May the Best Weyrwoman Win....

You head up some teeny stairs, onto a small ledge, through a little door and... voila! You're in.

Quiet Corners
Thick woolen tapestries dull the noise from the rest of the caverns, turning this well-lit little room into a welcome escape. The stairs up place it against the bowl wall somewhere above the living caverns, carpeted against the winters chill or left as cool stone floor in summer. Some high and narrow windows can be opened to the world outside, or secured with their heavy metal-sided shutters and blue-threaded curtains.
Glowlight gleams, brightening the well-cushioned stone couches and lighting the weyr residents half-finished projects: knitting undone, sewing only started, leathers being worked soft, and even a hide of sketches or half-finished Thread-chart spread out across one of the tables.
Curled up amongst the baskets of wool are Sahara, Eclipse, Dystopia, Zauberer, Samedi, and Banzai.
You see Gigi here.
Shaela and L'shil are here.
Obvious exits:
Inner Stairs

Shaela
Violet eyes gleam out from within the dark-skinned face of the petite woman, their deep shade reaching an almost blue-black tone in most lighting. Jet-black hair, defiantly still of plaitable length, is knotted up so as to fit easily beneath a riding cap. Shiny though her hair is, it has a permanent look of not enough washing, due to many hours spent with said cap firmly in place. Bangs frame her indistinct forehead, curling and waving in their unstyled way to fringe on thick 'brows. Black lashes, full and long, match the furried eyebrows. Lips often curved in a crooked smile reveal gaps spacing disproportionate and misaligned teeth.
So tight are they, the junior weyrwoman's riding leathers appear nearly painted on, an effort to reaffirm her regaining of the petite, skin-and-bones figure she was known for before her pregnancy. Nevertheless, her hips are a little more rounded now, her bust actually evident: in essence, she has grown into a woman, no longer a child. The leathers are relatively simple, of basic dark chocolate with strawberry red linings and lemon gold stitching, in a two-piece trous and jacket with underlying basic white shirt. The plunging neckline of the shirt is accented by the undoing of the top buttons of the jacket. Blue Neckpouch hangs heavily from Shaela's shoulder.
Two cords, one blue, one black, intertwine to form a double loop marking Shaela as a Jr. Weyrwoman of High Reaches. A golden thread has also been woven into the simple knot, indicative of the girl's lifemate, gold Chayath.
She is awake, but has been staring off into space for 2 minutes.
Shaela is 25 Turns, 9 months, and 19 days old.

L'shil
A mass of mousy brown curls perch atop his head, short-cropped and bushy; bright eyes of a warm mahongany peer out from beneath arched eyebrows so fine they're barely there. Jovial features mark his sunny, rounded face, from the prominent, bulbous nose to the firmly generous mouth and clean-shaven chin. His barrel torso matches the rest of his chunky, lumpish form, with his large, long hands and thickset legs. He seems shorter up close than he does at a distance, merely tall instead of gigantic.
Distinctively padded with bright jacinth patches everywhere they could possibly be needed, L'shil's leathers mark him even from a distance. From head to toe a wash of blues clothes him, hues swirlled steadily lighter towards the ground. Helmet darkest, near-purple and plain, leads the eye next to jacket made with room to grow, ranging from periwinkle to Istan ocean; pants loose and slightly billowing from extra length cascade into sturdy boots, the faintest chill shade of frosted sky. Plum. No other name could define this scarf quite so well, so generally /plum/-ish, is it. Handsewn specifically for its owner, the tightly woven wool is of just the right length and width to properly protect L'shil's neck from the harsh winds and snows of a High Reaches winter. The two far ends are frayed, with golden-orange beads knotting the thin tendrils into thicker strands. A similarly-hued inscription has been added at either end as well, reading 'L & S', framed in a carefully sewn heart.
He is awake, but has been staring off into space for 5 minutes.
L'shil is 28 Turns, 1 month, and 22 days old.

L'shil rolls his eyes. "Shae, love, look at me. Do you /really/ think I can be sneaky? Pyrene?" He pauses, blinking, then says, "Um...I thought we figured it was, before? Being that it at least looks sort of like curry..." He munches away at a spoonful, himself, but, typically, just reaches for a piece of the bread instead of commenting aside from an "Mmmm."

"Well, yeah, but usually.." Shaela's voice trails off. Pyrene? "What're you doing here?" she says in a tone indicative of her displeasure in her wingmate's presence.

Pyrene slips in, bearing old hides. She's brought up short by the sight of Shaela and L'shil however. Just the person and that person's weyrmate she wanted to see. Geh. "Sorry to intrude... I wanted to do some work. This is usually a good place to concentrate on things." /Her/ tone indicates that the things she's concentrating on are more worthy than the thing's Shae's concentrating on.

L'shil looks from one woman to the other, a bit helplessly. "Well...this is a public area...and so it isn't always...but... Want some curry?" Lesh's answer to the problem, obviously. He's still got one arm wrapped around Shae, but it's no more than what's seen everyday between countless couples, and hardly objectionable.

More worthy things than dinner? Snuggly though the couple is, they are doing something besides simply being affectionate. "It usually is a good quiet place," Shaela agrees in a sneering tone. "In fact, it's one of our favourite places. L'shil and I come here all the time," she notes, as though they own it. Her weyrmate's attempt at calming the situation only warrants a shocked glare from the goldrider: hasn't he heard what Pyrene has been saying about him? Them? /Her/?

Pyrene settles herself demurely at a table, apparently intent on staying. "No thank-you, L'shil. I've my duties to attend to," she replies tightly. "Work before pleasure after all. Did you find the records of Nabol's tithes yet, Shaela?" Well, it's not the most subtle of attacks, but there's nothing overtly offensive in her works.

L'shil hasn't heard. But then, Lesh has always restrained his gossiping to the nice stuff. But he's not deaf, either. "All right, you two. Take a few minutes and tell me what's wrong, please. Verbal mudslinging's not going to get you anywhere, and if you're /really/ that upset with each other, there's plenty of it outside." Just for a moment, the confidence and determination that once had him elected weyrling wingleader and makes him an effective Dragonhealer peeks out from the place where it usually hides.

Shaela is about to make up some big lie about having the tithes records in her weyr, but L'shil's revelation overshadows the need for responding to Pyrene's question. "You don't know? I just assumed you did.. and weren't talking about it, so I followed your lead. You don't know abuot the transfer?"

Pyrene also stares at L'shil. "You mean you're the only person in HRW who has not joined the betting ring...?" she demands somewhat icily. "I thought this little evening was you and Shae making the most of what might be your last days together." If Pyrene has her way anyway.

L'shil eyes them both with evident disappointment. "That's what's causing the problems? You think you'll be sent away? Well, of all the wherry-teethed things... If everybody fights, of course someone will be sent away. And the more difficulties are evident, the less likely they'll be to stay. At least with Lani and Mitria they've been constant. Mitria'd really be the most likely choice, if things weren't aggravated. Working together, people are far more likely to stay because of team efforts. Isn't that obvious?" Lesh sees things fairly simply, and he's not the /brightest/ man, but that doesn't change the fact that his insights are often quite clear. To him, if no-one else.

Shaela shakes her head, "Nuh-uh, Lesh. You weren't in the council rooms when we were. Many of the senior riders expressed a strong opinion that it should be Pyrene or myself." The gravity in her tone is evidence to how certain she is that the final outcome will be affected by those opinions.

Pyrene glares at L'shil. "Oh, of /course/ they'd pick Mitria when she's twenty turns older than us!" It's actually less than ten, but the point's the thing. "Telgar will want a young gold, and if you check out any of the gambling rings, Shaela and I have the best odds. Mitria's considered a lost mark." Actually, Pyrene's leading a number of rings patronised by blueriders (not to mention the nursery one) but Shaela's in for her fair share too.

L'shil chuffs a breath. The puppy-dog similarities are really coming to the fore in this conversation. "Last I checked, that was still a weyr-wide decision. And what about Lani? Neither she nor Mitria are old, regardless what you think, and their golds have been rising steadily enough over the Turns. Shards, Mitria's even proved she's a durable sort. And Lani survived weyrlinghood with me and Quirky. Considering the number of times we fell over things or knocked over people by accident, that's no small feat. The betting pools are rarely accurate, as you all know from the Hatchings. Besides, if you prove yourselves invaluable to the Weyr as working partners, why, they won't want to decrease productivity by half again as much as the others, will they?"

He's far too sensible, that L'shil. Perhaps that's why he's so good for Shaela, and why they've stuck together for so long -- he's skilled at talking her out of her little fits. But this is not a little fit. "L'shil, don't you understand what we're getting at here? There's a definite sway towards sending either Pyrene or myself because we're the youngest, and Chayath and Cadge would likely be able to produce the greatest number of golds for Telgar." Of course, Cadge is the better bet of the two on that, since Chayath is so small and her clutches regularly reflect that. But that's an argument for another time. "If they sent me, they probably wouldn't be willing to send you, too. So we do what we must to protect our own hides."

Pyrene glares at L'shil and, in the face of calm reason, loses her frayed temper. "Oh, don't give me that. You don't want Shaela to go. Since you stood with Lani, you probably don't want her to go either... So why should you care if I go? It would be better for you, because then you could keep your rosy little life with Shaela. But unfortunately for you, it's /not/ that simple."

L'shil is unperturbed. "I care," he says, slowly, certainly, and very firmly, "because it makes people unhappy when they don't have to be. When it makes them fight when they don't need to. When people can't step back from something that could change their whole lives in order to view it without emotional clouding because it's constantly shoved under their noses. All I'm telling you is that if you work together while this thing is around, and, yes, maybe after, too, you'll both get a lot more done and be happier with that, at least."

Lylia slips in from the little door.

"Lesh, you'd think very differently if you were in the middle of this," is all Shaela can say. And her curry's getting cold. He's not making the argument any easier, and he's not getting rid of Pyrene either. So she turns to a pout and returns to nibbling on the too-spicy curry.

Pyrene doesn't care about Shaela's curry. "Well, you may think your own personal weyrwoman is safe because she's got connections here, but let me remind you that you are not her daughter's father," Pyrene says angrily. "And Shaela's got more connections wth Telgar than I have!" Lylia's entrance goes un-noticed as Pyrene racks her brains for her reasons for /Shaela/ to transfer.

Lylia has just entered the Deathmatch Arena? The brownrider oh-so-quietly slips in, vespertine-learned skills coming in handy when it comes to staying out of notice. 'Cause any sudden movement, and Pyrene might just accidently rip off her head. Unfortunately, she can't hide a slight snicker from escaping. Dueling weyrwomans. Lovely.

L'shil returns to eating, but about five bites in, loses it. Swallowing, he launches to his feet and bellows: "I /am/ in the middle of this, in case the two of you have gone blind. Mitria's the only one I don't consider to be a friend of some stripe. I'm every bit as much in this as the rest of you -- maybe more, since it's been pointed out that even if the woman I've loved for /over half my life/ gets transfered, I might not be able to go with her. I don't need to be reminded, I am aware of the connections, and frankly, I'm just trying to make the two of you see that perhaps this isn't as hopeless as you seem determined to sharding well /make/ it! Fighting only makes it worse, and if you can't see that -- can't understand that -- then you're both neglecting to use your greatest resources. By Piccath's shell, I know you two are smarter than I am. Show it to the /Weyr/." Arms crossed and anger apparently expended, he nods awkwardly to Lylia.

Shaela stares wide-eyed at her weyrmate, and, somewhat shamed, dares a glance at Pyrene. What's her response?

Pyrene has never seen L'shil angry before, and it stuns her into taking several steps back--right into Lylia. This shakes her senses back into her and she tries to recover her ire again before the brownrider--both of them. And Shaela too. "Oh, yeah, Shae's smart all right. How old were you when you learned to read, Shae?" she snipes. She's a little un-nerved by the prospect of angry L'shil, but she needs to cool off before she'll see reason.

"Whoa!" Squeak! Lylia's face takes on a quick wince before settling back into a wary stare. Ow. Shardit, that Pyrene is /heavy/. But she quickly glances back and forth, at Shae and Py. She's a little too scared to look at L'shil... "Um, be nice, Py," she murmurs quietly, eyes still darting back and forth. Uh. She shouldn't be afraid of bloodshed, right?

Shaela kinda likes it when L'shil defends her. "I had other interests," she responds defensively to Pyrene's jab. "There's nothing wrong with not knowing how to read perfectly, anyway." The goldrider still displays difficulty with the task, even now. "Especially not if it makes me less suited to the Telgarian position." So /there/.

L'shil looks Pyrene straight in the eye and says softly, seriously, "Smartness is not just book-learning. You worked with children. You know this. Remember the little maxim about being quiet? Er...the one that didn't involve cookies?" He makes shushing motions at Shae, and mutters out of the corner of his mouth, "We're trying to defuse this, not add fuel to the flames, love..."

"They asked for a gold. They didn't specify ability," Pyrene retorts. "You strike me as the most expendable gold anyway. Cadge has laid /browns/ bigger than Chayath." A definite exaggeration but it's not far off the mark. "Cadge is the second biggest gold in the weyr, isn't she Ly?" And any eye-contact with L'shil is broken as she glances to Lylia, trying to rope /this/ brownrider into her team.

L'shil's eyes widen as they get back into it. "Shaela, sweetheart, let's take this elsewhere for the moment. Let tempers die down. Things are a bit tense right now, aren't they, Lylia?"

Shaela always was too argumentative for her own good. Perhaps it's best if L'shil does the talking. "She's insulting Chayath!" she hisses, her face turning red, althogh whether that's a result of her trying not to talk or her spicy meal, it's hard to tell.

"She's big. Very big." Lylia can agree on that one, giving a sharp, quick nod of agreement. "Lovely, too. But Chayath lays some /wonderful/ dragons." Chayath is her fang-baby's momma, after all. "'Course, Cadge being the second-biggest may be a reason for them to want you..." An idea Lylia isn't /entirely/ fond of. But the brownrider's glance quickly darts to L'shil, and a little nod is added. "/Way/ too tense. Fighting solves nothing." Just results in bloodbaths.

Pyrene frowns at Ly's idea of help before leaping on it for her own argument. "Then there's all the more reason to send Chayath to Telgar--she /can/ lay decent dragons if she tries. Maybe in a small weyr with need of dragons, she'll be inspired to realise her breeding potential." That last came out rather as a sneer... It's a fair bet Cadgwith's asleep if Pyrene's being allowed to get away with this. All diffusion attempts are completely ignored.

L'shil places a calming -- or restraining -- hand on Shaela's shoulder. "She's not fully thinking about what she's saying. Come on, Shae. Quirky can tell Cadgwith all about it later. Let's go someplace else. Pyrene can go think about things, and we can go tell Nuff there are cookies after we get some, and I'll make everything as much better as I can. Please, let's go. I don't like losing my temper." An understatement, since normally he doesn't have a temper to speak of, he's so laid-back and easy-going.

Shaela possesses little of L'shil's optimism that things will be much better, but getting out of Pyrene's presence would certainly be an improvement. "We can get the pastries like we said and go back to the weyr and sit in front of the fire and maybe read a story or something?" Shaela says, already on her feet, tray in hand as she moves toward the stairs to the inner caverns.

"And you and me can have some wine, Py. It'll calm you down. We can even go torment some weyrbrats if you want." Lylia attempts a grin, trying to look somewhat upbeat. See? Pyrene can try and forget all this troublesome business. Or something. "Fightin' like this isn't going to help anything. Or at least, I don't think it does."

L'shil snorts softly, trailing after Shaela as faithfully as ever. "Fightin' ain't never helped no-one; it always makes things go from bad to worse." He might be quoting, he might not. But those are his closing words as he leaves.

Pyrene takes it as a personal insult that nobody is going to respond to her outbursts in kind. Particularly when she knows it's not helping her case. "Oh go on then. Get back to your little weyr and pretend it's not happening," she snaps after Shaela and L'shil, before turning on her own heel and stalking out. She won't even stay for wine.

[End of Log]