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Josy - Sunday, March 05, 2000, 5:31 PM
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The following is a roleplay-log from SouCon MUSH (soucon.godlike.com 4201). The world of Pern is copyright to Anne McCaffrey.
You walk over to the bustling Weyrhall.
Shaya checks the others moves "Looks good. Now release the string from your little fingers, then move them over the index finger string and pick up the one on the far side of your thumb and move the little fingers back to their original place."
Leonette laughs. Then she glances at Joslyn as she pays attention to Shaya, trying ot understand /exactly/ how to do it.
Strolling in just about dinner time, it's almost as if Joslyn was lured here by the scent of the meal alone. Sniffing at the air as she enters, she issues something of a soft sigh and comments, "I wish they'd fix th'sharding herb garden." Still, she falls in line at the serving table with a wave about the place.
Leonette slowly tries it, but ends up picking up several strings...all but the right one. she sighs, "I don't think that's quite right. But at least my hands aren't tied together..." she holds up her hands to compare them to Shaya's
Cerra follows the instructions with a grin on her face. "This is comming back definately."
Aithne does not see Joslyn as she concentrates on Shaya and then the string she is holding suspended between her hands..moving her fingers slowly through the motion...Her smile begins to grow as she finishes. Once that is done she glances around to offer Joslyn a wave with both her hands...well, it was meant to be a wave.
Largon glances at Shaya for a moment before his fingers suddenly go into an easily quick copy of Shaya's own movements. He ends up on the same step almost with ease. He peers at it thoughtfully, dropping one of his feet to the floor and turning his gaze back to Shaya.
Shaya leans over to look at Leo's hands slipping hers free "Not quite." She moves Leo's strings back to their original positions, "It's this one here." she says pointing to the right one. A wave now that her hands are free, towards Joslyn.
With a plate of the under-seasoned wherry and a roll collected, Joslyn wanders back toward the table with the candidates and the strings. "What's all this about?" she inquires, plopping down into a seat and glancing over their occupation inquisitively. "Tying yourselves in knots, hm?"
Joslyn glances at this red-haired girl she has yet to be introduced to, tilting her head to look her over a moment or two. "Who're you?" she asks abruptly, forgetting her former curiosity about the strings and all that as she munches a roll and considers the newcomer.
Largon looks at the figure on his fingers before turning his gaze to Joslyn, "Leo is." He grins at Leo, nudging at her with one foot.
Aithne giggles at Joslyn then turns her attention back to Shaya.
Cerra smiles at Joslyn a bit nervously. "I'm Cerra."
Shaya grins over at Joslyn "Only Leo so far." She looks at the others "Now once you have that let the strings slip off your thumbs, that should give you a an X shape with your index fingers and little fingers as the points." She reloops her string and quickly gets to the point she's demonstrating.
Jude walks over from the Western Courtyard.
"Hello, Cerra," returns Joslyn good-naturedly, wiping her palm on her hand and extending it across the table - regardless of whether or not Cerra is currently occupied with strings. "I'm Josy. What brings you to our fine, Southern hospitality," she inquires, cordial enough as she smiles to the girl.
Cerra follows Shaya's directions grinning a bit more broadly when it looks like Shaya's does. She disentangles a hand and shakes Joslyn
Jude smiles and waves at this various acquaintances, a questioning glance is bestowed on Leonette, whereas a conspiratorial smile is reserved for Aithne.
Largon quickly follows Shaya's fingers, almost doing the step at the same time she does. He holds it up to show Shaya, "How's that?"
Cerra follows Shaya's directions grinning a bit more broadly when it looks like Shaya's does. She disentangles a hand and shakes Joslyn's. "I'm trying to find someplace away from home that needs a nanny."
Cocking a brow and probably pretending she doesn't see Jude's entrance, Joslyn asks curiously, "Oh? And where's home, hm?" Between words, she spares nibbles at her roll, eventually condescending to tear it in half and lay the wherry across it, sandwich-esque.
Aithne looks vaguely suprised as her end result is the same as Shaya's "Oh! This /is/ fun."
Cerra smiles and retangles her hands in the string. "Lemos, actually. I've come quite a ways."
Jeren wanders out of the kitchen, wielding a broom, and whistling cheerfully.
Largon looks at Jeren with widened eyes, "Look out! He's got a broom!" Him? Dramatic? Psh. He drops his string in the process, muttering something and bending over in the chair to retrieve it.
Shaya nods at Largon "That's it." She grins at Aithne "Glad you think so." She looks down at her own hands, as if mentally reviewing the steps "Now your thumbs go over the strings around your index fingers and pick up the near little finger string." She holds her hands out to show.
Joslyn concurs with the girl, issuing a certain nod and saying, "Quite a ways, indeed. What directed you here?" Satisfied with the status of her make shift sandwich, she sets about polishing it off at once, glancing between Cerra and the strings every so often just to keep up with both sets of conversation.
Aithne offers Jeren a wave with her be-stringed hands before glancing back at Shaya. A look of concentration comes to her face as she watches. She pauses about midway through the step, eyebrow knitting in concentration as she tries to remember the rest.
Jeren brandishes his broom teasingly at Largon, and winks. "Hey, everyone!" he calls cheerfully, and sets to work.
Shaya notices Aithne's expresion and prompts with "The near little finger string." She waves her stringed hands at Jeren in greeting.
Cerra quickly does the movement. "I'm not sure. I guess I figured that if I was going to go away, I'd really go away. I'd always wanted to see Southern."
Largon grins and laughs a little, folding his arms about his knees, "Hey, Jeren! Evil knave.. do you dare to threaten me with your vicious weapon!" He grins again.
Aithne grins up at Shaya before she completes the motion, 'Thanks!' She chirps out.
Jeren bares his teeth playfully at Largon. "Yes, I dare! Whatcha gonna do about it?"
Joslyn shrugs up both shoulders, looking vaguely thoughtful as she mulls Cerra's thought over in her hungry brain. "Makes sense 'nough. Well, as long as the hot weather and th'folks are agreeing with you, you're more'n welcome to stay on here as long as you want. We've gotta few nannies, but we've got a LOT of weyrbrats. I ain't got a knot on me, I'm 'fraid, but you can get one from th'Headwoman later."
Cerra nods. "Thank you. I'll make sure to get one."
Jude strides over to the Courtyard.
Largon curls his string around one finger and snaps it at Jeren, "I've got a string and I know how to use it.." He narrows his eyes at Jeren, standing up and flicking at him with the string menacingly.. well, if he wasn't grinning a little.
"Do that," Joslyn suggests sagely, a good little hostess even if she fails at everything else entirely. "And you can stay in th'shore cottage with the other girls and perhaps ask Tiri where it is th'nannies converge. Oh, and try'n stay outta the heat, huh? It's better that way." She smiles charmingly before the last of her sandwich is shoved in her face.
Cerra nods. "I will. Thank you." She looks down at the string shape in her hands.
Shaya watches Aithne get the right string and waits for Cerra to finish speaking with Joslyn before continuing. "Almost done with this one. Now take your right index finger and thumb and take the left near index string and put it over your thumb. Then take the lower thumb string and loop it over to the other side of the thumb. Then do the same with the ones on your right hand."
Jeren snickers. "Well, my broom is longer than your string. I could probably fend you off!"
Leaning with her chin in her palm, Joslyn attends the lessons as an errant child might watch his Harper tutor - sparing the lazy portion of her mind and a languid sort of expression for Shaya. It's not that it's boring, oh no. It's only that Josy has the attention span of a vtol and accepts the fact readily.
Cerra does the movement as she smiles at Shaya with thanks for waiting.
Aithne misses most of the side conversations, her gaze intent on Shaya as she watches carefully..her left hand moving very slowly as she tests out the pattern...then her right hand moves a bit faster. "Like this?" She asks as she holds up her string for inspection, her delight starting to show across her face.
Largon grins at Jeren, holding up the string, "Care to try, wielder of the broom?" He seems comically serious.
Jeren considers, then shakes his head, grinning. "Nah. Wouldn't want to hurt you, after all!"
Largon shakes his head, "No, really. Come on. You won't hurt me. Trust me." He lifts both his brows in a flash, "'Fraid?"
"Now, now, now," begins Joslyn with an absently and halfway teasing tone in her voice. "They'll be no battles 'tween brooms and strings in the Weyrhall. If you must fight, do take it out side like good little candidates," she tells them, letting her accent turn more pedantic as she goes along.
Shaya nods at Aithne with a grin "That's it. Ok, this is the last step and the most compicated." She glances over ath Largon and Jeren with an amused grin, and returns to the string teaching. "Now see where it makes a triangle between your thumb and index finger? What you need to do is bend your index down into it part way, then release the strings off your little fingers then rotate your hands away from you. Like this." She does the sequence fairly slowly.
Cerra concentrates and does the step. "Now I see why I liked this when I was younger."
Largon looks so put-down, "Ah, come on, Joslyn.. It'd be a two hit fight! He'd try to hit me, and then his broom would hit him." How's that for logic?
Aithne nods her head,'I see the triangle.' Aithne murmers softly then carefully follows the steps...Now her face is filled with delight, 'Wow.' She murmers as she shows Shaya.
Shaya smiles at Cerra as her hands relax and the figure collapses. "If you're going to be working as a nanny you might want to brush up on it. I was one over at Southern Hold and found it was a great way to keep the children occupied." She beams brightly at Aithne "That's great! Nice job."
Leonette gives up and puts her string on the table...and sighs. "I don't think I want to get my hands tied together again.
Joslyn shakes her head emphatically at Largon and repeats, "Not in the Weyrhall. If you wanna take it out to the meadow, though..." She shrugs up both shoulders at that, having no real cause to fault them for play-fighting out of doors to speak of.
Children and Aithne,it seems. She settles back into her chair as she undoes her figure and begins anew...the hall could even fall down around her, and she would be intent on her string figures.
Largon snaps his string at Jeren, "What do you say, knave? Care to take this outside to fight for your honor?" He grins slightly.
Shaya looks over at Largon and Jeren with a slightly bemused expression "I some how feel like I'm back watching the children in the nursery." her tone lightly teasing.
Cerra grins at Shaya. "That's what I was thinking."
Jeren snickers, and winks at Largon. "If I go fight for /my/ honor, it'll be /your/ honor that ends up hurt!" he teases.
Largon snaps the string at Jeren so that it stings his leg, "Then what've you got to lose, great warrior?" He smirks slightly. He stops and looks indignantly at Shaya and Cerra, "Hey.. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were referring to us!"
Cerra laughs. "That's because we were."
Leonette sighs and gets her plate of now-cold food, and starts eating again, starting with the slightly wilted greens.
Shaya nods quiet seriously, those there's a quirk to her lips that hints she's trying not to laugh. "We were."
Aithne beams as she successfully repeats the string figure..okay, it did take her a couple of tries...but noone saw that right? She blinks a couple of times in confusion at Largon and Jeren than simply shrugs.
Finished with her sandwich and tired of playing nurse maid to errant candidates, Joslyn tells the boys one last time, "Not in th'weyrhall, or you're all in trouble. Got that?" Without waiting for a response, the goldrider saunters without, hands shoved into her pockets as bare feet slap quietly against the floor of the 'hall.
You walk toward the Courtyard.
The distant, deep laughter of a man and his two companions wafts up from the direction of the Garden Cottage Clearing. Normal though it may be, F'loran's ears perk up and he turns his head to watch. Three men wander into the Courtyard, headed, apparently, for the Weyrhall. "Oh shells," F'loran can be heard to mutter as the three seacrafters come fully into view. He slowly gets to his feet.
L'mir's brow arches as he watches F'loran's reaction. "What the.." he mutters, then turns to look where his brother was peering. "Ohh.. yeah..."
Enter Joslyn, strolling in from the weyrhall with her hands shoved casually into her pockets and her barefeet padding against the cobbled courtyard. "Oh, shells?" she echoes, glancing between one brother and the next with a quirk of one brow.
And just in time, too... The first of the three - the one in the lead and, apparently, the leader of the pack, halts his forward progress as he catches sight of the Brownrider. "YOU!" he shouts, holding out one thick finger toward the lad. "I THOUGHT I might find you here! Scrawny little twit - I still owe you for gettin' me kicked off that shardin' boat!"
Jeren walks over from the bustling Weyrhall.
Stella blinks and takes a few discreet steps closer to the Hall entrance, hoping she can just fade away.
"Scrawny?" L'mir repeats slowly, eyeing his brother briefly. "Yeah, guess so.." he mutters, "More'n me, actually."
F'loran just rolls his eyes, keeping his distance from the three men. "Hey, /you're/ the one who got caught sneaking me food. Not /my/ fault you weren't being more careful. Why don't you just let it go, and get yourself something to drink, or..something." He grins over at L'mir, then. "Thanks, bro..."
L'mir casually walks around the men, slowly, speaking all the way. "Yeah, no problem whatsoever, ya know, Fol. Seems ta me they should try gettin' some new clothes. These look kinda like the rags we have in our stores. Yeah, dirtier too." As he gets closer to the one seaman, he reaches out to tweak the man's tunic. "Real dirty." he comments.
Leaning against the frame of the weyrhall, Joslyn lifts a brow to regard this exchange, unimpressed to judge her expression. "I've come up with better insults in my sleep," she comments, literally yawning as she folds her arms casually and regards the three - uhm - gentlemen.
That third man, a journeyman, and a weak-looking one at that, bats L'mir's hand away. "Hey.. Watch your mouth. He ain't talkin' to the likes of you." The leader-guy, who still doesn't have a name, continues to glare at F'loran. "Ooooh. An we're so scared, too. You'n your little brother, and your little woman are sooo frightening." He starts toward F'loran, then..
Stella scoots around to stand near Joslyn, watching.
F'loran frowns deeply, stepping up to meet the man half way. "Hey," he starts brilliantly, "leave my brother and Joslyn out of this. This is between you and me, not anyone else. Keep your little goons out of the way, too, huh?"
Cerra strides over from the bustling Weyrhall.
L'mir glances down at himself, reaching toward the edges of his pants. As he tugs them outward, he says, "Little brother? I guess so, but not scrawny. Skinny, but not scrawny OR little." A few steps take him to a spot between the journeyman and his brother and the women. "Never did take kindly to shutting up, as Josy will confirm."
Joslyn makes a face over at the leader-guy, real grown up like as she scowls his way. "Little woman... Pft. P'rhaps you'd like to meet the little woman's big dragon?" she offers, cordial and sweet and inviting and still reclined cozily in the doorway of the Weyrhall. Look how scared she is...
Cerra strides over to the Garden Cottage Clearing.
Stella watches nervously, edging closer to the door. She definately does /not/ like fights.
Shaya strides over from the bustling Weyrhall.
Shaya walks toward the Lakeside Meadow.
That third man opens his mouth to make another snide remark, but the leader-guy quickly snaps, "Shaddap, you idiot! I'm havin' a discussion with our little friend here." Then, as he's turning around to face F'loran again, he throws a punch... F'loran, having just finished grinning over at L'mir, has barely enough time to blink, before he reaches up a hand to block the strike, and takes a quick hop to the left. "L'MIR!" he calls out..for backup, probably. The second and third sailor-types spring into action, one heading for L'mir, and one for Joslyn.
Jude strides over from the quietness of the Infirmary.
Someone actually has the audacity to head for Joslyn? In the doorway of her own Weyr, blinking at the scene and clearly misunderstanding this whole mess. She straightens up a little - not squared off or anything, 'cause she's not bright enough for that - but looking at the approaching fellow with evident confusion. She's going to have to fight? For real? "Aw, shells! Tel's gonna yell at me," she says, snapping her fingers irritably.
L'mir doesn't really answer his brother, he bends his knees, making fists, then springs upward, landing a punch right on the underside of the journeyrank's chin. Crack! An audible punch lands as the sailor blinks twice then growls at the bronzerider, grabbing for his runnertail. "Why youuuu.. little...!" It's obvious that L'mir thought something else would happen here. "Uh. Yeah?" he mutters, then prepares for another punch.
F'loran and L'mir look rather upset, as they stand near three seacrafters. All parties apparently familiar with each other, one of the seacrafters has just thrown a punch at F'loran. Will he make it? Can he dodge in time? Yes! He's blocked it already..and that's it for Jude's synopsis.
Stella blinks, and decides, from the look on her face, to go for help.
His punch blocked, the lead-seacrafter-type takes another swing at the Brownrider. F'loran promptly blocks this one, too. He knocks the sailor's hand out of the way, then, hand still locked about the man's wrist, leans back and sends a kick square into his chest. The rather large sailor stumbles backward, winded, but balls up his fists to come back again...
"THIS," says Joslyn, stepping out of the doorway just in time to allow her antagonist to miss her, "is why I hate sailors." Rather casual about the whole affair (if you'd been in as many scraps as Josy had, you'd get tired of it, too), she beckons the fellow away from the weyrhall with a squared fist. "You'll be sorry," she comments simply. Fighting a barefoot goldrider, who gets in a pretty good punch, too.
Stella walks toward the bustling Weyrhall.
Jude shrugs as he witnesses the altercation. He proceeds home.
That blow Joslyn is dealt to the eye? Well, that's bound to leave a mark - already swelling just a little as it lands. "I. Don't. Want. To fight," she explains, her words at odds with her actions as she delivers one, hard kick in the sailor's groin. It's a little underhanded, perhaps, but it works, for the fellow doubles over and likely intends leaving this goldrider alone for a while. At least.
Largon strides over from the bustling Weyrhall.
L'mir's runnertail is flicked out of the way as he eludes the sailor's advances. Leaning over at the waist, he charges the man full force, getting a loud OOF from the guy as his shoulder impacts the man's gut. Not stopping there, he throws his weight into it, hefting the sailor onto his shoulder. Uh, not a good thing to do, actually. His weight causes L'mir's legs to buckle under him, going down on his knees, sending the journeyrank sprawling.
Well, the man going after F'loran isn't exactly built to be quick, nor is he built to balance on one foot long enough to kick. Poor him. Instead, he throws a series of punches at the Wingsecond, who just dodges them again. "I told ya to just leave it be," F'loran comments to his adversary. "It wasn't my fault you got caught - stop blaming it on me!" He catches one of the man's punches, whips his arm around behind his back, and kicks his legs out from under him. The heavy sailor falls to the ground with a loud THUD...and stumbles to his feet again...
Largon races out of the Weyrhall, shrieking to a halt as he sees the fighting. His eyes are wider than usual, and he looks around, unsure.
Dusting her palms, Joslyn steps back to watch the scene continue of its own accord. "Tel's gonna have our ears!" she protests, wincing at L'mir's downfall. And then, the little light bulb all but obvious over her head, she glances about with something of a frantic expression and - wouldn't you know it? - a fat brown firelizard comes winging over with (you guessed it) her crossbow. Slowed by the weight of his burden, the thing takes a few moments about descending toward his goldriding pet.
Growling with anger, the lead-sailor-man scrambles to his feet. The sheen of metal on leather rings into the evening air, as he draws a beltknife. Fol draws his as well, at this point, and odd little *click* of a sound is head just as he does, too.. "Whoa!" he calls out to the sailor. "Calm down here.. Fightin' with fists is one thing.. This is going a bit far!" But it does no good. The sailor springs forward (as fast as a 250 pound man can, anyway), and lunges at F'loran. The clang of metal on metal shatters the din next, as F'loran blocks the strike, again sending a kick straight into the man's gut, and knocking the wind out of him.
Aithne walks over from the bustling Weyrhall.
Stella strides over from the bustling Weyrhall.
Aithne steps quickly out of the Weyrhall, carrying a pitcher of water. She pauses to glance around at the scene.
L'mir kicks at the ranker who's trying to get back up, then rubs his eyes with the side of his arm, trying to make sense of the multiple images he's seeing now. He too struggles to stand, stumbling a few times, but does manage to get himself upright. Glancing toward the others, he sees they're reasonably allright so he turns back to the sailor. "Heehawl!" he yells, as he makes his best 'dry dive' right onto the man. "Oooof!!" that sailor howls, face red as a healer's hands. L'mir begins a series of jabs and strikes to the man's face and chest.
Largon partially stumbles over towards Joslyn, "What happened? What's going on?" He watches L'mir and F'loran, backing away from the goldrider as she acquired a crossbow. He trips over something and lands on his back. Sitting up, he watches quietly.
Delivered unto the waiting Joslyn, the fat brown firelizard drops a crossbow to the girl and promptly vanishes into Between; even he's too smart to hang around a scene like this. Fussing with the thing a few deft moments, the girl takes aim right at the sailor F'loran's currently tangling with. Thank Faranth's eyes her aim isn't THAT great and, rather than actually strike the man, she strikes the knife in his hand with a swift, whizzing bolt. Duck - she's armed!
L'mir's close enough to see that arrow zing, and it makes him pause just long enough for his opponent to snag that runnertail of his again. "Ow!" he yelps, then groans as the man suckerpunches him in the back. Having the advantage now, the man lands two then three shots, as L'mir struggles to be freed.
Aithne squeaks and scoots back into the doorway...eyes widening as she watches from a safe distance...like from behind the door....only the top of her head visible from around the door.
Bereft, suddenly, of his beltknife, the lead-sailor-guy blinks at his hand for a moment or two, after getting the hang of breathing again, then glances at Joslyn. F'loran, notably relieved his adversary is no longer armed, resheathes his beltknife once more. "Now, I'm SICK of this, Railan. I'm shardin' sick of it! YOU'RE the one who helped me sneak onto that boat. And for Faranth's sake, that was nearly Four Turns ago! Get over it!"
Stella scoots around so that she's peering out from behind the door as well, along with Aithne.
Largon stays on the ground, looking a little frightened and dazed. He shakes his head and tries to get up.
"I had to swim back to shore, 'cause the bloody Captain caught me taking extra food for you, you little twirp!" the large Sailor shouts out, still gasping for his breath. He straightens up at last, but keeps his distance this time. F'loran just rolls his eyes. "Yeah, and after you were gone, I had /no/ problems getting food for myself. Shells, man, you had to be pretty obvious to get caught on /that/ boat." The Brownrider just sighs softly, at this point, and throws up his hands, "Look..why don't you just go home? Leave me'n my brother alone, hmm? It's better for all of us.."
Looking first to her crossbow and then over to where the bolt actually struck, Joslyn issues something of a surprised blink. "Guess that's what I had in mind," she comments, shrugging as she lowers the unarmed (and therefore safe enough) weapon and looks toward the remnants of the brawl. A glance goes toward the candidates, toward whom she adjourns slowly seeing as most of the action has subsided. "Old battles die hard, y'know?"
Telinda walks over from the Landing Field.
F'loran stands some two meters from a large, tall sailor, both looking nicely upset, and the former still gasping for breath. Neither one looks terribly injured, or anything, though. L'mir and a second sailor are still scrapping, and a third sailor is currently sprawling around on the ground, grabbing at his groin - Joslyn's doings, no doubt.
Stella stands with Aithne, hiding behind the door to the Hall.
Ok, so now L'mir's mad. Madder'n he's been in his whole life, most likely. He twists, some of his hair ending up loose in the sailor's hand. "Ya!" he yells, loudly, his fist raised close to the journeyrank's face. It's about then that he gets a sidelong glance at Telinda. Just enough time for his opponent to land a fist right square on his left eye and cheekbone? Definitely.
But Joslyn? She's not doing anyting of interest. Oh, no! Standing by the candidates - no, that's not her crossbow she's hiding there - and watching the goings on, she hasn't got a shiner on one eye or anything. That's just... uhm... a really dark shadow on her cheek. Yeah, that's the ticket.
Largon just sort of nods absently, managing to get to his feet before he walks towards the Weyrhall.
Telinda stands there, taking stock of the situation, "EVERYONE STOP!" she calls out at the top of her lungs, and you'd better believe you heard that.
Aithne freezes where she is, only the top of her head down to her eyes visible from behind the door.
Largon almost passes out from relief. Telinda's here! Joy! Or something. He leans against a rock, sliding into a sitting position.
F'loran, having opened his mouth to speak, again, to the leader of the three Sailors, stops his negotiations to regard Telinda for a moment. He straightens up and turns completely toward the woman, with his back to his adversary. He falls silent, then. Utterly silent. The Seacrafter, on the other hand, is still grumbling.. "I'm /not/ gonna let it go, twirp. Just 'cause I ain't got a beltknife don't mean I can't.." He finally gets the clue, and peers at Telinda.
Relief falls over Stella's features, but she doesn't move from behind the door.
N'all strides over from the Landing Field.
N'all saunters in.
L'mir could easily stop right now, and he does, looking in the general direction of what appears to be Telinda. Or at least he thinks it's her. Sure did sound like her. The sailor behind him doesn't say much either, just blinks several times.
Telinda peers back at the seacrafter. She might be half the size, but she is the Weyrwoman afterall, and he's on her territory. "You, stand over there" she snaps out, pointing the at seacrafters, and then to F'loran and the others involved, "You stand over there. And *someone* tell me what is going on by the first shell!"
N'all looks at Telinda, and makes his way over, and makes sure his presence is felt.
Joslyn's already well out of the way and doesn't take it upon herself to go any farther. She does pawn her crossbow off on some unsuspecting candidate, though, with a few furtively whispered words before the boy darts off through the weyrhall and then - well, who knows? Trying to stand up straight and proper, she shoves her hands into her pockets and affects an innocent air.
Stella glances at Aithne, nervously.
The seacrafters all, reluctantly and only after a nod from their apparent leader, do as they're told, wandering over to stand away from the others. F'loran moves where directed, and immediately starts to explain. "Railan," he starts, pointing at the leader, "helped me sneak onto the boat that took me here from Ista four Turns ago. He got caught sneaking me food 'bout a day into the journey, and they tossed him off the boat, and he blames it all on me." He wrinkles up his (uninjured) face a touch.
Largon swallows and tries to sneak off towards the Weyrhall where Aithne and Stella are hiding.
Aithne watches the scene unfold with widened eyes...darting a quick look at Stella before her gaze is drawn back to the others.
L'mir certainly tries to stand up tall, but that's a little hard when you've got a few ribs feeling like mincemeat right now. He nods at Fol's words, "And he had a few of these ones to help him out." A long finger points toward the man who's moving slowly toward his companions.
Telinda beckons Joslyn closer with a crooked finger and smiles, almost too sweetly, at her Junior. "Joslyn. You've been taking those lessons in diplomacy, and since you're here, you obviously know more than I do right now. So, guess what?" she remarks, eyebrows scooting upwards, "You're going to sort this mess out, and I'm going to stand here and watch to see if you shouldn't be doing extra studying rather than studying" and she flickers a glance at F'loran, "anatomy."
Stella waves a discreet hand at Largon when he gets close enough to see, making room for him in the doorway.
But she looked so innocent there in the shadows of the weyrhall. A sigh leaves Joslyn nonetheless and, trying to smoothe herself despite the handsome black eye, she clears her throat and everything. "All right. Well then." Now, where to begin? "I assume everyone'll admit that we oughtn't be fighting here in the courtyard, so let's all apologize properly? I'm afraid we'll have to tell your Craftmaster, gentlemen, and the lot of us - " She means the riders. " - will be dealt with accordingly, too." She does get to dish out punishments later, right?
N'all crosses his massive arms across his chest and does his best to look intimidating. It's frighteningly effective.
Telinda crosses her arms, mirroring the gigantic Weyrlingmaster next to her, and nods to Joslyn as she starts. Oh, punishments, indeed. They'd better be good as well.
Largon glances at N'all and stands outside the door, not fully out of pride enough to hide.. But definitely not proud enough to smirk or grin. Although he almost does when Telinda gets Joslyn to talk ot the people.
F'loran nodnods his head a bit at Joslyn's remark. He finally sees that black eye of hers, and winces accordingly. He'll have some apologizing to do after this, during Joslyn's next anatomy class. Anyway, he stays silent to listen.. Oh, and so do the sailors. They nod, too..but probably only because N'all is so shardin' HUGE!
Aithne eyewidens as she looks at N'all..a definite quiver can be heard in her tone, She mutters to Stella, "... what we face... we... Impress."
Stella swallows, and replies shakily. She mutters to Aithne, "... think I... that..."
L'mir goes to brush himself off, bending from the waist, or at least starting to when a good wince stops him short. He grabs his ribcage then groans softly, glancing with a nasty face at the journeyranker. His lips purse, then he looks toward N'all. Chances are, he's got great memories of weyrlinghood right now.
N'all just gives Aithne the "If only you knew the half of it" evil chuckle.
N'all waves L'mir over, "C'mere."
Largon looks over at both Stella and Aithne, folding his arms. He doesn't turn his head away, but looks at N'all. He shakes his head, muttering something baout having a reason.
"So I think it's best if you fellows just take your leave of Southern and don't decide to come back any time soon," continues Joslyn, waving them off with both hands. "We'll send letters round later, and I highly suggest you all bear in mind that you've just started a fight with three riders wh oweren't looking for any trouble." Turning toward the riding brothers, she adds, "As for you all - er, us all. We... well... we have to help scrape the barnacles off the docks at the Hold."
Kayjay strides over from the Southern Weyrs.
Kayjay has arrived.
F'loran suddenly suffers from flashbacks from his childhood, wincing and blinking all at once. "Barnacles?" he mutters softly, memories flooding back from Ista.
Telinda frowns at L'mir, heading towards the bronzerider, "Ribs?" she asks, tilting her head questionally, and reaching out a hand, "We should probably get you to the infirmary, Joslyn can deal with the rest of this." A look flashes to Joslyn, "I hope you didn't remotely start it, or you'll all in deep water!"
Kayjay nods as she walks through. She airly waves one hand. "Evening all.." The other hand has some very wilted looking flowers.
Aithne and Stella are peering out from behind the door, only the tops of their head visible.
Kayjay strides over to the quietness of the Infirmary.
Joslyn makes a face and notes, "We didn't start nothin'. I told 'em I didn't want to fight? But did they listen? Noooo. And then I got popped in th'face. I HAD to do something, right?" She seems to think this is all perfect justification for demeaning her position with such antics. "Yes, barnacles," she adds with an adament nod at the brownrider.
F'loran glances over at the big sailor - the one who actually started the whole mess - but he doesn't say anything. He's not about to interrupt the Goldriders. Crazy, maybe..but not stupid. Not /that/ stupid, anyway.
L'mir's thin finger points to himself, with some mock astonishment. He knows that voice, sure, and the tone along with it. "Uh, sure." he begins to reply, then smiles a little toward Telinda. "I'm ok, ma'am. Just a little bruised. Besides, I think N'all wanted.. uh.. something?" Of course his hand lingers just a little, brushing hers, but that's just naturally so as he was in motion before she came near. Right.
Jude walks over from the Landing Field.
Jude has arrived.
Telinda quirks an eyebrow, "Are you telling me, Josy, that you seriously do need more lessons? Because right now that childish face, and these other demeaning antics seriously suggest this to me." She looks around, "Who threw the first punch?"
Telinda scowls at L'mir, "Just you stop there, he can come here" she mentions, her hand still linked to his arm. "N'all, here, please!"
Joslyn points at one of the sailors and replies quickly, "That one did. They rushed us, Tel. They did! I wasn't even doing anything except standing here. By Jeuneth's egg, it's true." As for the previous questions, she just shakes her head and says, "No more lessons. I learned mine. Splitting headache and my eye hurts. I was just defending myself this time lest they make goldrider pulp outta me."
The sailors, all sorta thinking they got off rather easy, start to make their slow, and quiet escape. Half-shoved along by their large compatriot, the two scrawnier ones mutter between themselves. F'loran, on the other hand, immediately points a finger at that large sailor. "He did," F'loran says.. The sailors pay no attention, simply continuing their retreat.
N'all nods to Telinda, and moves the necessary six inches to get closer to Telinda.
Jude watches, fascinated at the unfolding scene of violence.
Telinda smiles sweetly at the accused sailor, "Your name?" she demands, and then flickers a look at Joslyn. "Joslyn, I won't say it again."
L'mir doesn't look down at that goldrider hand, but it appears he straightens up somewhat, almost proudly. His nose wrinkles then wiggles, as if he's trying to stop the bright redness on that cheekbone.
N'all watches the Sailors leave, his eyes levelling one of his more ominous glares. His hand rests casually by his belt knife. He lets them go by without stealing any of the weyrwomens' "thunder".
Largon leans over and grins slightly, saying quietly to Stella, He mutters to Stella, "... looks... a..." Thank goodness for far ranges.
Inclined to sulk, Joslyn only refrains because she's fully aware just how ineffective that can be. Instead, she just folds her arms and finds a lean in the doorway, eyes shooting daggers at the fellow that gave her the shiner - probably just because she hasn't got any real daggers on her.
The largest of the three sailors, though still dwarved by N'all, halts his escape, swearing softly under his breath. He turns around to face the Weyrwoman. "Railan, ma'am. Railan's my name, and that scrawny little twirp cost me one shardin' long swim back to shore." He thinks he's justified in his attack, anyway. F'loran rolls his eyes.
Stella surpresses a giggle. She mutters to Largon.
Telinda quirks an eyebrow at Railan, "You know, Railan, I don't give a flying butt what it cost you, why were you here throwing punches at riders for?" Hand pats L'mir's arm, "Just be a moment, L'mir, hang on then we'll get those ribs sorted out."
N'all looks at L'mir, and frowns, "I see I have some other teaching to do to you."
Aithne peers out around the door at Josy...then back to the other riders. Her eyes appear to be the size of saucers as she glances at Stella and Largon.
Largon grins at Stella, leaning against the other closed door and folding his arms to watch the rest. He furrows his brow a little bit while listening, laughing suddenly, very quietly and leaning over to mutter back to Stella, He mutters to Stella, "... Come on!... he..." He grins at her.
Jude assesses Telinda's and N'all's threatening poses, "Gee Railan, I'd be /really/ worried if I were you. And I'm talking from prior experience."
In the wink of a black eye, the bronzerider's hand has found Telinda's where it rests atop it gently. It's not her he replies to first, it's N'all. "How to lift men who are heavier than you are?" he asks hopefully, attempting the shadow of a smile.
Joslyn's just staying clear of Telinda's wrath, occasionally heard grumbling under her breath about stupid, sharding sailors. Trying to look casual despite her eye, she assumes almost the exact some pose she held when this whole mess started, arms folded and shoulder leaning against the doorframe into the weyrhall. "Take note, little candidates. Self defense ain't an excuse for scrapping in the courtyard."
Railan scowls a little. "Precious riders.. Huh. You wouldn't need an explanation, maybe, if you'd had to make the swim yourself. If it took you more than a few seconds to get anywhere." He scowls first at F'loran..then at Jude. "Do I know you? Why are you talking?" he retorts to the man. His compatriots, in the mean time, are nudging him to be quiet.
N'all nods to L'mir, "Something along those lines."
Stella peeks a bit further around the door, flashing a quick, almost imperseptible smile to Largon before her attention is caught by the scene in front her.
Telinda is still doing that Weyrwoman smile. Yes, everything is well with the world, everything is lovely. She nods at Railan, dismissing from her attention momentarily as eyes travel to the other sailors, "And the excuses that the rest of you have, are?"
Jude shrugs at Railan, "Don't mind me, sailor. I'm no rider, just an inconsequential healer. And I like to talk for no good reason."
"Uhm," one of the sailors promptly pipes up. "He told us to come with him!" Yeah, that's it. Blame the big guy. The thrid quickly nods in agreement, and the two take a step back from their large compatriot.
Railan continues his scowling, in the mean time. He really has nothing important to add right now, so he practices his mean-look, and tries to be as tall as N'all. He fails. Miserably.
L'mir keeps his eyes riveted on N'all. Must be old habits that die hard. He's not doing much talking right now, figuring sometimes it's best to let the others handle things. His free hand wraps lightly around his midsection as he listens and waits.
Aithne's gaze moves from one to the other of the riders...widening slightly as she happens to look at N'all.
Jude waits, twiddling his toes in his shoes, wondering if he'll still be around for damage control resulting from the impending brawl.
Telinda nods her head, "No, none of you have brains. Well, nice to see what so much salt water does to your heads these days. You can leave now, I'll be talking with the Seacraft Craftmaster in the morning." Read, you're never coming back here again.
No=So
N'all looks at L'mir, "But you may not like what it entails." He looks at L'mir with scrutiny, "Most certainly you would not."
See, that's everything that Joslyn said only she hasn't quite got the whole I'm-the-Weyrwoman-so-listen-or-die thing down yet. Besides which, it's hard to take short blonds with black eyes at all seriously. So, sighing a little, she watches the goings on happily detached now.
The two smaller ones waste no time - both of them take off for the travel wagon again. Railan, however, just mutters a few things under his breath. "See ya in Ista," he half-growls at F'loran, before strutting (and taking his time about it) off toward the area from whence he came...
"I'd hate to be L'mir once N'all gets his hands on him." Aithne mutters quietly to Stella and Largon.
Largon tries not to laugh again, but lets a little out. He leans over to say something to Stella again, He mutters to Stella, "... if people... as... are of Telinda.." He grins slightly, then shakes his head. He nods at Aithne, though.
L'mir purses his lips thoughtfully, then reaches up to push a stray lock of hair back toward his runnertail, or what used to be his tail. "More exercise to get stronger, N'all? It sure would'a helped when I tried to lift that one over there." A tilt of his head goes in the indicated direction of the retreating sailors.
"Hmm.." F'loran mutters in response. "My pa could cream ya on his worst day.." Ahem. That said, he goes back to being quiet again. Nope. He never said a thing.
N'all does something worse than promise exercise, he hands him a shoulder knot, "No, you have to be one of my assistants."
N'all hands the knot to L'mir, that is.
N'all grins, "You can of course of refuse."
"Right!" Telinda calls out, "Some down, some to go. Joslyn, better, but next time duck quicker. You're taking self defence lessons with.." she looks around, oh, that's a chest.. N'all's chest. "with N'all. F'loran, you're banned from Ista, or I'll have you watchriding at Icelake! L'mir, well, you're grounded, but let's get those.." she blinks at N'all, oh, more punishment, "ribs sorted."
Jude shrugs as the heat from the altercation dissipates.
Stella just looks at Largon, raising an eyebrow. "He never quits." she murmurs to herself, but a faint smile can be seen on lips.
Joslyn blinks back to herself, then at Telinda, then at N'all. "Oh, tell me you're kidding? Shouldn't I getta sparring partner a little closer to my own size?" While it might be fun to pound on N'all some, it's highly doubtful that's how these lessons would wind up.
Largon copes with something quietly, stepping away from the door and peering at the sky. He shakes his head, whispering something to himself.
L'mir's elbow reflexively tightens against the weyrwoman's hand, as he gawks at the knot handed to him by N'all. There's a series of quick looks, blinks, then stares dumbly at the cording. "You, uh, want me to be, uh, working with, uh, you.." It's unclear if he means that's a good thing or not. "You want me to, uh, help with the new weyrlings?"
F'loran blinks. Then he blinks again. "I'm banned from Ista? My family /lives/ in Ista!" Eyes wide, and mouth getting that way, too, he just sorta stares at Telinda for a minute. He blinks a third time when he comprehends exactly what's being offered to his brother...
N'all nods to Telinda, "I shall instruct her as best I can." Which is to say, by the time he's done with her she'll be a one woman army.
Jude walks toward the Landing Field.
Aithne seems rather pleased by that announcement..L'mir seems rather nice.
Stella slips out from behind the door, and puts a tentative hand on Largon's arm. She mutters to Largon, "... Lar?... didn't... hurt,..."
Telinda never kids, or she thought at least Joslyn would know that one. "I'm sure you'll learn properly. Might as well learn everything you can!" she remarks, "Perhaps you can even go jogging" now there's a joke, "in the mornings as well." Head tilts, F'loran's looked at, and she sighs, "Sorry, until this is cleared up, you can't. Simple as that. And no painting Kesath to look different, they'll still know it's him. Buck up, it's not all that bad, you might be the one with broken ribs instead of your brother."
N'all nods to L'mir, "Yes, well, at least, eventually. First, though, you have to pay your dues. You will be partnered with Josy and I'll teach you both some better hand to hand skills. I won't have my assistants getting beat up so easily."
Joslyn looks at F'loran, pitying. "That is kinda harsh, Tel. His mom and dad and stuff - THEY didn't have anything to do with all this." She doesn't like this decree at all, frowning at the Weyrwoman decisively. "That's like saying I can't go back t'Bitra. Ain't fair. Ain't fair at all." She probably had more to say, but she blinks at N'all instead. "I'm partnered with L'mir? But - " She scoffs. " - I'll cream him."
Ouch.. Now that hurt. F'loran winces again, and falls nicely silent. Little more than a sigh issues forth from the lad for a long while. Unscathed, he is..and that simple fact pins more guilt on him than anything else. It was his fight, and everyone else got hurt. He says nothing.
N'all looks at Joslyn, "Then I'll be your sparring partner. It's settled."
L'mir sighs, leaning on one leg, the one closest to Telinda of course. "Grounded for how long?" he asks, glancing toward where he knows Brielth is lurking. Probably more of Brielth's question than his own at this point. At N'all's disclosure, he swivels to the right to look Josyward. That brings a winced grimace, but he's got a smile. Not good to let N'all see that smile. He not that dumb.
Largon continues looking up at the sky, then closes his eyes. He says, mostly to Stella, "I wish it would rain." It's almost a whisper in itself. He quietly bows his head and begins walking towards the meadow.
Telinda shakes her head, "You know, Josy, one day you'll find your brain, and then we'll all be totally flabbergasted! Did I mention that L'mir can't take him, or you for that matter? Or that either of you couldn't go and get there, and bring them off the island for a visit? Somedays I really wonder!" She patpats L'mir, "Til those ribs are healed, silly! Can't have you getting hurt anymore can we?"
But wait! That's not what Joslyn had in mind! "I - " She looks up at this big man, utter shock evident. Let's compare, shall we? Josy is five feet tall. N'all is seven feet tall. Josy can barely land a decent punch. N'all... well... use your imaginations. "Jeuneth won't go for that. She thinks you'll squash me," the girl declares with a firm nod. Telinda is overlooked for now. She has MUCH bigger problems to deal with. Literally.
Stella looks after Largon, concerned. Then she hurries to catch up with up. "Lar, wait up." she calls quietly.
N'all looks at Joslyn, "I'm sure Tiarnath will settle Jeuneth's troubles. Report to the barracks at sunup, we'll start with exercises, then the training." He looks at L'mir, "You too, but make sure you tell the healer to bandage those ribs tightly, otherwise you'll really be hating your life."
with him, rather.
N'all also adds, in an effort to sooth Josy's problems, "A good instructor seldom injures his students."
F'loran takes a step back from the rest of the gathered individuals now. Still silent, he pulls a scrap of hide from a trouser pocket, and scrawls something on it quickly. His eyes go distant for a moment.. His 'lizard, little green Tinkerbell, appears from *between*, and he hands the scrap to her. Off she goes again, vanishing from Southern Weyr. That done, F'loran turns on his heels, and wanders off, still not having uttered a sound.
L'mir snags the new assistant weyrlingmaster's knot in one hand, letting it slide up to his elbow. "I really was doing well until I tried lifting him up on my shoulder to toss him." he confides to her. "Just a bad angle." N'all's instructions get an odd look then a "Yessir." from the bronzer. "Good'n tight."
Largon walks toward the Lakeside Meadow.
Stella strides over to the Lakeside Meadow.
Aithne glances curiously at Fol...then at the green. She blinks as the other candidates leave and she seems to debate following.
N'all looks at L'mir, "Oh, and make sure you clear your release with your wingleaders, if they're light, they may not be able to let you go."
Joslyn gawks at the Weyrlingmaster several moments: "Sun up? D'you have any idea how EARLY that is?" It's a plaintive question, sent off with a tragic little frown. "I did just fine! He sucker punched me and I kicked him in the... uhm... weeny weeger. That's pretty good self defense, I think." Poor F'loran earns a glance; she'll go console him later, most likely.
N'all looks at Joslyn, "I can make it an hour before sunup if that's better for you? Or do you want to quit while you're ahead?"
F'loran strides over to the Lakeside Meadow.
"Yeah, clear it with the wingleaders. I will, N'all, sure." L'mir nods agreeably. "And I'll see you in the morning. Early."
N'all just smiles at Josy, "See you at sunup." He looks at L'mir, "Until then.
N'all walks toward the Landing Field.
Telinda grins, "See, we're achieving things, and maybe I can go back to bed soon! L'mir, let's get those ribs bandaged, eh?"
Aithne glances after Fol...then peers around the door at Josy again...her attention to caught by the departing weyrlingmaster and she offers a soft sigh...perhaps of relief..or something.
L'mir watches N'all leave, then fingers his new knot. "Maybe you could help me put this on too? After they do the bandaging? Or would you want to do do that too?" he asks the weyrwoman with a rather silly grin.
Telinda laughs, shaking her head, "Believe me, you *do* not want me wrapping your ribs, I don't have that much talent for that! I can manage the knot though." She gestures towards the infirmary, "Shall we?"
Aithne takes this as her chance to slip out and after the others.
L'mir nods then moves toward the infirmary with Telinda on his arm.
Aithne walks toward the Lakeside Meadow.
Telinda walks toward the quietness of the Infirmary.
L'mir walks toward the quietness of the Infirmary.
F'loran walks over from the Landing Field.
F'loran strides over to the quietness of the Infirmary.
Telinda strides over from the quietness of the Infirmary.
Telinda storms on through, muttering to herself.
Telinda strides over to the Landing Field.
You walk toward the quietness of the Infirmary.
T'rrin rolls over onto his right side which puts his back to all of you....
L'mir phews softly, then lowers his arms as the healer ties off the bandages, then goes over to a small cabinet to take out a few packets filled with herbs. "She's mad." he says softly. "Look, Fol, don't worry. It was just something that happened. They'll simmer down."
Very much against her will, Joslyn wanders in on the heels of one of the apprentices who's fussing over her eye. "It's a bruise. Ain't nothing broken," she assures him, but follows along dutifully nonetheless. Already in enough trouble this evening, she's not quite stupid enough to start another argument.
"Doesn't matter," F'loran says, nearly cutting off his younger brother's remark. "This is my responsibility. I don't know /how/, but I'm sure it could have been handled better. Gah, Joslyn's going to kill me..." That last bit fades off, just as he notices the Goldrider's entrance. He flashes an apologetic smile in her direction, then.
Taking her seat on a stool like a good little goldrider, Joslyn sits there fidgeting while the zealous apprentice goes off to make something soothing for her eye. "Josy's not gonna kill anyone - 'cept a few Healers, maybe," she comments with a threatenting gaze after said apprentice. "I think you got a pretty unfair shake in all this," she adds consolingly to the brownrider.
L'mir accepts those packets of herbs from the healer, listening to the directions the man gives him. "Yeah, will do." he nods, then stuffs them into his pocket. He gets up from the cot, moving his arms about to test the bandage, then nods toward his brother. "I agree with Josy." he says, taking a few steps toward the doorway.
F'loran enhs softly at Joslyn's statement, shrugging up his shoulders. "It'll keep me out of trouble, at least. I had Tinkerbell deliver a message to our parents," and he nods toward L'mir, "explaining what happened." Pause. "There's an upside to all this, I guess. Railan's not coming back ever again..." He grins. "One less thing tow orry about."
T'rrin sighs softly form his cot..
"Because I'll bite your fingers off," says Joslyn to whatever question the apprentice has ventured to ask, coming very near her with his poultice. "Hand it here and I'll do it," she assures, one palm put forth to receive the thing properly.
L'mir flexes his one arm, that bringing a grimace from the pain. "I think I better lay down for a while. Starting with N'all tomorrow will take being rested."
That comment alone is enough to draw forth a curse from Joslyn, who gripes, "Oh, sharditall. I haveta get up at the crack of dawn. Stop fussing. Go away. I don't like you." Those latter comments were meant for the healer who keeps buzzing about the girl while she dabs at her eye with his concotion.
F'loran nodnods to his brother, wincing a touch at his apparent pain. "You should try staying up all night to do night sweeps," he chuckles to the two. "Anyway, I should probably help Joslyn put that stuff on her eye.." and he grins at the Goldrider. "She's less likely to hit me." Or something. "I'll come back and visit ya a little later, ok bro?"
L'mir nods to Fol, then grins at the goldrider. "Yeah, if I'm awake, Fol." At that, he turns, walking slowly out of the infirmary. "See ya, T'rrin." he calls softly to the rider so as not to disturb the others who are sleeping.
L'mir strides over to the Courtyard.
"I am?" asks Joslyn, giving F'loran one of those I-dare-you looks as she presses the thing to her swollen eye. It's a pretty shade of purplish blue, at least, though it really clashes with her attire. Her curses continue, as it's a little tender, punctuated by shards and fardles and shells and she's going to stab the next sailor she lays eyes on, by Faranth's golden shell she is.
F'loran just chuckles, and smiles over at Joslyn. "I would hope so," he remarks, winking to the girl. "Oh, come on. Better'n having a bunch of healers buzzing around and tryin' to help ya, hmm? Let's get out of here 'n let T'rrin and the others sleep." Smile.
T'rrin smirks and just shakes his head slowly...
Joslyn hops down from the stool, making a face at the apprentice who tries to stay her. "I've taken on bigger'n you. Back off, pal," she suggests, taking her poultice and her brownrider toward the courtyard. "Feel better, T'rrin. And lay off th'liquor, huh?" With that, the black-eyed goldrider saunters out.
You walk over to the Courtyard.
F'loran strides over from the quietness of the Infirmary.