MANY QUESTIONS.

F'yr holds up a single finger to address all those questions as he glances out the loft door to where he can see his bronze charging across the open space to tackle that haybale renegade! He looks quite seriously to Rhody. "We have a very short window if you don't want to have to keep this." You see, Rhody, F'yr has met Inasyth. Fortunately, the chicken is too small to interest his bloodthirsty lifemate. "If you want to keep it, the upkeep isn't too terribly draining, but it can be fragrant, so you probably want a pen outside," listen to all that farmer wisdom! "You get a few hens to go with this fellow," YES, FELLOW, that means he's gonna be all up in her early morning grill with his VIRILE COCKADOODLEYDOOS, "and you'd probably get fresh eggs, if you wanted them, without a walk to the caverns. And then he stops, having laid out the basics and waits for Rhody to render a decision. Meanwhile, he's petting the chicken soothingly like it's the most natural thing in the world to be doing in Rhody's new private space, in the middle of the night, with him shirtless and her underdressed for official visitations.

"Just but him outside and if he's still there in the morning, I'll deal with it," Rhodelia shrugs and is apparently all for treating this stray chicken rooster just like a stray cat. If he keeps coming back, he'll clearly be her's. Inasyth is currently very, very distracted with all the mental pom-pom tossing she's having to do which is turning a shade macabre. « GET IT! KILL IT AND SQUISH IT AND YOU VANQUISH THAT HA— RENEGADE!!! » So she may have known what that actually was, it's her wallow! At least they can all have fun in her world. And that's when Rhody suddenly realizes that it IS the middle of the night and F'yr IS Shirtless and IS in the middle of her weyr and all eye contact stops as she turns her attention to the floor. A very interesting not interesting floor. "And sorry about…" She waves her hand to chicken and lack of clothes and then to the enthusiastic dragons that probably aren't going to be going to bed anytime soon. SorryNotSorry, Neighbors.

Nah, neighbors, that's a straight up straw murder party out there. You just be grateful Glori didn't come equipped to scorch the earth beneath the renegades' pajama footies. That's about the only thing that could be causing more chaos than the two dragons out there right now. Glorioth does observe after some time stomping and swinging and otherwise attacking, « HUH. THIS RENEGADE IS SLIGHTLY LESS DEAD THAN I WAS EXPECTING. » But that's only a good reason to CARRY ON. Meanwhile, F'yr watches Rhodelia's realization take place, while he continues to pet the chicken, like there's still nothing at all weird about any of this. "Just because we all have places of our own doesn't mean we don't need each other sometimes." He replies to the apology with his easy shrug. Then he does it, he broaches that subject that she's been avoiding him over. "I'm not going to apologize for kissing you. I shouldn't have apologized then, except for the tipsy part. I'm—" beat, "-not going to break your rules again." Now they're Rhody's rules. (Really, to F'yr, they've always been Rhody's rules, but he was willing to let her think they'd agreed to make her feel better about all those very clearly articulated boundaries.) "Where outside do you want me to put it?" The chicken. They're back to the chicken. No one get whiplash here.

Honestly straw murder party is probably one of the quieter parties Inasyth will through. Maybe that's why they were given the kinda remote and sometimes creepy at night old barn! F'yr's reasoning does get Rhodelia looking back up as she nods. "I did miss you." Even though they are still continuing to see each other nearly everyday as they continue senior weyrlinghood, but that's not really quality time especially when one of the pair is doing her best to avoid the other. The mention of her own rules gets a snort. "Rules are stupid." This particular stance whiplash brought to you by the woman whose filing system is best described as a whim, just like her chicken policy. "Just wherever…" she shrugs. "It'll figure it out. Maybe whatever they're up to will scare it off." Would any sane chicken want to stay near Ina and Glori's shenanigans after all?

The fact that this is what F'yr's reality looks like (petting a scrawny chicken while getting conversational whiplash all to the backdrop of a straw murder party), and that this is, as it happens, a tame version of his reality, is what lets the bronzerider go on as if they were standing in line together, waiting to refilll their klah mugs. "It's weird living alone," he commiserates, a sentiment whose tone reciprocates what's been said. He misses her, and the other weyrlings, too. A little. Her a little extra in that she's been avoiding him for a while, and he's been letting her, out of respect. His brows dip a little and then there's a very subtle shift of his chin that is almost a nod, like 'of course, rules are bad today,' why didn't he see the whimsy change in the wind sooner, etc. But as with so many things he ends up with in his life, he rolls with the punches. Sort of. This time he walks away from the punches? Well, he walks away from Rhody, for a moment, to the loft door, purses his lips briefly and then unceremoniously flings the chicken out. Good luck, renegade chicken, we hardly knew ye~ Then he turns back toward the goldrider, hands flexing at his sides in a brief, nervous tic. Maybe he should have kept the chicken? "Rules can be helpful, if a person doesn't want to sleep with a person who is sleeping with other people that might make complications in the first person's life." Did she follow that? It's like one of those awful word problems they have to do in some weyrling lessons. At least his expression is fairly serious in delivery, even if it might look just a little like he's confused himself by the end. It's fine.

This is normal. This is fine. Rhodelia doesn't even bat an eye at the scrawniest renegade chicken as he bawk-ahs while F'yr holds him. Her head dips in agreement with those commiserations. Living alone is weird and gives her time to think about things, an activity she normally avoided so they wouldn't have whiplash like this. As F'yr goes to deal with the most dangerous chicken ever, she settles down on her bed, or rather mattress seeing as she hasn't bothered to find a bedframe and it's directly on the floor for now which is all the better for drawing her knees up to her chest and using them as a chin rest. Once the violent intruder is so kindly seen to, there is a single armchair in the room although it's currently half covered with what discarded clothes haven't already ended up on the floor if he would dare to brave the seat. Or it's a big bed with plenty of room to not-touch. "Or maybe rules don't have anything to do with wants and are just someone's attempt to hide the fact that they're terrified by change and so they use the rules as an excuse to try and pretend that everything is the same and nothing has really changed. Hypothetically speaking." Like 'her friend' might think that. Although her real and not at all hypothetical friend Ajral would probably be ecstatic to hear even that close to an admission of bad coping methods. As the confession comes out in a rapid stream, once out, Rhody lets out a deep breath and… waits, looking at F'yr expectantly.

Although one of the main features of Rhody's bed mattress on the ground is the expansive and attractive room to not touch, there's also a very small amount of space in which to touch. Given F'yr's propensity to take the less obvious route, it can come as no surprise that after a beat of hesitation, he's moving over toward Rhody and settling down beside her, his arm brushing her shoulder. "Change is hard," he says quietly and without judgment for that which is only hypothetically confided. "It's almost always at least a little scary, sometimes more than a little." He shifts his legs so the nearest to Rhody sprawls out on the floor in front of him while the other is drawn up and his hands interlace around his knee. He chews on his lip for a moment, deep in thought. "I've never needed rules. Not about what's between us, or not between us. I've only ever needed to know what you want, and what you don't." That much is fairly straightforward. He turns his head, blue eyes seeking hers. "I care about you. That's only changed in that it's grown. I don't want you to get hurt. I don't want to be the one that hurts you." But he can't control that, not really. He can do his best, but that's about all, and he always does do that. Almost always. "Things have changed." He acknowledges after one more shift, this one letting go of his knee and letting that leg curl up with the other into a cross-legged position. Maybe he's just uncomfortable in this so-close-to-the-floor position, or… maybe he's nervous too. Slowly, like he might be reaching for a spooked chicken, he reaches to try to take one of her hands in his. "What… do you want, Rhody? What do you not want? From me."

Surprising or not, as soon as F'yr settles on the mattress, the spooked chicken Rhodelia flops back to lean her head against his side, having complete faith that he'll catch her. Or worst case she'll just fall on her face on the mattress. Her arms remain stubbornly wrapped around her knees as if being in the little ball might offer some protection against change that the stupid rules did not. "But how can you know what I want when I can't even figure that out?" Emotions might be even more of a mess than her room since she spends even less time contemplating them than housekeeping. Her hand slips into his and she gives it a squeeze as she thinks. The answer is slow, but it is at least an answer. "I don't want anybody to get hurt. But avoiding you hurts." Both of them, probably. "Aside from that… I don't know. It'd be easy if I were like Ina and loved everything." Like roaming the darkness looking for any other unsuspecting hay bales she and her brother can MURDER. "I can usually figure out what I don't want to do. Most of the time. But figuring out what I want…" She shrugs. "I've never done that. I just took what came. I became an apprentice because my father was a master. It didn't look like I was going to pass my exams and so I ran. I became a bartender 'cause it involved alcohol and that was the one thing I knew I mostly knew at the time… Even becoming Risali's assistant and Standing were because someone asked me and I said yes." Self-agency and planning? What is that.

Honestly, would F'yr ever let a spooked chicken down? WHAT KIND OF MAN DO YOU TAKE HIM FOR. Of course, Rhodelia's trust is not misplaced and the former farmer eases the chicken goldrider into her lean against him, for all that it requires a little additional shuffling of limbs to accomplish in short order. If he were incapable of swift and decisive action, there would be nary a haybale left in all of Xanadu… no herdbeasts, either. Glorioth will, of course, seek to demolish any haybales in his path, though with marked disappointment for the lack of squish and blood. No one is even singing his praises, INA. FALLING DOWN ON THE JOB. At least F'yr has no such lofty expectations of his interaction with Inasyth's lifemate. "I'm not sure it would be easy even if you did love everything. I'm not sure anything is really ever easy. Some things are easier, but… easy?" He shrugs slightly. Maybe that's such a rare thing in the bronzerider's world, so mythical, that it's ceased to be a serious consideration. He considers the air, or rather, some distant point in it that is probably just the wander of his herdbeast mind rather than a joining with his occupied lifemate. After some moments, he releases an audible exhale. "There's no easy answers, Rhody." He's sure she already knows this, but he articulates it anyway. "I can't know what you want unless you do. I'm not going to tell you what I want because I don't want you to take whatever it is because it's offered." His fingers stroke lightly over the back of her hand. "But I can listen if you want to talk about what you don't want and try to help you figure out what it is you do." He's probably not the best person for this job, but he's the person who's here.

DON'T WORRY!!! THERE WILL BE PLENTY OF SONGS BOTH NOW AND PROBABLY LATER! INASYTH WILL BE SINGING TALES OF GLORI'S GLORY UNTIL EITHER THEY FALL ASLEEP OR DAWN, WHICHEVER COMES FIRST. In the loft, the Rhodelia-chicken is very grateful and less spooked as she leans into F'yr's side. At least that is familiar and not-scary. "Things were easy as a kid. Someone said do it, and you did. But there's not really anybody looming over deciding everything now…" She gives a sigh for the nostalgia of youth which was probably mostly spent wanting to grow up and be the one making the decisions! Grass is always greener after all. After a few minutes, she struggles up to a regular seated position, legs criss-crossed as she at least tries for direct eye contact. "I don't know what all I want. But I do want you to call me out when I do stupid shit. I need that especially with…" she waves a hand towards the pasture where a very soon to be full-grown gold is up to whatever mischief she can manage. "There's only a couple months of weyrlinghood left."

THUS APPEASED, THE HILARITY DESTRUCTION MAY CONTINUE. "It is scary, not to just have instructions to follow." F'yr has already faced this moment and speaks with the weight of experience behind it. "But being able to decide things for yourself, determine your goals and your own definition of success… It's kind of a gift. But a heavy one. It's really yourself you're letting down when you do or don't do and it comes out poorly." He chews his lower lip, shifting a little as he draws his way from whatever introspection putting his time of sorting out self-determination after leaving the farm caused to give the goldrider his full attention (and eye contact). "I can do that. If I see it. I can't promise to always see it. My definition of stupid is a little broad." One hand mimics her gesture in the direction of the dragons. There's silence as he turns over ideas, his eyes straying away even as his mind does, returning back to the goldrider. "Do you know how you'd define success? In those lessons," those awful lessons, "the Harper gives about contracts and—" he waves a hand, "they're always talking about defining terms before you can figure out the details of anything. So what are the important terms for you? I mean, generally. Success? Happiness?" Start with the little things, F'yr. That's sure not to spook the chicken. But at least his stalwart company is here while the large ideas are poked and prodded for suitability.

"Someone needs to write a playbook," Rhodelia declares this like the opinion is a fact. "So You're An Adult Now And Here's What You Can Do About It." Sure to be a best seller even if it would need to be HUGE to cover literally every possibility available or so slim it's just a pamphlet. While the conversation continues on such heavy topics, there's other more pressing decisions to be made right now, like how to still maintain comforting contact while also not having to nearly break one's neck to make eye contact. Rhody settles for grabbing towards one of F'yr's hands again and draping on of her legs over his while still facing him, but her face wrinkles a bit as she thinks. "Well… you can't use the word in the definition so don't think I can just list 'everybody be happy' as something important for happiness for me. In the end I think I just don't want to let anybody down, but everybody has so many expectations."

F'yr's wry smile is fond, and if Rhody was looking for argument to the sentiment, she'll find none here. There's only a rueful twist to that smile and a shrug of broad shoulders, commiserating with the wish, but not, apparently, having a personal need for such a tome of dreams. His hand can be readily relocated to where Rhody wishes it, and he listens while she talks, eyes intent. But when she's finished, he moves his hand and gives her a vague 'moment' gesture while he reaches down to push out of his boots (that were only foot-jammed-in on the way out the door at home anyway), and then scoots back and back on the mattress. "Come here," he gestures her, and Rhody willing, he positions them facing one another. It puts them facing one another his long legs outside of her shorter ones, knees nearly overlapping, which allows them an intimate space for this deep conversation to continue in, with that wished for comforting contact. His hands seek to have both of hers between their knees, his hands playing a game of lead-and follow idle movement, or failing her participation, just play of his fingers through hers. It keeps them close, and maybe gives a sense of privacy that not being thus semi-entwined, though not as intimately as lovers might choose to be. "I only expect you to be you, whoever that is. I think I have a pretty good idea, but if it changes, that's just how life happens. Other peoples expectations for you…" He trails off, making a 'mm' sort of noise that thrums in his chest and he bobs his head side to side. "Those are only as important as you want them to be. Hang them if they're asking you to be something you're not." He'd have her back, obviously.

The moment gesture is met with a furrowed brow of confusion, but Rhodelia waits and she watches a boots are shucked and a bit of an ah-ha moment. There's more momentary confusion as F'yr continues the reshuffling and she follows along, scooting just a little closer to more comfortably reach his hands and her own follow with that game, constant small movements taking the place of the pacing that had consumed most of Rhody's night before the Renegade-Chicken-Incident. "You don't," there's a smile for that fact. "Which is why I can trust you to tell me things I might not want to hear, but NEED to sometimes. It's other people thought that have expectations and sometimes they might not be so easy to hang…" She gives a little shrug. "Like you remember how difficult Hannista can be." And yet, that particular hold has all those valuable metals that the Weyr needs so it's kind of hard to ignore them. "I may have also glimpsed Comet's roster for the seven… someone is going to have to take a trip up to Vintner Hall soon." Now comes the point where their entwined hands are getting all her attention instead of daring to look up at his face.

F'yr is not always the brightest glow in the basket, but the last words that come out of Rhodelia's mouth have light dawning very apparently in his face as he sighs out a long, "Ahhh," like the goldrider has just found the puzzle piece he was casually searching the pile for. His fingers briefly take to stroking more than playing, a soothing motion that includes fingertips rubbing along the soft skin inside the wrists, hands clasped loosely before the movement outlet is resumed. "I take it you haven't gone on your own for a social visit yet?" His head tilts a little as blue eyes continue to study her face. "We can go together," he's made the offer before, but he'll renew it now. "Hannista… well, that's where you play the game. It's not fun to play games," he especially dislikes the necessity, judging by the grimace, "but you can do it. So can I. And if you can't, you delegate." No one said F'yr actually had all the answers or had enough life experience to know that sometimes these things aren't quite all there is, or that these things are so much easier said than done. It's fine.

The mere mention of social visits gets a wince from Rhodelia. "No… I haven't even wrote my father back. I was going to. I started something, but then the fire and it was just too hard to start writing it again." Let's just glance over that the original response that was now burnt never got past the first line of So I guess you've heard I'm in Xanadu now and I just Impressed… She takes a deep breath at the offer before declining with a shake of the head. "I think this might actually be something I need to do myself. I left myself after all. And I never wrote them myself." So it's her mess to clean up. But then there are other matters to discuss like Hannista. "Who would I delegate to? I'm the junior-est junior. Do you want to join me in a bar crawl across the world to see if we can find our replacements? Maybe hit a few farms along the way?" Xanadu's Next Top Assistant Competition?

"Denying yourself support just because you can identify the thread of actions that got you to where you're at now and what you have to face is dumb." F'yr is apparently starting now and taking his duty to inform Rhodelia of her stupid choices seriously. He doesn't say it harshly, but he does say it plainly, clasping her hands so she can't jump out of them at this first test of what she's asked for. "I won't say you have to take me, or anyone in particular, and if you want to be alone because it's easier for you, but I will say if you won't take support just to have a friendly face waiting for you when you're finished, you should at least let me or someone know when you're going and when you might be back so you have the option to come home to support." There's concern in his eyes. Not so much that he's going to impose his will upon her (when does he ever?), but enough to make the suggestion with a tone that can leave little doubt of his sincerity. "Goldriders aren't the only ones who can deal with Holders. They just like it to be that way. Send a Harper. Send one of the other members of Quasar. It's antiquated to think a gold dragon means you're the only one who can perform a specific task, other than being the one who tends their dragon while she's on the hatching sands." Welcome to Progressively F'yr, on today's show… "Get a greenrider or a bronzerider or a Weyr worker with a flare for diplomacy." EASY. Right? He quirks a brow about finding their replacements.

"I'll have Ina!" Like there was any doubt Rhody could actually get to Benden without the help of Pern's biggest cheerleader. Her hands don't jump, but squeeze back instead. "As long as you don't have wine waiting when I get back. I don't think I'll be in the mood to drink anything." Or rather, she might be in the mood to drink but since Vintners contributed to the mood the drinking would be a reminder and a possibly never ending feedback loop of unpleasantness, but at least she's willing to accept SOME help. "Sending someone else works fine if the folks you're trying to negotiate are reasonable. Others will take it as an insult…" She shrugs. "But then again, over half those holders I've already delayed or rescheduled or lost various meetings and other requests for."

"Yes, but," the 'but' isn't heavy, but rather a create threading of melodic notes that lead upward as though F'yr is about to give a sales pitch, which he is. Since he would never suggest that Ina is not sufficient cheerleading backup, he interlaces his fingers with Rhody's and pulls her arms wide along with his, which brings their faces, by necessity, a little closer together. "Ina has many fine qualities, but she does not have arms like these for hugging." She has very big gold limbs, which are all well and good, but it's a different kind of hug. In the close silence F'yr searches Rhodelia's eyes before he lets his lips twitch into a little bit of a smile. "No wine. Just… me." A beat. "Maybe a straw target. Or two. You know, just in case." Straw murder as therapy, who ever said it was only for dragons? "If you send the right person for the job, they'll have those stubborn Holders eating out of the palms of their hands. But you know… it sounds to me as though you might actually want to try your hand at it… and are just afraid you won't be the right person for the job." This is low, so low, in voice, allowed by the proximity which might be rapidly becoming much too much closeness, but if she wants to make the space wider again, their arms can come back in, or they can settle or— whatever Rhodelia wants. Or doesn't want.

That sales pitch for the merits of arms at least earns a laugh from Rhodelia. With their faces now closer, she leans even more so foreheads are touching. "You do have her beat on the arm count, but she has a tail which she'd argue is infinitely more useful for hugging." Just think about all the numerous times she's used said tail to coil up Rhody and her fellow weyrlings or whoever else might need a comforting hug already. Right now, said-tail is busy tossing up straw piles to make even more targets. KILL IT IN THE AIR SINCE THE GROUND WASN'T ENOUGH. Rhodelia lets out a sigh. "I do want to be the right person and I am afraid. This is our Weyr, you know? And Risali's and R'hyn's and Citayla's and Nessalyn's…" At least she has a lot of company in the whole being responsible thing. "If it breaks, we all can't just run away."

HA HA! FLYING RENEGADES. THIS MIGHT REQUIRE FIRE! NO? WHAT DOES INA MEAN THERE'S NO FIRESTONE HERE? HE'LL MAKE DO. TAILS ARE GOOD FOR WHIPPING THROUGH THE AIR WITH A HI AND A YAH! Except on Glorioth, everyone knows it sounds like, « AHAHAAHAHAHAHAAH AHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHHHAHHAHAHA! » By contrast, F'yr's voice is a whisper when draws their arms back toward the middle so that interlaced fingers can be just between their chins, not seeking to lessen the proximity even with the arms more comfortably collected in. "Even if it breaks, I'm not going anywhere." There's a beat, his lips pressing very slightly together. Is he going to kiss her? When his lips open again, it's not to close that short distance, but rather to confess quietly, "I'm going to ask to come back to Quasar." That means, if he gets his way, they'll be coworkers again. Maybe he figures it's time to tell her that much.

Sadly, having no need of firestone themselves, Inasyth and Rhodelia's quarters are safely free of the stuff. And their flamethrower equipment is also safely not in their living space. No glorious flaming deaths for these straw-foes, just good ol' fashion maulings as Ina adds her own « BWAAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! » into the mix as she tosses more up and also tries to snap a few falling pieces into her mouth as well. So close together, it's hard to hide that Rhodelia freezes, holding her breath in anticipation of whatever is going to be said. Only after the word Quasar is mentioned, does she actually breathe again. It's one quick inhale before she suddenly leans in, her lips finding his ever so briefly before she pulls away again. "Good. That means you'll be there to help me fix whatever when it breaks." Because this is Xanadu. Something will always be breaking.

It's for the best. Or at least, the safest. Glorioth has already moved on from his fleeting need for fire to tilling some of the earth under the straw with his claws, just to make it MORE MURDERED. Did Rhody want a garden for her pet chicken, assuming it hasn't plucked itself free of feathers from the nerves of witnessing such monstrous strawicide? F'yr isn't nervous. There's the slightest intake of breath from him when Rhodelia kisses him, but no hesitation in returning the brief pressure within the contact. "Or break what you've managed to fix. I am a man of many talents and extensive training after all." F'yr points out with humor lacing his words, not letting the punctuation of that kiss become a conversation stopper, even if he's leaning a little closer in the next moment, pausing when he's close enough for his intent to be clear, and if there's a willing lack of retreat, he'll seek a kiss that's more substantial than the one of moments before. Nevermind that they never did get around to talking about what Rhody wants as it applies to the two of them. That can't possibly cause problems later.

Good luck keeping anything growing in that yard with Inasyth's constant ability to summon straw-murder parties or other vigorous activities and Rhodelia's own inattention to things like watering and weeding. If she ever decides to start a garden, it'll be DOOMED, surely. "Extensive training, is it?" Her eyebrow raises with the question as she grins. It wasn't that long ago someone was walking around with Anatomy and Reproductive Systems For Dummies from the healers after all. Teasing aside, she very willingly leans into that kiss, her hands escaping his only so she can wrap her arms around his neck. At least they did establish a few important things: Rules are Stupid, F'yr can call her out on stupid things and… whatever breaks they can probably fix. That's enough to deal with future problems, right?

EXCUSE YOU. RUDE. F'yr's homestead has a monopoly on ALL DOOMS. Rhody's entirely imaginary future garden may only be ill-fated. BUT if Rhody's yard needs a little EXTRA DOOM, Glorioth will lend a paw if it includes his favorite thing: murder, particularly of the genetically permitted variety. In all truth, that's far more information than Rhody and F'yr previously had to go on for this kind of foray. What some people might have assumed for a textbook was more a practical guide to the subject, more like Kama Sutra for Pern, with technical jargon thrown in because it was written by, probably, a healer. Who can say if that introduction proved useful to F'yr? What can be said is he seems to have the kissing thing down pat, and furthermore, the wanting to kiss thing. There's escalation just as one might expect, between the brush of a tongues seeking to mix in, and the way F'yr's hands move away from Rhodelia's to reach out and settle on her hips to scooch her closer, just as he does so in turn. On the bright side, that book seems to have covered, 'don't maul the girl you're kissing,' and F'yr's hands, though they slip to travel lightly on Rhodelia's back, don't to seeking skin or pushing boundaries that may or may not actually exist and may or may not be stupid. When the kiss breaks, his forehead touches hers, his breathing a touch more rapid, eyes closed for a moment before they open and seek hers. "Okay?" Maybe he means to get a peer review on his kissing or maybe he just wants to make sure this hasn't fallen into the category of what Rhodelia doesn't want.

GASP! HOARDING ALL THE DOOMS? That's truly the rudeness! While scooching closer works for a moment, pretty soon Rhodelia swings her leg over so she straddles his lap. As he seeks confirmation, she gives a nod. "I have no complaints." Any more detailed assessment of learning or performance may need to wait until later as she pulls him closer to continue where that kiss had left off. They might not need the full technical guide, but with a little bit of trial and error they can figure out exactly where whatever boundaries remain might lie. Every course of extensive training needs a practicum after all.

« I HAVE SLAIN THE FOE-VILLAIN, MY F'YRLESS FRIEND. SHROUD YOUR PERVERSIONS. I DEMAND MY DUE. » That means it's time to feed and oil the hero. It also means that the all too short make out session on the mattress that might have been making it into delightful, uncharted territory is abruptly curtailed as the enormous killjoy's head comes to the loft door and stares in at the riders. "I'm sorry," F'yr's voice is rough as he disentangles himself from Rhodelia. "He's still—" HIMSELF, "-possessive. But, another time?" That's hopeful and unabashedly as he rises and looks back down at the goldrider, pausing briefly in a look of quiet reverence, before his feet are shoving into his boots in preparation for joining his EXCEPTIONALLY RUDE lifemate at the door. Waiting is not in Glorioth's skillset.

As quick as things start, they can also end and Rhodelia is left scrambling for her blanket as Glorioth's head appears so there is at least some shrouding going on. Inasyth in the background lets a few champagne bottles pop to add even more celebratory bubbles to her mind. « SPOIL SPORT! THINGS WERE JUST ABOUT TO GET GOOD! » Not to mention, her new digs are close enough to the feeding grounds it might as well just be a hop, skip and a jump and maaaaybe a few extra wingbeats. Feeding themselves has never been easier. Even as she's complaining, she circles a few times in her fresh wallow before curling up with a massive yawn and tucking her head under a tawny wing, the gold getting herself ready for bedtimes instead of food. Rhody will keep the blanket clutched up tight to her chin as she shakes her head at the not-so-patient bronze. "Another time. Preferably with less… renegades." Even if they were only the chicken and straw variety this time. And less interruptions.

Listen, if you're going to be rude like Glorioth, you have to be rude to the hilt. He doesn't even bid his sister a good evening. "I only have so much control," F'yr's wry response to Rhodelia comes with a helpless shrug. "You can never know where villainous chickens will strike, or when." He manages to keep his face grave through it, but he flashes a wide grin followed by one of his most charming smiles (all the more so because it's genuinely meant for Rhodelia), before he's stepping onto the bronze's proffered forepaw to be whisked off to the things that really matter: BLOOD, GORE and SQUISHED HERDBEASTS. « ONWAAAAAAaaaaaaAAAAAAAaaaaaaaAAAAARD!!! »

Rhodelia snorts and gives a dismissive flap of her hand towards F'yr and his grinning face. Seeing as they're going and she's already got that blanket pulled up, the woman just flops back into her bed. "Night, F'yr!" Is called out although it's probably drowned out in Glorioth's battle cry. All too soon, the villainous chicken will be striking back, rudely insisting everyone else greet the dawn too and hopefully Rhody can get at least a few hours of shut eye in before then.

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