Pyriel is Searched

Xanadu Weyr - Garden

An arch woven from the tendrils of a willow tree stretches overhead lightly creeping with ivy as one steps in from the meadow into this sanctuary of green. Cool gray flagstone carefully spaced enables a soft velvety moss to thrive within the cracks, and creates a single wide pathway that fluidly breaks off into two paths of stone once free of the natural arbor. It is a wonder this place, and meticulously tended from the way it seems not a single leaf is out of place. On either side of the main path expansive grassy patches are trimmed short and edged behind with natural tan colored stone selectively chosen to stack just right. Beyond these are a line of fine puffed shrubberies in vibrant green intermingled with flowering bushes of brilliant pinks varying in hue from the very light to the very dark, which causes the occasional snowy white blossoms of other scattered here and there without worry to simply pop out of the scenery.

Directly in the center of the garden is another wall of intricately stacked stone, this of muted grays, creating what from the air would prove to be a perfect circle. It's been set high for safety, but not so much as one would not be able to lean over it to admire what lies beyond, either standing or sitting at the smattering of benches whose backs are set every four feet along it. Flush to the ground inside it's protective stone outcropping, is an enormous twenty foot wide fish pond. Within one can glean the metallic glint of playful goldfish, the unhurried cruise of fat koi, and even a frog or three among pale yellow and white flowering water lilies and their thick green pads.

The trees surrounding the entire garden were planted to give the impression that they had always been here, not only lending to a rustic look, but also eluding to the beauty that can be found among the wilds if only one might just look for it. Species vary from the ordinary Birch and Pine, but the flaming red capsules of the Indian Shot to the robust orange spokes of the Firewheel tree suggest the spice of the exotic. The two paths leading away from the entrance have come full circle, wrapping around to meet each other on the other side, yet still continue on to the far left and right. One path leads off deeper into the surrounding woods, while the other wider; cheerily decorated with brightly colored slabs of painted stones.

Collapsed on a bench here in the garden in the middle of afternoon is Pyriel. The harper apprentice is flat out on his back taking up the whole seat, knees bent and feet planted on the bench as well. His clothing is splattered with a rainbow of colors. Green, blue, pink, yellow, orange and the list goes on. He's even got the stuff in his fluffy blond hair. One arm is flopped over his eyes at the crook of his elbow, foot tapping — perhaps in annoyance or some beat he had going on in his head. A hand is curled on his stomach, also colorful here and there, but the knuckles have some healing scrapes. There was a split to one side of his lip, stitches already removed, the other corner with two steel hoops pierced through. There is some bruising on his cheek, purple but yellowing, hidden by his arm.

As M'nol, the new assistant weyrlingmaster's knot still feeling a little awkward on his shoulder, makes his way into the garden area, he appears to be talking to himself, "Shard it. What'm I even doing here?" His eyes cast around, taking in the garden with a hint of surprise, "Well… someone's been taking care of the place. I'll have to let Ari know…" He leans down near a particularly fragrant flower and takes a deep whiff, "I wonder if we could grow these near our weyr?" He's quiet a moment, as if listening to a response, then, "I thought you liked flowers?"

That foot stills as an unfamiliar voice clues Pyriel in to the fact that he is no longer alone. The arm lifts just enough to peek beneath it, and takes a moment to make a visual confirmation. Yep, there's someone else here. The arm comes back down and the foot starts back up again, only at a slightly faster pace. He can't see knots from his vantage point, as he could only get M'nol in profile, but he'd been around enough dragonriders to know when one was talking to their dragon. Or maybe the small man was crazy. That could be it too. There were some pretty colorful characters at Xanadu, and a schizophrenic would just be the icing on the bubbly at this point.

"If you don't like them, why did you keep trying to get me to grow them when Ari brought them?" There's another pause then, "Oh. Duh. But Farry, seriously. You're all lilac." He winces, though Pyriel probably can't see that. His dragon can get vehement sometimes, "Yeah, yeah. I know. One day, right?" His head cocks slightly as the sound of tapping foot stops, then picks up pace, turning, finally, to take in the form of the lad there, eyes darting quickly from stained clothing to knot before he chuckles, "Now, four turns ago I would have assumed Trouble'd gotten to you."

Pyriel can't see anything at the moment, so yes he misses M'nol's wince. The words he's speaking do carry though, so one might assume he was at least able to follow at least one side of the conversation. That is, if the harper was even bothering to listen. Maybe it's the slight volume increase of his head turned in the harper's direction that signals to Pyriel that he's being addressed, or just that his annoyance in general had met it's eventual breaking point. Either way, all the talking was intruding on his attempt at relaxing. "Ya, trouble got me all right. And trouble's name is Marella and Muir." he says, irritation all too clear in his tenor. The foot taps quicker just at the self reminder, but gives way to the apprentice thrusting himself upwards to sitting, legs over the seat to the ground and hands poised to curl over beside them. Gripping. More piercings are revealed, as well as the nifty shiner he had going on.

M'nol chuckles softly, "Shoulda known this place'd never be free of Trouble, even once Cen moved on." He lets out a soft whistle as the shiner appears, "Shards, lad, that's quite a shiner." Morl's voice has the easy lilt of one harper-trained, "Don't think I've met either of those two, though. I'll have to keep my eyes out." He eyes the boys piercings for a moment, "That's a lotta metal for an apprentice. Don't you get it caught in stuff?"

Pyriel chews on his bottom lip, golden eyes flickering over to somewhere else briefly when M'nol brings up his black eye. He simply nods. It was worse at some point, but at least now the edges were yellowing considerably encroaching on the darker areas. He soon returns his attention to the brownrider, his frown deeply etched upon his mouth when the two he had mentioned but a moment earlier are addressed. "They're Weyrwoman Thea's brats. Menaces. The both of them." he growls, flopping back in his seat upon the bench. "Sharding hangover didn't help. Last time I skip lessons, last time I eat anything I ain't ordered myself." He's more complaining to himself rather than M'nol, head falling back to glare up at the sky. "Naw," he answers some time later, "I play the guitar, my face comes no where near the strings." This is followed up with a long suffering sigh.

M'nol snorts gently, taking advantage of the outrushing air to relocate his bangs a little out of his eyes, "The /twins/ are much older than I remember, aren't they? Still, they're hardly any more brats than the other weyrbrats, I'm sure." One brow arches indicatively at the fellow-harper, "And speaking ill of the Weyrwoman's children in mixed company may have interesting consequences. As does drinking to excess and allowing it to impact your duties." Not that a smirk doesn't creep into his features, "Most harpers play guitar. Though, truthfully, I haven't pulled mine out in a while. Too busy moving and getting settled. Wouldn't've thought the twins were lesson-age already, though."

"They're five." Pyriel says, to the tune of calling them 'unholy demons'. "Muir was the sharding mastermind. Wouldn't sit still or stop asking questions. Got 'em all running around. The whole nursery ended up throwing paint at me." The harper does roll his eyes in weyrbrat fashion though as M'nol talks of consequences for speaking ill of Thea's children, drinking and impact upon his studies. "Yeah yeah, whatever." he sighs and mumbles quietly under his breath so that the brownrider can't hear it. As he was still way over there with the pretty pretty flowers, and Py still hadn't moved from his sanctuary of the garden bench. Probably felt he'd been punished enough for one sevenday. He wasn't going to explain, or try to explain that is, any of his predicament. That was the plan anyway, but things rarely worked out for the grumpy harper. "Okay so…" he starts, head coming up as he sinks down into a slouch, arms crossing over his chest, and blessing the other with one of his usual frowns. "This chick I know, she gave me this fruity frozen thing, not telling me that it's some vintner's experiment until after I'd eaten half of it. I wake up with a hangover…and stuff…" Pause there for a shifty eyed expression of leaving out certain details. "Missed the day's lesson, and even though my head was feeling like it was split in half, sharding Master sends to me to teach basic vocals to the brats in the nursery." Punishment indeed. "They wouldn't hold still, they were running around everywhere, one grabbed my guitar and made off with it. Can't hit little kids of course and when I tried to get the sharding thing back they ganged up on me and started using me as canvas. When I tried to escape, they threw paint at me!" Oh the horror. "I am never having kids. Ever." he grumps and sets his jaw, leg jiggling up and down quickly as he casts a glare off elsewhere in the garden. Somewhere, other there.

M'nol smirks, closing the distance towards the young harper, "Sounds like fun." His smirk just gets darker as Py explains the whole long horror story of his horribly misappropriated day, "Sounds like fun. You know, back home, they didn't start vocals with the kidlets until they were at least 8. Sounds like someone had some fun with you." He looks the lad over again, "Honestly, you don't look too worse for wear, though. The kids at Ista throw tunnelsnakes." He moves over to the bench, "Mind if I sit?" Not that he waits for an answer as he settles himself on the stone surface recently vacated by Pyriel's back. A lump in the distance shifts, then starts moving towards the garden at a leisurely pace dragonly-speaking, "You know, even candidates have to watch the littles sometimes. Worst part of my candidacy, the little ones."

"Oh yeah, it was a blast." Pyriel says sarcastically; the glaring continuing on whatever it was within his eyeline that had his attention. Maybe that browning shrub over yonder. It was his turn to snort when M'nol mentions that someone must be having fun with him, his jaw set and teeth clenched. At least this action was keeping him from commenting further, that is until tunnelsnakes are brought up and the harper's brows rise upwards quickly, eyes flickering to the rider. "What? Seriously?" He shrugs though, jerking his head to indicate the space to one side that was unoccupied by the slender boy. "Whatever." One might suppose that was a yes, but M'nol had already made motions to take a seat before Py even had a chance to reply. So the answer might even be considered appropriate. Kinda. Okay not really. He looks the brownrider up and down making a 'che' sound, "COuldn't find no one willing to trade ya for something else?" he asks, curiosity getting the better of him just then.

M'nol chuckles darkly, "I had three of the things gang up on me and try to steal my firelizard back in the day. And yeah. Tunnelsnakes. Ista has all sorts and the kids get to hunt 'em. So it's either them or spiderclaws." His eyes glance up at the approaching lump and he lets out an odd sigh, though he tries to hide it with a smile before he snorts, "I traded for it if I got stables duty. Nothin' worse'n that. And some days nobody'll trade ya." He smirks lightly, "Then there're the chores that seem fun until you do them. Like washing dragons. Sharding things love to try to drown you, I swear."

Pyriel's eyes widen as M'nol goes on, though the kid was hanging on the older guy's ever word. At the end of the story, the harper's mouth is hanging open just a smidgen, closing before he narrows his gaze suspiciously. He was having trouble trying to figure out whether or not the brownrider was telling the truth or trying to have some fun with him at his own expense. He had spared the approaching brown dragon a glance as well, but the beast doesn't hold his attention for long. "Helped wash my father's dragon plenty of times. It ain't no fun, especially if it's a brown or a bronze…" he says, arms loosening so that he can shove his hands into his pockets. Admittedly with some difficulty given that he was seated. "Yer arms hurt, and yer entire body aches. Dunno how ya'll do it all the time."

M'nol nods once, "It's so true. And my first dragon washing Damasth nearly did drown me. Then I got back to the barracks and Donakan…" He frowns, not continuing that story, instead turning to happier times, "The nice thing about washing your own dragon is that they start small, so you get used to it in phases. Plus, half of weyrlinghood, /easy/ is training. Strength. Dexterity. Bonding with your dragon. Stamina. If your nose isn't in a book, in bed, or washing and oiling your dragon, you're exercising. It's why most riders are buff." He smirks, then scoots suddenly to the side as a big brown nose sticks its way between them, wuffling at Pyriel. Faraeth's bigger than some bronzes and his nose is just as rocky and craggy as the day he was shelled.

Pyriel looks appalled, "That ain't cool." No, being nearly drowned by a dragon did not sound fun at all. Brows lift again at the frowning stop to the story, but slowly drifting to a neutral position as M'nol moves the conversation onwards. He nods now and again, following the brownrider's train of thought easily enough. "Yeah I can see that." he says, and drops his chin to look at his own boyish chest and stomach as if he could see through his clothing. The ever present frown deepens before he idly rubs at the areas of discontent. Before he can bridge that subject however, M'nol slides over to make way for the dragon head suddenly between him, the harper's eyes once again widening even as he holds perfectly still. "Uh…" is said intelligently, a perplexed expression gracing his almost too pretty features. "What the shells is he doing?" he asks quietly, despite knowing that the brown could hear him perfectly fine. His nose crinkles at the smell of dragon breath, for it was never something sweet and pleasant.

M'nol shrugs, "Damasth was just like that. Playful and kind of oblivious to safety. He wasn't actually /trying/ to drown me, he was just doing a good job of it. And I was even smaller then than I am now." He chuckles gently, "Turns in the mines helped with these," He flexes one arm indicatively, "But everyone has different capacities for muscle. I learned that taking a couple of healer classes while I was at the Hall." He blinks, "The Harper Hall, that is." He smirks at the lad's reaction to Faraeth's sudden intrusion and reaches out to stroke the brown's hide, "Sniffing you." He goes quiet for a moment, then, "He says you shouldn't spend so much time in gardens. They make you smell like dirt."

Pyriel nods to M'nol, golden eyes flicker to the rocky snout of the brown dragon, though with the head between himself the the rider it was making eye contact of any sort rather impossible. The harper had been taught good manners, he just chose most of the time not to use them. He does note the muscles flashed to him over the head of the dragon, chewing thoughtfully on his still healing bottom lip. There's a twitch at mention of crawling into the ground, but he doesn't bother following it up with anything. However, he does look rather crest fallen when he's told that he smells dirty. "Great. Covered in paint, and now I smell like dirt. That's fantastic." he sighs, rubbing at his own face with his hand, which earns himself a wince. Yeah, half healed or not, those bruises still hurt. Poor harper was just not having a good day at all. He narrowly shifts his eyes to the head beside him, "Thanks a lot, bud."

Faraeth wuffles over Pyriel again, taking another deep whiff of the lad before letting out an odd snort and cocking his head towards his rider. M'nol just chuckles, "He said it's not that bad. And shards, the day I was searched, I was so coated in dirt Marte wouldn't give me the knot until after I bathed." He smirks slightly, "He likes having his eyeridges scritched." He shifts to face Pyriel a bit more, "What do you know about candidacy?"

Pyriel again wrinkles his nose at the smell. No matter how many times he got a whiff of it, it was still unpleasant. While listening, the boy very slowly lifts a hand extracted from his pocket, the left as he was in fact left handed, to scratch at one of the eyeridges of the dragon. "Most of 'em do." Like to have their eyeridges scritched that is. He tilts his head somewhat to the side as M'nol turns towards him, now able to seek out that eye contact he had lost briefly. At the question, Py's shoulders shrug vaguely. "Just what I heard. Lots of chores, lots of saluting people, just so ya can burn yer feet and dodge egg wet dragonets and hope ya don't get mauled. Sounds like… a whole lot of fun." Again, sarcasm.

M'nol chuckles softly as Faraeth hummms with pleasure at Pyriel's attention, "You telling me you've no hopes out there for one of these beasties?" Faraeth gets another pat, "All the chores, the putting up with the candidates I didn't like… the knee to my crotch. It was all worth it the minute Faraeth picked me." He gets that dopey smile all those who've impressed seem to manage when talking about the event and it lingers a moment before he reasserts conversation, "Well, beyond chores, it's not so much saluting as respect. You have to respect everyone and treat them appropriate to their station. And no fighting, sex, drinking, or leaving the Weyr without a rider." His hand comes up, dangling a white knot across Faraeth's snout, "Unless, of course, you say no. Though the big beastie here would be most displeased."

Pyriel peers curiously over, blinking a few times. He glances between dragon and rider, settling on the beast between them. He scratches further down along the ridge, seeking out the places that get the most response. "Hadn't really thought about it." he admits, "Dad's side of family was all dragonriders so far back, ain't no one can remember when they wasn't. Always assumed one of my brothers 'be picked, the old man sure as shipfish told me enough times I started to believe it." The harper startles as M'nol goes on, getting another glimpse of candidate life experienced by the brownrider. Especially that part about getting a knee to the boys. Shoulders sink as the rules of candidacy are brought to light. "Ya gutta be kiddin' me. Ya mean I'd have to put up with all the sharding wherry dung that gets flung my way?" A pause, and the harper's lips curl into a snarl. "Ain't allowed to leave the weyr anyhow, being an apprentice harper and all that. I can deal with the no sex or drinking, enough trouble with that to last me." Then poor dense Py goes very quiet, very quiet indeed. It's sinking in. Wait for it. Wait for it. "Wait what?" Ding. Give the boy a prize. To Faraeth and M'nol both he looks, each in turn and back again. "Ya want me to stand?" he asks the dragon, after all he was the one asking right?

M'nol chuckles as the boy's thought process smokes and dings to the final conclusion, then he nods, "No fighting. Candidates need to be fit to stand, and if you impress, you can't fight while the dragons are young because strong emotions can affect their development." The hand not holding the white knot comes over to flick the assistant weyrlingmaster's knot on his shoulder, "And I was a right handful when I was a candidate. Kissin' girls that didn't want it, exploding store rooms, and don't get me started on the cupcakes." He smirks, "But as a weyrlingmaster, I run a tight ship. Not that there's any guarantee you'll impress. But if you do, things'll be fun, but serious." He wiggles the knot, "Willing to take the risk?"

"So what if the guy really deserves to be slugged?" Pyriel inquires, testing the waters as it were. The evidence of the boy's nature to punch first and ask questions later clearly evident on his face and the knuckles of his hand. The harper deflates somewhat. No fighting. At all. For a really long time. "What am I supposed to do when some jerk makes some stupid comment or tries something funny?" Hopelessly deep frown given to the rider. "Smile, take it, and say thanks?" Prickling, the harper doesn't seem to like the idea of having to have self control at all, apparently quite driven by his emotions. Or one emotion, rather. Eyes dart to the Weyrlingmaster knot, and then to the simple white candidate's knot. Ugggggggh. "I guess all that dun sound so bad. All that and ya still ended up with him…" He inclines his head to indicate the brown, who'd eyeridge he was still scritching. The wiggled knot, and the crooning brown are both taken in with consideration, having some difficulty with all the things he wasn't too pleased about. Under pressure, Py didn't do so well. "Yeah I guess I could give it a shot. At the very least it'll tick off the old man. None of my brothers even so much as got sniffed at."

M'nol chuckles, "No matter how much he deserves it, you can lose your knot for it. It's about decorum befitting a rider and other fluffy, difficult to understand things. You just have to smile and know you're in the right. Now, if you're defending someone else, that might be different. But that's really a decision the Weyrwoman and Headwoman make at the time." He smirks, still holding the knot out to the harper, "My old man was madder than a wherry with a hurt wing. He sent me here to get me away from the hold harper's attempts to change my craft. Ended up a brownrider and a harper anyway." He smirks, "Two of my brothers are wherhandlers, so it sort of runs in the family, but I'm the black ovine." He smirks lightly, "Do the old man proud by exceeding expectations, eh?"

Pyriel wasn't liking all these rules, no. Not to say that he wouldn't at least try not to live by his fist, he might actually surprise a few people. Who knew. He reaches out with the hand used to scritch the dragon, and coils his fingers around the white knot, taking it gingerly from M'nol. "That's easier said than done." Truth. He palms his new knot between his hands as he sits back against the bench, his expression now complex and hard to read. At least the frown was, for the most part, gone for a fleeting second. Just long enough for Pyriel to smirk for once, right back at the rider. "Nope. It'll really mess with his head. Good enough reason as any to put up with all that stuff ya told me about. My father can't stand me. I'm already the family's black ovine."

M'nol chuckles lightly, "I'm confident you can manage. And in seven turns, you're the first candidate Farry's asked, so that's got to count for something, right?" He pushes up to a stand, "I think you might even be the first since Seryth's furtive laying." He gives the brown a /look/ and he backs off a little, reluctant to leave the scritches, but knowing Morl has a few more things to finish, "Well, then, welcome to the extended black ovine club. Lemme just show you to the barracks and then you'll be Ocelara's problem."

Pyriel looks to Faraeth when told he's the first in seven full turns, which gets the brown a bob of his head. That was something to mull over. When the dragon backs off, he pushes himself to his feet, holding the candidate knot in his hand still, fingering it as if in after thought. "Thanks I guess." For the welcome, now back to chewing on his lip, or rather toying with the piercings present there. The harper casts a single glance over his shoulder towards the beast before stepping away from the bench with the rider. "Lead away…"

M'nol jerks his head towards the living caverns with a cheeky grin, "Follow me, candidate-" His brow furrows. He hadn't even asked the lad's name. Then he shrugs, "Follow me."

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