How It Feels

Xanadu Weyr - Caverns
A massive cavern in its own right, this one has been skillfully adapted for human habitation. The high ceilings have been painted a light, soft ivory, as have walls hung with numerous tapestries that provide brilliant color and insulation from the stone. The floor has been left in its natural state, pale pink granite speckled through with glittering mica and dark flecks of basalt. The stone is carefully leveled but kept sufficiently rough to avoid slips.
The cavern itself is loosely divided into areas, each one set up to be suitable for some segment of the Weyr's population. The most frequently occupied area is the one near the Kitchens, where tables of varying sizes provide a place to sit down and eat or chat and a buffet of consumables is almost always kept stocked. It's plain that on most days, this area wouldn't accommodate anywhere near the full population of the Weyr, instead feeding people in shifts as they come off duty. On occasions when a formal meal is laid out, tables are borrowed from all the other areas.
There's also a big fireplace set into the western wall, several comfortable chairs nearby providing haunts for elderly residents or riders who like a good view of all that happens. Rugs cover the floor in strategic spots, all of them abstract or geometric in design and most in the softly neutral colors of undyed wool.
Exits lead off in all directions, the largest an archway to the northeast that leads outside. Near it there's an alcove with hooks for coats and shelves for muddy boots. A tunnel to the east goes to the infirmary, and a set of stairs just a little south of that lead up to the offices and administration area. To the south, a long and sloping tunnel leads down to the hot springs. The kitchen is off to the southwest, while the residents' quarters are reached by tunnels going west, deeper into the cliff.

Getting clothing together for a bath SHOULD NOT BE DIFFICULT. It is tho, it totally is. That that has a LOT to do with the fact that Avi pauses every few seconds, convinced that Mirieth is in distress? Well, not helping matters. Miri, however, is fine, dreaming of STUFFANDTHINGS. Eventually, though, Avi has clothes to change into and joins Sh'y on the trek to the baths. And while there is SO MUCH to say? Finding words at the moment is the hardest thing he has ever had to do in his life. "Kovagath is.. He's beautiful," he finally offers in quiet tones. "He looks like the night sky." Course, as they step into the living cavern, he pauses, his eyes closing as he takes in a deep breath.

Somehow, someway, somewhere along the way, Sh'y found pants. ARE THEY HIS PANTS?! Who can say? But they are pants, and they are going to be worn. Pants beneath robe is definitely a look but Shy has very few effs to give about it, now that his goods are good and covered and not in danger of being flashed. Seriously. Whose idea was it to make candidates wear dresses robes on the sands? At least give 'em some shorts! "Food, first," comes with a hand that goes to reach for Avi's elbow and… stops just shy of it, hovers a moment, and then falls back to his side. Because what are things now? They have baby dragons. They have new lives and so, what are the old lives about? QUESTIONS FOR ANOTHER TIME. RIGHT NOW FOOD AND REVELRY!

AND REVELRY THERE MOST CERTAINLY IS. The din in the caverns could be worse, but it's hard to imagine how. The bright side is, so long as you aren't wearing white robes or big, fancy knots, you can blend right into the crowd. Alas, for R'hyn, Avi, and Sh'y, that is so not the case. Are there hoots and hollers for the successfully-impressed? Absolutely. Do they draw the attention of a certain overtall bronzerider and his equally intimidating weyrhusband? Also absolutely. Are you waiting for the upside of all of these meta questions? Fool, there isn't one, unless you count the weyrleader's approach as a good thing. "You made it," R'hyn says to Avi in particular, though his blue-grey gaze certainly flicks over the former beastcrafter at the newly-minted weyrling's elbow. "I'm glad." Though the words are the kind of regimented that speaks to having multiple, repetitive conversations and having to pretend to be nice through every one of them, least there's a little warmth behind his smile, a little loss of plasticity as R'hyn settles into his own skin. There's a pause as quick eyes take in gathered clothing, a half-step taken back as though making room for them to move if they were merely passing through. "Sorry, I didn't mean to stop you, I just figured you'd want to see." You know. The promised Frippery in the form of a bronze-stitched, corseted vest that hugs maybe a little too tight for the number of stuffed dates he's ingested over the course of the night. It's FINE.

You would think that Ila'den would be doing important things. You know. Like watching the Weyrlings, or doing paperwork, or listening to C'con tell him to watch the Weyrlings while he was doing paperwork. Instead, Ila'den is here, dressed from head-to-toe in his riding leathers, not looking anywhere near as dashing as the Weyrleader, and partaking of the feast. More importantly, Ila'den is partaking of his Weyrmate, is hanging back as R'hyn rushes forward to, for just a moment, enjoy the view. And okay yes, there's something feral, something primal, something downright shameless about it, but Ila'den doesn't seem to be repentant, even if that grey eye comes up slow from his weyrmate to Sh'y. Amusement pulls slow at the corner of his mouth, a hint of something snuffed as he takes even, measured steps to join the trio. And while R'hyn shows off his threads, Ila'den's rasping a low-pitched, "Congratulations," on a raspy burr. "You managed to obey the rules," comes with another hint of canines, that grey eye still on Sh'y, "And didn't call me sir." THAT IS THE REAL ACHIEVEMENT HERE. And now his attention is on Avi, because that congratulations was for him too. "How does it feel?" To be dragonriders, he means.

Fortunately, Avi misses the failed reach for his arm or he'd be completely heartbroken. "Food," he agrees. "Sounds perfect." He's starving and getting more and more hungry the closer they get to actual food. "I don't think I've ever been this hungry," he admits. "Or covered in blood." Cause they are, indeed, covered in blood. "I swear I almost ate a piece of that meat." Which will horrify him someday, but right now? Right now, it's just honest. And while he is more then willing to turn his steps toward food, he is still moving with slow, slightly swaying steps of someone who is not entirely certain everything that just happened wasn't their imagination. Course, it's hard to be in your own when there is SO MUCH MUCHNESS going on around you. And while the congratulations and hollers are absorbed, they are still met with a fair measure of wide-eyed surprised. Enough that Avi trips over his own feet, stumbling a few steps before he catches himself and turns a smile up to R'hyn. A familiar face! Thank the stars. "Thank you," he returns with earnest intensity. "I'm… I'm.. Glad doesn't cover it." Not at all, not even close. It is only belatedly that he adds quickly, "This is my… Ah…" Clearing his throat, he has a moment of looking awkward before carrying right on. "This is Sh'y, he impressed blue Kovagath. Sh'y this is R'hyn." The weyrleader. Which Sh'y probably already knows. It's the Frippery that steals his attention, though, his smile broadening as he takes in the corset vest with clear appreciation. "It is gorgeous," he admits readily. "Frida does the best work." And he's very, very pleased with that fact. Course, never mind that Avi went all the way to Frida's to get a corset for a statue of a naked man JUST FOR LEIRITH. It's the GIANT eyeing R'hyn like he's the best thing on the menu (WHICH IS TOTALLY FINE) that has Avi slanting a glance that way, the tip of his tongue brushing over his lips as that bigness gets bigger the closer it gets. It is the question, though, that holds his attention. "There are no words for it," he admits. Baths? Food? Sure, he wants all of that. But. "Mirieth is… /everything/."

THERE ARE WEYRLINGS HERE. SO ILA IS KINDA WATCHING THEM?? MAYBE? Technicalities, at least. And plus, they're all still alive so JOB WELL DONE. Sh'y slows to a stop and briefly affects a deer-in-headlights look for all the cheering (who-what-why? Oh.). A dash of eyes toward the crowd, then to the approaching bronzerider, head tipped to take in the Weyrleader with curious regard that is only a little wild-eyed and shell-shocked from ALL THE IMPRESSION STILL HAPPENING IN HIS HEAD. Does it ever stop? Does Shy want it to stop? A half-second too slow, there's a straightening and a dip of his head and probably something that would have been entirely too formal except that Shy's doing that thing again where words just won't come out. So. Yeah. Hi. He'll just kinda half-nod instead. For now. Ila's approach is far slower to be seen, probably because FUZZY HEADED. So, lucky duck, Shy doesn't catch that amusement either. "I didn't." Call him Sir. On this, they can agree. WILL IT CONTINUE THO? WILL SHY BE DEMOTED WITH A FUTURE SLIP OF THE TONGUE (or, you know, totally, intentionally, sassily sip of the tongue to bespeak that seemingly altogether unwelcome 'sir' to one of his weyrlingmasters)?! Only time will tell! Was there a question? Oh. Right. Yes. How does it feel? "Exhausting." But in the very best way!

Is R'hyn aware he's a snacc being made into the whole damn meal? Toss of the dice, really - the bronzerider is as likely to be oblivious as he is a tease, but that's neither here nor there. What is here are bloodstained hands, impression-dazed eyes, empty bellies, and admitted exhaustion, and what is a man doing as a weyrleader if they don't know the intimate workings of events? "There's a wash station near the kitchens." Probably for exactly this reason. "And it's a little quieter back there. I can show you, if you'd like," accompanies another step back in that direction, one that seats him squarely up against Ila'den's person, arm coming up around the big man's back as if by instinct, clearly intending to drag him along this time. "Yes. Congratulations. How did your first feeding go?" The question is a complement to Ila's, more targeted, less nebulous, though stormy eyes burn bright for both answers. Tell me more is on the very tip of his tongue, but remains unshed, for now. Instead, his focus narrows on Sh'y, mirth tugging hard at one side of his mouth as, teasingly-mimicking Avi's cadence, he offers a nod and a, "A pleasure. And this is my Ila'den." CLEARLY THEY'VE MET, but have they met while R'hyn is jostling the poor man up against his side repeatedly like a ragdoll? If so, there might never be an issue of them calling the man 'sir' again. LET'S FIND OUT. As for Frida: "She does. It'll be interesting, prising a certain piece of her work away from a certain dragon." HE NOTICED. "There might have to be a sacrifice." OMINOUS, but not expounded on for the moment.

LEIRITH IS GOING TO BE OVER THE MOON ABOUT IT, ENOUGH TO PROBABLY PUT IT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE CLEARING. AND THEN SHE'S PROBABLY GONNA YELL VERY LOUDLY ABOUT IT UNTIL EVERYBODY THIS SIDE OF PERN KNOWS TO COME AND LOOK AT HER NAKED MAN IN HIS BOUGIE CORSET. Don't you tease Leirith, Avi. SHE KNOWS IN META NOW, and if there is a single dragon in all of Pern that knows how to be cheerfully disappointed in (and OUT) of meta, it's the one based on Claptrap. BRING HER NAKED STATUES. AND CORSETS. TOGETHER. OR FOREVER SUFFER BEING A DISAPPOINTMENT. You know. Until she forgets again. But listen, Leirith is not important — or, well, she is important (to some, namely Risali), but she isn't currently relevant to the conversation. Neither is Ila'den, if we're being honest, but here he is. The man remains, saturating space despite the fact that he physically maintains a modicum of respectable space (that his eyes surely did not when they absolutely did browse dessert) from R'hyn, Avi, and Sh'y all. "Mmm," comes pitched low, a rumble of acknowledgement that starts somewhere in his chest as Ila'den's gaze comes back to Avi. He is intent in his listening, for just a moment devoting the whole of his attention to the newly-Impressed Weyrling and those words that, perhaps are not enough to explain the bond between lifemates, but certainly comes close. But then he's taking in all that blood, brows rising in a question that goes unvoiced if only because Ila'den already knows the answer. "And hungry, it would seem," comes on a rasp of dry humor. BUT LISTEN, SH'Y. … TOUCHE. WE'LL TAKE IT. Kind of like Ila'den takes the cue of S'hy's voice as an invitation to shift his attention back to him instead. He didn't call him sir. Those lips pull at the corner again, a wolfish kind of amusement that Ila'den does not immediately answer if only because R'hyn is stepping back into his body. "You will be, for the next while." Exhausted, he means. The palm of one calloused hand comes to rest against the weyrleader's lower back, tension bleeding from him in incremental factions and still doing nothing to soften every serrated edge. Then he's introduced, and low pitched, husky laughter pulls from the Assistant Weyrlingmaster before he rumbles, "Aye, and this is my R'hyn." IN CASE YOU DIDN'T KNOW. NOW EVERYBODY DOES. But does he let R'hyn do the rest of the talking? … Yes. Yes he does, ready to be steered wherever his younger, better, more personable half might want to go.

Avi can't help laughing, although the sound is exhausted as it spills from his lips. "I'm glad. I have confidence that you will come up with something perfect to sacrifice to her in exchange." Cause yeah, that is a very nice corset on that sculpture. "Sh'y helped me pick it out." And kept him from spending entirely too much a whole lot of corsets for himself. It's the mention of a wash station and smaller crowds that have him immediately dipping his head in a nod. "Yes, please?" Which is promptly followed with a smile that is nothing short of ridiculously sappy. "Mirieth is the best kind of clutz. I think she killed a few cots and at least a trunk, or two, but I eventually got her fed, oiled and sleeping soundly." Course, the introductions made in the same fashion as his own inspire a smile and a measure of relief that he has no idea is even on his face. Still, he's stepping toward that wash area, more then eager to get blood off his hands and food in his mouth. "I didn't realize how hungry I was until she started eating, then it was all I could do not to eat the meat chunks myself." Which, as an aside, he NEVER would have recovered from. "I had no idea /anything/ could be that perfect," he murmurs in softer tones.
The "what?" that comes from S'hy is probably because he's briefly forgotten his new name again. LOOK. LISTEN. IT TAKES TIME OKAY? HE HAS A LOT GOING ON UP IN THAT HEAD OF HIS AND MOST OF IT IS COTTON-CANDY AT THIS POINT. "And hungry." Yup. He can at least agree on that point. His stomach will loudly second the notion, much to Shy's embarrassment. It's all that cuddling that might give him pause, though what exactly he thinks of it all remains tucked in that sugar-spun mind right now. PROBABLY HE DOES NOT THINK MUCH BECAUSE BRAIN-MUSH. Another little squint at R'hyn and he wonders, "How do you feel about being called Sir?" AT LEAST HE HAS LEARNED TO ASK? The blood on his own hands is minimal (but still present, and would perhaps be startling if he was not also still wearing the tell-tale white-robe of the candidate) and currently ignored. SHILOH HAS HAD WORSE. NEW-GUY SH'Y CAN SURVIVE IT.

Onward, then! Assuming he'll be followed, R'hyn pivots, leads while his lips press backwards, eyes going flat, head slowly shaking as though imagining just such Leirith antics as that, thank you Risa-meta. "I don't think you know Leirith very well," sotto voce. "We might have to trade her your dragons." GASP, WHAT!! "She and Xermiltoth have already threatened to break into the barracks to see them again," explained. "Patience isn't their forte, but maybe visit, soon." His gaze shifts over to Ila, as though inviting his opinion on whether it would be SAFE, given previous behaviors. Granted, things already sound unsafe. R'hyn openly laughs for the visual of the tiny green mauling cots and clothing on her way into the barracks, a drawled, "Oh no," indicating the behavior is found as charming as alarming. "Maybe, uh… Maybe she'll grow out of it?," isn't nearly confident enough, smile still playing around the corners of his mouth even as he nods into the idea of being tempted by raw meat. "Fun, isn't it, their thoughts making yours so…" He uses both hands to make a MINDBLOWN gesture around his head. "There isn't any way to prepare you for it," though surely some have tried, "I'm just glad it's a good thing." This includes Sh'y, perhaps taking some of that quiet as agreement, or perhaps soliciting his own thoughts before— choke. DID YOU KNOW THE WEYRLEADER COULD TURN THAT SHADE OF RED, SH'Y. His brocaded vest sets off the color nicely even as arms shift to cover it, sleeves of his shirt hiking up enough to expose tattoos as they cross over his chest. The bronzerider's tongue plays over his teeth behind lips, eyes bright, visibly weighing words before settling on, "Like there is a time and place for it." And 'in public' is neither, heavily implied. "And like I prefer 'weyrleader' if a person must." Does that answer your question? Or will R'hyn's sweeping gesture towards washbin, cloths, and buffet backstock waiting to be taken out to the proper party aren't distraction enough. "But I prefer R'hyn." He hovers, waiting just long enough for them to get situated before saying, "Anyways, we'll leave you to it. If I don't see you before you leave, congratulations again. I really am happy for you both." And he means it, eyes crinkling around their corners before catching Ila's eye and tilting his head in the direction they're bound to head next.

LOOK. THE BRAINS ARE A PROBLEM AND THIS TEA HAS NO CAFFEINE, but Ila'den is listening to Avi. The new-weyrling becomes the focal point for the former renegade, humor for hatchling antics and Avi's triumphs finding its way into the way he rasps, "Well done." And for all that Ila'den's voice is gritty, hard, serrated, a growl that will never give see him being defined as, 'gentle', there's a curbing effect, a softening that comes with a lowered pitch to make it evident that he means it. It's the thought of Avi eating the food that has low-pitched, husky laughter rumbling somewhere in his chest for one, two, three fractions of a heartbeat and gone before it can really form. It lingers in the pull of his lips, in a hint of canines as he offers, "I wouldn't recommend it." The eating raw meat, he means. And while it sounds like advice offered from a man in a position of experience, Ila'den does literally nothing to imply he's willing to share why. Instead they're on the move, and Ila'den tilts his jaw to take in his Weyrmate, to answer that unspoken question with a raise of his brows that might say, 'You're the boss,' which is exactly why he gets to watch that reaction when Sh'y's words hit. And now there's something positively wolfish in the way Ila'den regards his weyrhusband, in the low-pitched, lazy laughter that comes a second time — this time a little rougher, a little more — ANYWAY. Look, Ila'den's arm comes around R'hyn's shoulders only to cross his forearm back across his clavicle, and the Weyrleader is pulled in to receive a press of lips to his forehead before they arrive. THOSE WORDS SOUND AN AWFUL LOT LIKE GOODBYE THOUGH, and Ila'den's smile is too full of wicked humor to be allowed for RESPECTABLE COMPANY. So instead, there's a rough, "Enjoy your evening, Weyrlings," that comes for Avi and Sh'y both, and then Ila'den is moving, leaning his body into R'hyn's to start those first steps away from the two in need of a wash. ALAS. IT'S GONNA BE A LONG NIGHT.

The moment that Avi realizes (Perhaps ERRONEOUSLY) that R'hyn is teasing, he laughs and shakes his head. "They /must/ come visit," he agrees. "It's important.. Family… It's important." Granted, he doesn't have one. Well, barring Sh'y and Mirieth and Kovagath who doesn't know him at all but still counts! "Miri is.. very.. She's still learning all her parts." That's what he's going with. Whether it is a good choice, or not? Who is to say. "We'll grow out of it," he adds with a sigh that is nothing if not RIDICULOUSLY smitten. And if she doesn't grow out of it, that's OKAY, too. Course, his attention sweeps to Ila'den for a moment, his chin tilting up to meet the man's eyes.. Er.. eye. "Thank you." It's honest and earnest and just a little bit wary since he's not yet entirely certain that Ila'den's don't eat weyrlings. "I'm going to be /so/ upset if I eat raw meat," he admits. But he is not ruling it out as a possibility. It's the wolfish look Ila'den turns on his husband though that makes Avi's decision for him. The decision comes in the form of a smile that reaches his eyes and a dip of his chin in a firm nod. "We will." And he's absolutely certain that R'hyn /and/ Ila'den will as well. "His corset needs tightening," he adds as the pair head off. Envy? Oh yeah, just a little bit there. *COUGHWHEEZE* "Have a good night!" And he's off with Sh'y for food and baths!

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