Fear's Farce
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Xanadu Weyr - Craft Complex
This large area has been painted a soft cream with dark orange trim used as an accent. It's separated into a variety of smaller sitting areas, couches and chairs organized into rings and squares, tables set where they can be used easily. Recessed electric lights in the ceiling provide a warm glow, and a row of angled skylights on the eastern wall above the entrance give some natural light when bleary crafters first emerge. There's often a cart with klah parked off to one side to help with waking up or finishing that important project - or simply to be enjoyed with comfortable seating and good company.

Along the southern edge, an open archway leads to a library of books and records. There's something for every craft, it seems, from tomes of caprine diseases, to Pernese history and law, to gemstone identification, to sheet music, to sea charts and herbal manuals. There's even a few works of fiction, though none of it seems very well organized. Whatever is sought, it's probably here… somewhere. A few desks for studying are tucked in amongst the shelves, each with a lamp to illuminate the reading material. Near that archway, a long table holds a row of computers. They're connected to databases all over Pern, and are available for general use except when the computercraft requires them.

To the north, a pair of double doors open onto a grand hall, the vaulted ceiling designed with acoustics in mind. This space is used for lectures and concerts, rows of benches set up to face the front. Along one wall, instruments hang free or on shelves for anyone with the appropriate skills to use. There are often harpers here, practicing their craft.

A pair of hallways lead back from the western wall, one going to the apprentice dorms and the the private quarters for the ranking crafters posted at the weyr. The other provides access to the various workshops.


"Hey," that's a hissed whisper into Ru's ear, the air blown hard enough to tickle the neck while he's trying to focus. Since this has been part of F'yr's M.O. since he figured out the greenrider was experiencing that special time of the turn where Kihatsuth gets all glowy and his body gets to go haywire in exchange, the bronzerider has been endlessly inventive with small teasing tortures (that he would surely curtail if it were actually causing any kind of real distress) that display in spectacular style how impressive it is that he survived being the youngest of twelve and also what a knack that gives a person for ability to irritate just shy of getting stomped flat. Sure, Ru'ien's probably trying to concentrate here in the common area of the Craft Complex where not only many a crafter but many an older weyrling may be found using the library or just the cozy, communal setting for study in the evenings, but that isn't stopping F'yr from climbing over the back of the cozy chair beside Ru'ien and plumping down with an awkwardly large leatherbound…. Book? Maybe book in his hands. "Guess what I've got," he murmurs, his conspiratorial demeanor flashing great big warning signs: T H I S I S A T R A P !

Was it a reaction F’yr wanted? BECAUSE HE GETS ONE! Ru'ien half shivers, half jumps out of his skin at the sudden tickle against his neck. It’s comical, really, how a man his size and frame can contort even while seated! Maybe that’s why it’s so expressive, to match the grunt-exclamation of an incomprehensible curse. “FEAR!” THE HELL, BRO? No, actually, that “anger”? Is faked. Ru’ien liked it, even as his facade of a scowl morphs seconds later into a broad smirk and he smooths his hands over his own sketchbook — the drawing within now sporting a nice bold charcoal line right across the design. He is utterly bemused and fascinated as F’yr comes OVER the back of the cozy nook he’s found himself in, not protesting the invasion of his personal space or interruption to whatever it was he was doing. Because? That’s getting shoved aside, once that leather-bound marvel is set down. Did Ru’ien actually lick his lips there a moment? He’s certainly staring at it, in obvious CURIOUS INTEREST, though his hands are currently fidgeting with themselves. Touchy? No touchy? OF COURSE THIS IS A TRAP! F’yr has him lured, hook line and sinker, without the need of implied neon lights and warning signs. “A book?” Ru’ien’s quip is purposely wise-ass with the snark, an equally arrogant grin to follow as he peers sidelong to his friend. Ignore that his one leg has begun to do the restless-bounce too… seriously, as the day goes on, it gets worse! He can focus a bit now, fight it, but every day, as night encroaches, it’s like the symptoms worsen. F’yr’s caught him at the cusp — perfect trap springing time! Really, he should know what’s coming, given all that’s occurred so far. But who is Ru’ien to… ruin… some potential fun? Not him!

Little known fact: positive reinforcement of a bad behavior often leads to repetition of that bad behavior. It's probably fine, though. Kithatsuth is only a green who will be proddy 7,439,355 more times in her lifetime, right? Maybe F'yr will eventually get bored of his game, but… being the youngest of twelve siblings with adjacent cousins… this may just be Ru'ien's life now. Too bad, so sad. The smirk gets answered by a roguish grin from F'yr which looks unfortunately charming on his usually so earnest face. Maybe it's because such looks are rare that they look good on him to those inclined to think well of his looks to begin with? Well, maybe not Ru'ien. Doubtless, the bronzerider is reveling privately in every one of those small telltales that his trap is set and bait is snagged the moment it's offered. "This," he displays in a way that suggests NO TOUCH (and he will slap your little hand if he thinks you're reaching, KERUTHIEN GREENRIDER), holding the book out far enough that he can rub his hand across the supple leather of the cover just out of Ruin's natural reach, so he would have to make obvious move to do the touchy, giving F'yr enough time to react. "This is something I borrowed from the weavers. I'm thinking of having some of the furniture I picked out in the stores done over." Sure, it's plausible, right? It was to the weavers, anyway. "This book has a variety of swatches of their fabrics. They can dye them mostly any color, so these are just showing the patterns," he waits a half beat to let the word sink in before he adds, "and textures," and this time he waits no beats before flipping the leather bound cover on its spiral track to the first fabric, still just out of reach. One hand holds the book while the other runs through something soft, something slightly plush, something that looks like it would be amazing to snuggle into with your whole you. "Ohh, ohhhhhh," F'yr breathes with not entirely feigned appreciation. (Maybe he wasn't serious about reupholstering things before, but he might be now.) "Now that is really something." FLIP. Has Ru'ien caught the game already? The next is ridged and looks like it would be fun to just run one's fingertips down over and over again.

Let’s try not to think too hard on the math of just how many times in the next however-long Turns that Ru’ien (and the Weyr) at large will ‘suffer’ a proddy Kihatsuth! He’s long since accepted that this is his life now. Expecting that F’yr would play a part in ‘torturing’ him? Unexpected! And of course the behaviour is encouraged rather than dismissed. There’s too much unknown for Ru’ien to resist the temptation (AND YOU BET HE TRIES TO REACH, F’YR). There’s a suitable pout when the book is kept away from him and thus enjoyed, leaving him to fidget with his hands like a child being denied a toy. NOT FAIR! “You sound like the others,” he mutters on an exhaled sigh. “All picking styles and colours…” NONE as important as FEEL here (Kihatsuth may disagree), okay? Of course this “story” has a plausible hint to it, but that’s barely saturating Ru’ien’s brain at the moment. His eyes have fixated on that book and if F’yr was hoping for an immediate response, well — he won’t be disappointed on that front! As the book’s function is explained, he’s barely absorbing THAT information beyond what he’s already assumed. The only important thing here? Is that he wants it and F’yr is playing (wonderfully!) hard to get. Ru’ien feigns annoyance (or maybe there’s a glimmer of some TRUTH there!), eyes narrowing as he smirks at the bronzerider and his not-entirely feigned appreciation of the wonders within. Oh, the game has been caught and he is READY to play! “You plan on giving a play by play all day or you going to share?” he quips, just before making a rather stealthy lunge again for the book. If things go flying or chairs upset (most likely his), well… what’s that matter? He may even try to scale F’yr slightly to get the coveted prize, not caring where fingers and hands may grip or push for leverage. WILL HE SUCCEED? Or will F’yr manage to shove him back into his place? Perhaps the book will be momentarily set aside in PRIORITY if Ru’ien’s hand should find the fabric of the bronzerider’s clothing and… subsequently be distracted. Ooooh.

Yes, it's Ruin's lot in life to be in the clutches of his clever lifemate; it's also his lot in life to be teased mercilessly by a certain, large bronzerider who is not about to lose the game so quickly as all that. The pout is met with a well-feigned look of 'suck it up, buttercup' even if F'yr manages to resist making commentary aloud. He is, after all, in the midst of a production and that is not in the script! No, not fair, not fair at all. F'yr is playing so unfairly as to be cheating, for sure. He doesn't comment on whether or not he sounds like the other weyrlings because, of course, colors and styles are hardly the point of this exercise. The asshole bronzerider is cultivating the greenrider's annoyance, feigned or real. If their friendship can't survive this level of friendly harassment, the next sixty or seventy turns of their lives in the same Weyr with a glowing green (can she keep rising quite that long? Who can say.) is going to be awfully uncomfortable for one or both of them. He's ready for the attempt when it comes. Just as fast as Ru'ien springs into his stealthy lunge, F'yr is pushing himself to the far side of his seat and using his one-handed grip on the book to extend it back and away from himself comically far, leaning his back over the edge of the armrest if necessary to keep it just out of Ru'ien's reach. The hand that was making such a show of the textures is seeking a grip in the greenrider's shirt, and if that means Ru'ien is basically on top of F'yr, reaching for that book or getting distracted by his very boring by comparison (let's be honest) clothing fabric to try to keep the man from scaling him to get the book in question, so be it. F'yr is not afraid to have his face this close to Ru'ien's, to bare his teeth in a smile-that's-more-a-faux-threat, "Now, now, Ruin," Fear tuts, "you didn't ask." HOW RUDE. If Ru'ien makes a further move for the book, there will be a shove, but not before.

Do you see this face, F’yr? You’re breaking Ru’ien’s heart! No… not really (not even close), but he’s nearly got the expression down before it shifts again — no sense holding something that isn’t remotely true. The annoyance was but a flickering thing, as at the root of all of this, he’s enjoying this unseen side of the bronzerider! Even if he’s the brunt of the joke, but who’s to say the greenrider doesn’t —covet— like being the centre of attention? There’s no shame in him, as he attempts to scale F’yr after that book, even after he’s pushed himself back in an attempt to evade. “Oh, come on!” he half grunts, half sighs in mock exasperation, smirk twisting into yet another pout. Is he seated in F’yr’s lap? Probably dangerously close, especially as he eases back and there is no doubting that his hands are going to slide along in a lingering manner — under the pretence of that fixation, of course. With their faces to close, Ru’ien’s not drawing back so quickly, though his will tilt suggestively, to match the slow curving grin that follows. “Well,” he begins, dragging the word out slightly in ponderous exaggeration. “… there’s no fun in that, right?” A low chuckle and he leans ever-so perceptibly closer. At this level of proximity, F’yr can feel just how overly warm Ru’ien is; that not-fever but fever like heat. “You wouldn’t make me beg, would you, Fear?” It’s half pout, half purred and left to wonder if it’s Ru’ien, Kihatstuh or both in that brief moment of time. The way his eyes narrow, hinting at something, fixed as they are on the bronzerider’s own gaze. Look at him! Ignore the subtle movement of one arm versus the other (which may be shamelessly trailing a single finger down the centre of F’yr’s shirt and chest), or how it is attempting to curve up with full intention of Attempt No. 3 of getting that BOOK.

F'YR IS A HEARTBREAKER. You heard it here first, folks. Ru'ien's isn't the first nor the last that the big, blonde bronzerider is going to break, especially not just for funsies. Every expression is taken in by the tease. Fear's behavior is only getting reward after reward from heartbreak to annoyance to exasperation and enjoyment and on and on. It's reaction he's after here, and Ru'ien is just working on sating the glutton. He's not satisfied yet. Twelve siblings. Fifteen cousins. This is practically a lifetime of training being put to work on F'yr's part. Now, granted, given those blood ties, the suggestive nature of this encounter is a decidedly different tone, but the intimacy they occasionally enjoy just makes it all the easier for F'yr not hold back in using the shift and buck of his hips-and-torso in one motion, aiming to dislodge the greenrider onto the floor and rise, himself in one smooth motion, right after his low, husky reply is delivered with convincing commitment: "Oh, wouldn't I, Ruin?" Go ahead, Ru'suth, beg.

How will Xanadu EVER SURVIVE with two heartbreaker-types?? Story at eleven. F’yr would be taking a page from Ru’ien’s guidebook then, savouring the emotional reaction (or reactions in general) to his little ploy. And Ru’ien himself? Is greatly enjoying way the tables have turned, even if his thoughts are now being overwritten in favour of one goal — all suggestion so helpfully planted by the bronzerider himself. TIME TO REAP what was sown! Perhaps if he hadn’t already been well on his way to making another grab at the leather-bound book in hand, Ru’ien could have easily ridden (no pun intended) out that shift to dislodge him. As it stands, he tries, fingers digging in hard with the one hand but purchase cannot be quite found — so off he goes. But not before landing a touch awkward half on-half off F’yr and Ru’ien is Not Responsible for any elbows or arms ending in or near less favourable places. Maybe they should’ve signed some disclaimers before playing? Feigning being disgruntled, he huffs and makes a tiny retreat back towards his chair, perching ‘delicately’ on the edge as he smooths his hands over his much-rumbled clothing — and fidget-fusses like that since he’s been DENIED and his hands must be kept busy now. Oh, was F’yr expecting him to go on his knees in front of him… again? For shame. They’re in a public space! Though from the way he smirks, the thought probably crossed his mind. At last, with a small tilt of his head and a long suffering sigh (do his eyes roll a bit? they might), he levels F’yr with a look. “… please?”

Given that chaos is a native language here at Xanadu, it's likely that the Weyr shall muddle through somehow. While it's certainly true that Ru'ien is experiencing an altered state of personality, it's important to note that F'yr is under no such similar influence. This is only important to note because when it crops up again, perhaps even not in the context of the greenrider's proddiness, everyone can be prepared not to get whiplash. Yes, it's true, Xanadu, F'yr is not always a nice guy. Thankfully, in this instance, his assholery is mild and it's being taken well. (It will not always be so, surely. If not with playful Ru'ien, then with someone else…) For Ru'ien's reward, there is a sound that's neither squawk nor yelp and yet something not wholly unrelated when an elbow lands just so. Maybe they can remember disclaimers next time. It just means F'yr is jerking back a little in instinctive 'youngest child with much bigger brothers and scary sisters' behavior. It gives the greenrider a little bit more room to get back onto the edge of his chair and deal with his slightly disheveled state. The book is warily lowered back into the realm of non-giants (which they both are, so it hardly helps where it was at anyway). While Ru'ien is getting settled, he takes the opportunity to flip fabric to one that has embroidered circles of various sizes. Imagine that feel…. Bump bump bump. Blue eyes drag back to the greenrider quickly enough. Was F'yr expecting the man on his knees? Judging by the fact that he isn't making a thing of it, likely not, but that doesn't stop him from cupping his free hand to his ear to say, "What was that?" And if Ru'ien should make another grab? This time, there will be flight. Want the book RuRu? You're gonna have to catch him first~~

Was that a reward, though? It’s half and half, as a small amount of payback was achieved to placate his “ruffled feathers” over being taunted-so. Ru’ien’s not aiming to maim F’yr (Kihatsuth might have different opinions once more, commentary from her end of the gallery withheld) in this back and forth exchange of theirs. Oh, but he will GET that book in his hands! So while he levels the bronzerider with a look of disbelief for the cupped ear, he’ll smooth his hands over his thighs and ignore the way one leg lightly bounces in pent up restlessness to move. “… you are an insufferable bastard…” Ru’ien chooses to quip in a gruff rumble of a mutter, lips quirking into a sardonic slant before he gives in… too easily. “Please?” he states louder, clearer and with just a hint of silence that is too tense, too rife with anticipation. Don’t worry, he’s imagining a lot of things right now — that current texture aside. He adopts his best innocent look, feigned to the very core, as he leans in and forwards, looking so helpless and maybe a touch desperate. “Pretty… please…!” And then he lunges on the drawled enunciation of the last word, the end almost a growl. Another time, he may aim for a more dramatic and woeful flare to get his way but this time? Oh, run, F’yr~ It’ll only make it —better— worse! Does Ru’ien even care if anyone is watching this exchange? Of course not. He wants that book and all it contains and damn it, he is going to “fight” F’yr for it! Even if it means chasing him half way across the Weyr (well, that’ll sort out his restless problem at least)!


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