Just Burn the Welcome Wagon

A wide clearing stretches from east to west, the ground packed hard although grass grows across most of it. Trees are strictly forbidden in this space, their danger to the constant draconic traffic reason enough to banish them to the forest that creates a border to the north. Where the ground is less trampled, tiny flowers poke their delicate heads out from their shaded hiding places with upturned petals to wave to whoever may be looking.
The cliff looms imposingly on two sides. Toward the southwest, a spire stretches up to high above where the everpresent watchdragon sits on a lonely peak with Xanadu's Starstones. A massive rocky spur extends to the north, curved slightly to hold the clearing and pocked with doors and windows.
The hatching arena and Dragonhealers' Annex sit to the southeast, built together into a single complex that takes up a large portion of the perimeter beneath its domed roof. To the southwest, wide steps lead up to the caverns, and almost directly south is the entrance to the Infirmary. Nestled between the infirmary and the main caverns there's a human-sized archway with frequent traffic - it leads to the Wanderin' Wherry Tavern.
Tucked near the arch, just off to one side is a tiny wood-frame shop bearing the name 'Wildflower Boutique'. Windows have been cut along the cliff in various places along the cliff. Those of the administrative offices are placed to have the best view of Xanadu's airspace - to the southwest, over the entrance to the caverns and the infirmary. Others mark the dormitories and those of lucky residents, while toward the northern edge of that spur cluster the windows and entrances to the crafters' complex.
The rest of the Weyr lies to the north and east - a broad road that leads through the meadow and the trees of the forest beyond. At the far northern edge of the clearing, just inside the perimeter kept clear of trees, a clocktower sits and proudly displays the hour.

Finally. It's finally 'moving' day. And just in time for dinner, too! Above the Weyr, a huge motled brown dragon pops from *between* and dives for the clearing, the sound of a man swearing getting louder as they fall to Pern. At the last moment, the pale dragon opens his wings to break and land lightly in the center, "What have I told you about doing that you shell cracked lunatic!" Barely taking time to unbuckle his straps, If'an slides down with the help of Izzuth's lifted foreleg, rumbling in amusement as he settles into an undignified sprawl, "Now I've got t' find somebody in charge…" The broad shouldered man glares at the big brown, "And I hope to Faranth that they didn't see that bloody trick you pulled!"

Sure, Nessalyn may technically be one of the people in charge, but the goldrider is sans any distinguishing knot as she makes her way from the clock tower. She has a bag full of 'borrowed' parts taken from the top of the tower, and she rifles through it, occasionally pulling out a cog and holding it up to better inspect it. She doesn't appear to be taking notice of anything around her, but when her steps lead her toward If'an and Izzuth, she offers an offhand, "Did you not spend enough time on landings as a weyrling?" Never mind that the man outstrips her in age by quite a bit.

If'an narrows his eyes at the younger woman, "Not on free-fall landings that are completely unnecessary and without warning." Not to mention when fully loaded down with all of his worldly possessions. Because Izzuth is loaded down with at least a dozen bags and baskets. He looks the slender woman up and down for a moment, appraisingly, "So, doll, where can I find the Weyrleader or one of the weyrwomen?" He unfastens his flight jacket and reaches inside for a folded stack of papers, "I've got business with them."

"You'd think someone with your… experience," it's clearly a jab at his age, "would have better control." Nessalyn's smile is pleasant enough, but there's a hint of venom behind it which only becomes more pointed when he uses that word on her. There's too much teeth to her smile, and her gaze is just a little too sharp for someone who means well. "Gosh, I just don't know," she says with a feigned innocence that she doesn't even try to make convincing. "But if you'd like to give me those, I'd be happy to burn them for you. Then you won't have any more business with them."

"Oh, I've got plenty of experience, dollface." If'an aims a suggestive smirk at her while Izzuth gives a rumbling dragon-chuckle. The older rider doesn't seem to realize the mistake he's made. Either that or he just doesn't care. Then she's offering to burn his transfer papers and the smirk fades into a faint frown and a raised eyebrow, "Come now, girl. Surely you know where I can find someone in charge." He glances toward the Caverns, "Are they still in their offices this time of day?"

Nessalyn grimaces at that comment, her lip curling slightly in disgust. "And just how do you think the people in charge would feel about you talking to their weyrfolk the way you're talking to me?" She fishes in her bag again, pulling out a pilfered cog. She twists it between her fingers for a moment, considering, but after a moment's pause allows it to drop back into the bag. "First of all, I'm a woman. Not doll, not dollface, not girl. I'm sure even someone of your limited skill can manage that level of vocabulary." Again, the pleasant, unflinching smile has returned, only undercut by the glint of fire in her eyes. "Do I look like I'm in their offices? They could be anywhere."

"Probably the same way they felt about it back when Izzuth hatched." If'an shrugs uncaringly. The smirk he gives her this time is amused, "Well you never bothered to tell me your name, so what else am I supposed to call you, doll?" Then again, he never bothered to introduce himself, either, "If'an, brown Izzuth's." Behind him, Izzuth lifts his head to loom over his rider at the, apparently, arrogant woman giving lecturing his chosen person, the faintest hint of red swirling in his eyes.

"I wonder why we ever let you go," Nessalyn utters in a low tone, the words punctuated by a roll of her eyes. "Shockingly, you don't have to call me anything. For instance, I could've been calling you 'old man,' or 'ill-mannered ass' this entire time, but I didn't." There are a few far worse names brewing in her head, but she manages to bite her tongue on that one — thanks, Tineangrath! A cursory glance goes between brown and rider, wherein she seems to consider her answer for a moment. Then, "Ness." Still playing her cards close to her chest. She arches a brow at the brown, challenging.

Izzuth growls softly and lowers his head so that he's more at eye level with her. If'an narrows his eyes at the names she suggests calling him, "I am not old." Not that old, anyway, "So, Ness, where would the Weyrleaders, or even the seconds, be this time of day? Surely someone holding a bag of clockworks would know where they should be." If nothing else than to avoid them.

Nessalyn shrugs, continuing to stare at Izzuth with that challenging look, her lips twitching upward in a smirk. "You're as much of an old man as I am a doll," she returns with ease, unflinching. "Living their lives, I'd imagine. I'm not their keepers." She's too busy stealing things from the clock tower, apparently. "Maybe they heard you were coming and decided they didn't want to keep your oh-so-pleasant company."

Apparently getting frustrated by her lack of knowledge, it's now If'an's turn to growl, "Look, I just need to talk to Risali or R'hyn or someone else in charge. Izzy and I are coming home and I need to find out where our weyr is." He makes a face and Izzuth gives a forelorn rumble, "I'm sure they've given away our old weyr after all these turns."

Nessalyn just stands there, the very personification of the phrase, 'a lack of planning on your part does not constitute an emergency on mine' as she stubbornly refuses to be anything less than incredibly difficult. "You've got a dragon, why not use him? I'm sure Risali is around here somewhere. Or Tineangrath, Ilyscaeth, or Inasyth's riders. You've got plenty of goldriders to choose from." Including the one contributing to this confusion, but she won't admit that so easily. "Maybe, maybe not. Depends what kind of condition you left the place in."

Now why didn't If'an think of that? He rolls his eyes and looks over at Izzuth who rumbles almost sheepishly. Apparently the brown didn't think of it, either? "Oh, but if I did that I wouldn't have had the pleasure of this wonderful conversation with you, darlin'." And Izzuth does just that, though not trying to find Risali directly. Instead, it's a call to the first of the queens listed. Just a polite request (demand) for her rider's location. "Oh, trust me. It was a nice weyr. It had a private bath and an underground lair big enough for Izzuth and his girl of the month."

"Still not darling, either. And I've given you a name, so you have no excuse." Nessalyn tilts her head just slightly, her smile growing more sly by the moment as she keeps her silence. Tineangrath is predictably more than happy to help, though apparently not with answers — instead the gold is en route to provide hands-on (claws on?) assistance. "Does anyone actually want an underground lair?" Nessalyn asks with apparent disinterest, more to eat up the time it will take the gold to arrive than anything else. Tineangrath is quick about it, at least, and the flame-touched gold settles herself gracefully in the clearing after circling once overhead. "I was wondering where you'd gone off to," is uttered to the gold as the larger dragon settles down, head canted curiously as she surveys the newcomers.

If'an shrugs indifferently, apparently not caring if he's offending her, "So I'm guessing you've never lived anywhere other than a Weyr." He chuckles, "Izzuth liked it. He's always said that he felt his 'treasures' were safest there." And then the gold arrives and he offers her a respectful bow. A bow that he freezes in the middle of when he hears the cog pilferer's words, "Wait." He looks over at Ness without straightening first, a comical look with his upper body at an odd angle, "What?" Oops.

"I'm a techcrafter, so you'd be wrong about that," Nessalyn answers easily as she holds up the bag of cogs, jangling them pointedly. See, it's only partial thievery! (Okay, it's full thievery, but at least she has a reason.) Tineangrath moves her head to sniff at If'an, her warm, musical greetings shared with all. Nessalyn reaches out to lay hand on the gold hide, smirking all the while. "So, like I said, you can give me those papers now." Which she may or may not burn.

If'an's eyes narrow as he straightens, his expression calculating, "You know, you could have said something." Beat, "Or been wearing your knot." Isn't that, like, a rule or something? There's a soft (or as soft as a dragon his size can be) rumble of agreement from Izzuth at the suggestion that the techcrafter/weyrwoman could have warned them. With visible hesitation, If'an slowly hands over his transfer papers, "Just don't lose those…"

Nessalyn lifts one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. "Of course I could've." No arguement from this quarter, because he's speaking the truth. "I just didn't want to." The same likely goes for the knot, although that's even more of a lost cause — it's possible she doesn't even know where it is. For all that the goldrider is aggressive and antagonistic, her dragon appears to be the exact opposite, and there's no ill-will in the way she watches the new pair. Nessalyn's smirk verges on evil as she takes those papers, flipping through them without really bothering to look at anything. "Oh, I would never dream of losing your transfer papers."

"And I'm guessing you aren't inclined to be offering a weyr assignment tonight." If'an scowls, arms crossed over his chest, "So I'll just put up in one of the guest weyrs for the night." And he'll make sure to go back to Ierne to get a copy, just in case…

Nessalyn just outright laughs at that, and while it's not an evil cackle, it might as well be. "I mean, I might've, but since you've so kindly volunteered to take yourself to a guest weyr, I think we've got that sorted for the night. This kind of paperwork takes a lot of time to process." Even if she doesn't light it on fire as soon as he's out of sight, there's a fairly good chance it'll take several days to show up on anyone's desk. (But she's probably going to burn it.)

If'an rolls his eyes at that, "Only because you have already threatened to burn my papers." Izzuth snarls a little at that, but doesn't make any other actually threatening moves. It wouldn't do to offend one of the queens, after all… He sneers, "It did not take long when I moved to Ierne." To be fair, though, Ierne is a completely different beast from Xanadu.

"I'm sure I never did that," Nessalyn says with one hand over her heart, as though scandalized. It's a rather sarcastic attempt at false innocence, and she follows it up with a knowing smile. While Tineangrath's welcome is not rescinded, the snarl does cause the queen to reassess, drawing closer to her rider and surveying Izzuth as a potential disruption rather than the friendly newcomer of moments before. "I think you'll find a number of things are different between here and Ierne, especially if you continue talking to weyrwomen like this."

"Ok, Izzuth." If'an deliberately turns his back on Ness, "I think it's time to get settled in for the night." He smirks faintly, one side of his mouth turning up slightly, "I'm sure we'll find someone a little more amenable to report to tomorrow." Yep. He fully plans on going over her head, "You can get something to eat once I've got you unloaded." He pauses for a moment before turning back and offering a mocking bow, "Have a good evening, Ness. I'll be seeing you." He climbs back up on his brown's back, buckling his straps before giving the light colored brown a rough thump right in front of where his knee rests, "And no diving this time!" Izzuth offers more of a farewell to Tineangrath, actually showing some respect and wishing her well.

By tomorrow, Risali will absolutely know about this, including exactly how the brownrider addressed her and what happened to his paperwork. Don't think she's that easy to escape, If'an! Nessalyn rolls her eyes at the bow, unimpressed. "If I were you, I'd really hope that you don't." See her, that is. And with that, the goldrider heads in the direction of her own home on foot, with Tineangrath following beside.

Add a New Comment
Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 License