The Goldrider Showdown

October 11th 2001
Logged by Pyrene

Weyrwoman for Telgar TP
PREVIOUS: Weyrwoman versus Weyrwoman
NEXT: an emotional finale

Kernow> The ledges of the galleries

Kernow> P'rru nudges Ilare lightly with his elbow. See, comrades in the face of weyrbrats. "Aye, it's an Igen thing..something a child of your intelligence would know nought about!" ahah! Purr the conquerer. And in milder spirits with Ilare on his side he feels like nyah-nyahing the boy, but restrains himself. "Well not trousers exactly, love, shorts" that is whispered towards them both, and robe hitched up to reveal hot lime shorts. They go with the slippers of course. Where are the fashion police when you need em?

Kernow> "See! /Green/ slippers…and he's got matching underpants." Shaiyun's disgust knows no bounds, it would seem. "An' he's wearing a /dress/!" Bat, blink; he scratches his ear, and starts twiddling his thumbs. "He looks funny."

Kernow> On the ledges, Ilare covers her eyes at the sight of such bright colours. "Purr!" Her mildly scandalised tone is coated in good humour, and Chanticoth rumbles in dragonic laughter. Laughter that comes to an abrupt halt as his head tilts skywards. Ignoring her dragon momentarily, the redhaired rider tsks. "Honestly Purr! Have you know… Telgar? Here?" Ilare's head snaps round to her dragon. "That weyrsecond?" Could it be? A gold is leaving?

Kernow> On the ledges, Shaiyun hops to his feet and heads for the stairs, grabbing his broom on the way and giving it a thorough beating against the ground. "I'm gonna go now," he informs them both, "cause I've done my sweepin' an' I don't wanna end up wearin' a dress like P'rru."

Kernow> On the ledges, P'rru barely notices the child's leaving. "Ilare…" he begins with a rattle in his throat "it can't be! It has to be Pyrene! Pyrene's the one to go!" he's sure of it. 8 and a half marks worth of sureness.

Kernow> On the ledges, And off the brat goes. Woo. *ahem* Ilare idly waves, even as she edges towards Chanticoth. P'rru gets a sharp look. "Pyrene?" Chanticoth's whuffle is filled with denial. He likes Cadgwith! (That silver tail… Mmmm..) "Shaela's going to be the one to leave.." And let us go see who gets to leave, yes?

Kernow> On the ledges, P'rru scrambles up Dsalth's side, loosing a slipper off the ledges onto the sands as he does so. "We'll have something to say about this!" as if he runs the weyr or something. P'rru King of Wisdom. "Ilare, quickly, love, quickly…"

Central Bowl

Dsalth swoops in, business like, shoulders hunched to allow his red-faced, robe wearing, one lime slippered rider to the ground. "Dsalth! Sort this out right now!" and save him marks. Puhlease.

Pyrene is there. And oh look, she just /happens/ to have her daughter in her arms. Not too staged then. However, the stress on her face is certainly genuine and the glance she flicks at P'rru is scared. "Evening.." she mutters, shivering. She should have put on a thicker coat.

P'rru strides through the already milling crowd, searching for an answer. And he comes up to Pyrene. "Aye" he replies, face mixed with utter hope (he does have marks riding on it) and actual sympathy for the woman. "Guess this is it then" Dsalth is up on haunches, bugling to Chanticoth and Purr's eyes flick that way. "Well Pyrene…what can I say.." he begins his goodbye speech with lowered voice.

Pyrene glares. "Hey! Nothing's been decided." Although she considers it just /typical/ that Shaela's out of the weyr on business at the moment. If Shaela wins by default…. Cadgwith's eyes are orange as Pyrene's anxiety reflects on her dragon, but she trumpets at the arriving Telgarian pair courteously enough.

Chanticoth is here! Ta da! Mind you, even as the brown touches down on the bowl floor, attention is held by a bronze circling high overhead. Even his rider's gaze is shielded a little by one hand as she peers up into the skies. Head lowering, Dsalth is whuffled and Cadgwith given a reassuring croon. Chanticoth, Like Ilare, believes it will be Shaela who leaves, NOT Pyrene.

P'rru takes a step back from Pyrene, look of startlement weathering his jowls. "No..not yet" he shoots back, fingers fumbling in his pockets for his little baggy of marks. "Where's the others?" Purr is on tiptoes as the foreign bronze lands, searching faces for the weyr's other weyrwomen. Shouldn't they be present too?

Mitria is just emerging from the living caverns, her worried expression turned skywards as her hands clutch at her skirt. "Hello Pyrene," comes it in a timid voice, the werywoman's face never leaving the bronze dragon circling around. "It's time?"

Pyrene nods, absently cuddling Sephne. "Cadge has just recalled the other queens," she informs those gathering. Most importantly Shaela, but one never knows… "Maybe you'll get lucky, Mitria, and they'll transfer Lani."

Still circling, a final bugle - a permission for entry - and the telgar Weyrsecond begins his final descent into the Weyr of Seven Spires, bronze Paramourth and his rider S'ret sent to collect gold dragon and rider. *Dm dum DUM!* Aiming for the landing 'strip' Chanticoth vacated just moments before, dragon touches down on the ground,hearalding the arrival of one queen's escort to a foreign Weyr.

P'rru just chews his lip, a vague nod sent Mitria-wards. "Aye Lani.." he repeats under his breath but the brownrider is still hovering close to Pyrene. Where he's sure to have front-row seats of the event. Drama queen.

Ilare moves towards the knot of riders watching the newly arrived S'ret, tsking under her breath. Chanticoth rumbles softly as he greets the queens and the newly arrived bronze, settling down to watch. "Do we know who's going? Or will Telgar be choosing?" Wasn't it supposed to be the goldriders who chose? Ilare doesn't know, but she's curious to find out who's off to Telgar.

Mitria sighs deeply. "Oh, I hope…." Her mouth opens as if to say 'not', but she clamps it shut again, just sending Pyrne a troubled expression. "Yes, maybe they'll ask for Lani." Why did they leave it up to Telgar?! Why couldn't they just have chosen within their own ranks… what has she done??

Pyrene shakes her head at Ilare. "Nobody decided… I suppose S'ret will want to have some big meeting and we'll hash it out there." She shivers again and tries to fold her arms… remembers she's holding a baby and settles for squeezing Sephne until the toddler whimpers in protest. "High Reaches duties, S'ret." She does not add the title: Harbinger of Doom because that would be impolite.

P'rru just nods and watches and nods and watches. Coz he's holding his breath. Py Py Py. A mantra to save his moolah.

S'ret slides down darkly dappled shoulders, dismount crisp and precise. Slow strides bring him to a halt before the gathered queen riders. A partial bow, the dark maned rider brushes his forelock from his eyes before returning greetings to Pyrene. "Telgar's greetings to High Reaches." Harbinger of Doom? Aww.. And to think he almost brought you gals flowers. Gaze flickers from Pyrene to Mitria, then back again, a frown forming. "If no one minds me sidestepping the formalities, I think it is safe to say you know why I am here."

All the queen riders are assembled now, their dragons forming golden masses huddled about the bowl. Expressions vary, depending on how secure they feel. There is still a decided lack of people leaping forward to volunteer.

Mitria closes her eyes briefly, taking another deep break - you'd almost think she was going into labor - and then nods at S'ret, slowly opening them again. She's ready. Just deliver the blow. "Our duty to you, S'ret," she greets her old childhood friend. Lani is eyed for a long moment - you can almost smell the hostility here.

P'rru sidesteps neatly towards Ilare, head lowered slightly to mutter "It -has- to be Pyrene they want..youngest queen, fertile…glowing with health" and hopefully that comment will subliminally decide S'ret's choice for him right? Old brownrider shuffles back and forth, eyes doing the face-leap from weyrwoman to weyrwoman.

Pyrene tries to melt back into the shadows, nodding hesitantly at S'ret, before training her eyes on Shaela. Maybe if /she/ looks at the youngest goldrider hard enough, everybody else will too. Forget the youngest /dragon/. Shaela's had more riding experience as well as having youth on her side, right?

Oh joy. Does this mean S'ret has to do eenie-meany-miny-mo? Ilare elbows P'rru, eyes widening. "Hush you! And they'll want Shaela - young gold dragon," albeit not the youngest, "and the rider has lots of riding experience." And Chan favours Cadgwith. That has to say something about her choice, no?

And the Telgarians would probably be scared of Cadgwith anyway.

Isn't everyone?

Cadgwith would wave her tail, just for Chanti, but Pyrene wants her to be unobtrusive. And flashing that silvery tail of hers would probably count as Obtrusive. She doens't know about scary.

Pyrene isn't scared of Cadge, thank-you-very-much!

S'ret withholds a sigh, eyes meeting and holding Mitria's for a long moment, a small smile offered to her, before the bronze rider shakes his head, mild disbelief sketched on his features. HE has to choose? Butbutbut.. "Has the weyr chosen?" Well, they might have? Although his shoulders sag briefly. This is NOT an enviable job held by the Weyrsecond.

"Er… not exactly…" somebody says.

"Not chosen?" Purr's suprise is echoed by his fellow Mudsliders that have joined his little watching crew. And a few final bets passed obviously between hands.

Mitria will leave someone else to answer this - she isn't sure of her voice right now. S'ret's eyed briefly, the weyrwoman's hands going to her abdomen - a sign, maybe, or sheer coincidence? Why has she always had excuses not to go between lately? She likes the view when flying stright - that's what she's said.

"Shaela is our youngest queenrider," somebody chips in suddenly (quite probably bribed by Pyrene). "And she's had several turns of experience."

And Chan just /loves/ that silver tail. A silver tail that looks stunning when drapped in shadows, dontcha know? Ilare's feelings are, quite simply, irrelevant. Gold eyes widen when an anonymous voice replies in the mostly-negative to the bronze rider's question, and brownrider peers at the gathered golds. Dear oh dear oh dear..

"Cadgwith's the youngest queen, but with a couple of fine clutches to prove herself with. And Pyrene's grand at management." An nameless weyrbrat of teenage-ness pipes up suddenly, sniggering. Ah yes, those nannying days will come in handy!

"Just don't take Lani! She's the only one with a sense of humour!" another voice adds.

"And they'll love Pyrene at Telgar! She's good with the children!"

Sephne picks that opportune moment to start wailing. Pyrene stands there, quite clearly unsure whether to seem loving or callous.

"Not Shaela! You'll have to take L'shil as well then!" nameless shout cries out.

"Don't take Lani /or/ Mitria - we've enough of those young'uns here," a sour, cranky voice calls out.

S'ret frowns, arms folding across his chest. "Not exactly?" Bushy brow arches skywards, and chissled jaw tightens a little. "How can you 'not exactly' choose?" The gathering weyrfolk crowd and loud comments only increase Paramourth's rider's annoyance. The bronze dragon rumbles, tail snapping a little. "Enough! Please! Someone give me a straight answer?" Eyes fall on Mitria. Childhood friends be they - surely she'll speak plainly and not shroud her words in ambiguity?

"I'll give you good marks to take Nuff!" somebody says gruffly in the silence that follows. And is promptly quietened by an encounter between his neighbour's foot and his shin.

Mitria sends S'ret a look of pure despair, and opens her mouth to speak. "Oh!" A sob emerges instead, and the weyrwoman turns half away, trying to mask her anguish.

Ilare winces as Sephne begins to wail, expression one of mixed horror. Where's the weyrleader when you need him? The comment in regards to Nuff causes a sudden burts of giggles, quickly quelled, even as Mitria's sudden years automatically cause her to remove a small kerchief from her pocket, square of fabric offered to her.

P'rru begins doing the march, scuttling back and forth at this indecision. "Please, sir, do stop torturing our poor weyrwomen…they've got enough on their plate as it is.." as in, stop mucking around you dimglow! 'Pyrene' he mouths, melding behind other riders- protection.

Pyrene has been sending frantic messages via Cadgwith, and suddenly F'ish comes through for her. He makes his way dramatically into the moonlight before all and sweeps one hand out to Sephne. "The gulf of separation. Is too much. For a father. To endure." he declaims. "But the choice… must be Telgar's. And Telgar's alone." The sight of Mitria's tears seems to inspire him to new heights and he sweeps his cloak behind him bravely, ready to compose an epic there and then.

Pyrene glares at F'ish. That wasn't /quite/ what she had in mind. She stiffens resolutely, quieting Sephne by placing a hand firmly over the child's mouth. The girl is used to this odd form of discipline, knowing it means she'll have no success, so she shuts up and chews at the hand sulkily.

P'rru gets a suitably scathing look - he was informed that the Weyrwomen of High Reaches would choose! - before S'ret finds himself faced with.. F'ish. Uhh.. Right. It is only the sudden onslaught of tears that cause the anger to melt away, and pushing past the gaggle of people present, he reaches towards Mitria. "My lady, no tears. Do not cry.." A soft croon is emitted by the bronze, who slinks forth, romancing overtones filtering into dragon-song. But it appears that the bronze rider has made up his mind. "No more pretense, my love." Love? Yes, you heard right. "What ails you?"

Mitria happily accepts the loving words of the Telgarian bronzerider, weeping even more as she leans towards him, blurting something out in between hiccups and sobs. "I'm.. I'm…" The last is whispered for S'ret's ears only - she doesn't have the strength to speak up; as usual, it would seem. Awaiting his reaction, the weyrwoman leans back, watching his face eagerly. Everything else is forgotten; even Lani who looks incredibly smug over the fact that Mitria embarassed herself in public like this.

Pyrene's jaw drops. "Love???" she chokes out. Other words fight for access to her mouth, but there's too many things she could say and she's not relaxed enough to pick what should be said first.

P'rru pounds one hand into the palm of his other. "Anyone seen Ciera?" if they have he's going to hide. And hoard his remaining marks.

F'ish looks as if he's about to swoon with delight. "The secret lovers… the desperate divide between two weyrs. Can all be healed? Or will Reaches say no? For surely… Pyrene or Shaela. The better choice for a tired weyr. Rejuvenation." The drama has now superceded his original purpose in coming down here.

Arms surround the weeping weyrwoman, S'ret holds her close as she whispers words to him, ignorant of the sheer spectacle they are creating. Eyes widen at her word, and he pulls back to stare down at her (being oh so many hands higher, you see). "Truly?" Shock, delight, and clarity take their place on his ruggedly sculpted features, before he picks up his beloved, twirling her briefly. This makes things so much clearer! Turning to the gathered crowd, as if only now remembering why he is here, S'ret holds up a hand for attention. "Wonder no longer, for my choice is made clear. My beloved shall return with me to Telgar - I cannot possibly choose any other than she who bears my child."

And the crowd goes wild! … with wonder.

P'rru groans, as do many of the crowd who have fallen prey to the wiley bookiemaker bluerider. "Shells and shards!" and with that, brownrider shoulders away from the throng, already mounting his dragon with a decidedly terse look upon his face.

Pyrene throws some scraggy toy of Sephne's at F'ish. "Of /course/ he'll take her. Love conquers all, you know??" Pyrene has heard her harper ballads, and she knows when to use them. "Pregnant?? And /why/ didn't you say this a month ago!" Desperate relief turns to irritation in a single stroke.

Gape. HERE'S something you don't see every day. Ilare stares, eyes wide with wonder, mouth covered by a hand to hide dropped jaw. "By the first egg of Faranth!" Purr's reaction garners impromptu laughter. Hmmm.. Oh Ciera..

Mitria weeps on, now part from relief and part from guilt over Pyrene's words. "Be-be-cau-au-se I d-didn't th-think th-they'd want meee…." Meaning Telgar, of course, or S'ret and Paramourth - who knows.

F'ish wipes a tear from his eye. "Indeed. The age old adage… is true once more. Love conquers all. And all bow before Love." And bow he does, one hand swept wide towards Arielth.

"OK, you were right," one brat says gloomily to another. "It wasn't Pyrene who was pregnant." And more marks change hands.

"That's why she's been to Southern so much… not 'cause she had that injury and needed rest," an awed onlooker comments.

P'rru swings up to ease himself between defined neckridges

"My sweet, how anyone could not want you is beyond me!" S'ret's words are backed up by Paramourth and Salbeth's bugles. And no comments from the peanut gallery, please. (Yes, that means YOU, Lani.) Voice lowers as arms encircle Mitria once more. "And /I/ will always want you." As if to reassure her of such things, the bronze rider dips and smooches the teary-eyed queenrider, adding enough passion to make the Harper's run for their guitars. Straightening, he smiles softly at her. "Will you come with me? To Telgar?" As they have always dreamed she would since they were but youngsters so long ago.

Several onlookers break out into applause at the kiss, and there can be few dry eyes in the bowl right now.

Mitria seems ready to swoon as she's kissed - and when she's straightened up again, and asked that question, she can barely contain her joy and relief. "Yes! Yes I'll come with you!" No matter what anyone says, she'll take with him. "Oh, my love, my dear S'ret. I thought we'd never be together again!" Oh yes, this is the stuff they make ballads about.

Ilare has dry eyes. But only just. Mind you, when you're quite happily paired, it's nice to see romance florish before thee with others, neh?

"Sealed with a kiss! The pact. For life everlasting." the voice drones on, although few people are still focussing on F'ish.

Pyrene has dry eyes too, mainly because her mind's still reeling from the unexpected turn of events. "Oh, good shells… Can I write the record for this?"

From his seat between pinstriped, stately neckridges P'rru chokes. "That is it, lughead…no more fancy strap work…no more kegs of wine from the vineyards for me…" sniffle snuffle. Purr is gonna cry. But not from sentiment.

S'ret beams, twirling Mitria once more, before lightly kissing her, as if to seal the words and make a pact 'tween the Weyr's with a kiss. "Never say never again, my darling. Come! We must away at once to Telgar!" The weyr can send her things later, no?

"Oh shut it, F'ish!" one of the less romantical, old brownriders yell. "Not even the mother of your child likes that trash!"

Mitria just beams out her happiness and nods, taking S'ret's hand in hers as they, together, go to their awaiting dragons, who will take then :between: to a better life, for both!

"And into the sunset!" F'ish sighs, unabashed by catcalls and hecklers. "The lovers wend their way. Straight for an unborn babe's protection." "Sun/rise/!" somebody corrects him. F'ish ignores him. Poetic licence.

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