Donis wants to be a Candidate

27th October 2002
Logged by Donis

Living Caverns
The rough-hewn majesty of this cavern far outpaces any delight in the multitudes of curves that form its enclosure. The glabrous grey granite is shot through with translucent obsidian, lending subtly-veined sparkle to the walls and the foot-trodden smoothness of the floor that shows centuries-old placements of the scarred trestle tables; carven hollows give homes for the glow baskets and the coat-pegs that line the walls. No mosaics, no painting, no tiles: just a few well-done tapestries mark the pathway that lead to the kitchen to the north and the inner caverns to the west, and frame the nighthearth's stew and snacks, while a heavier strip of oiled canvas shields the unwary from the wind… [look closer]
Scattered about in various perches and niches are forty-nine firelizards.
Ashli is here.

"John… Jo-ohn…." Donis wanders through the caverns, calling out (presumably) in vain for someone or something. "Anyone seen a brown firelizard?" he asks hopefully, ignoring the half-dozen or so brown firelizards hanging around the living cavern.

Lauria arrives from deeper in the Weyr.
Lauria exchanges the protection of stone for the bowl outside.

Rajanigandha arrives from deeper in the Weyr.

Naylia glides in from the Central Bowl.
Naylia steps into the shadows that lead back into the Weyr.

Ashli blinks up at Donis from her chair, and peers around curiously. "Yep!" she chirps cheerily, and waves a hand about at the living caverns. "See any ya like?" she giggles wryly, and shrugs, "Where'd you last see him?" is queried slowly, and she uncurls her legs from underneath her…

Rajanigandha has disconnected.

The girl's blueblack hair gives her an aura of mystery, raging curls framing a sweet, heart-shaped face, her wild locks of hair tumbling down her back to swing at a reasonable length a quaint bit below her shoulders, the jet black swirls contrasting with the rosy complexion of her clear face, usually un-marred by the dust and soot normally accompanied with a child of her age. Bright cobalt eyes peer out from under arched brows, the azure orbs intelligently noting almost everything, so as to be able to figure out some very canny tricks with her eager mind. Her lithe, willowy shape gives her the ability to squeeze into places her twin cannot, yet the lass seems to come out of situations in perfect attire, though the fiery gleam in her eyes may suggest that there are layers under the youngling's skin that aren't readily presentable…Recently, Ashli seems to have gotten into a rather large catfight. A nice black eye (but not as nice as the one she gave out? decorates her left eye, though it's beginning to fade, and bright pink scratches travel up and down her arms, and on the left side of her face. Bruises decorate the entirety of the girl, but the large bruise on her right cheek seems to be the best one. Her bruises are fading into light greens, purples, and blues. Pastel, almost. She could be a piece of artwork…
A sapphire dress envelops the girl, the neck cut in a gentle squarish pattern. The dress draws in at the waist, and is cinched by a sparkly azure ribbon, tied in a softly curling bow in the back. Pleats decorate the skirted part, the dress alternating between a light sea-mist colour and a darker stormy blue, the colour of a raging sea. Small shoes, sturdy and warm, wrap around her feet, the leather dyed a soft misty lapiz… Three firelizards are crowded on her shoulders.
She is a child of about 8.

"Very funny," Donis scowls at the little girl. "And I don't remember where I last saw him. Eating something earlier, maybe. Doesn't matter, anyhow. Didn't need him for anything…" The lad plops into a chair near to Ashli, though not before swiping a sweetroll from a plate someone left behind. "You're Ashli, aren't ya?"

Ashli thought so, as evidenced by the giggles that Ashi attempts to muffle by taking a sip of fruit juice from the mug cradled in her hand. "Yep." she agrees briefly, Donis taking second fiddle to a cookie she dug up from her pouch. Draggieth is slouched on the chair beside her, worn bronze plushie squished against the side…

Donis scowls at the girl, black eyebrows beetling together just like his father's used to. Shoving half his sweetroll into his mouth at one go, he jumps back out of the chair. "Huh. Right." Little girls….

You head into the kitchens' warm, food-scented depths.

Mind your head and don't trip on the stairs!
Stores and Wine Cellar
Redolent with the smells of oak and spirits, fresh linens and drying stores, these caverns offer a certain cool serenity. Swept clean and kept neat, the stores area is well-lit and carefully arranged to offer efficient access to the weyr-tithe. A few small stools and narrow wooden tables offer a quiet moments peace.
Deeper into the weyr, the cool dampness of the cellars stores large casks of wine and spirits. A large stone table and some worn rock-benches fill one branch of the caves, while the Storemaster's office is angled such that any unauthorized visitors might be apprehended.
Most of the hallways are barred and locked.. most of them. But perhaps a few are open?
Auryn, Bronagh, and Pyrene are here.

Ashli comes down the stairs.

Yay! The evil caterwauling child has ceased and desisted! At least for now, which is time enough for Bronagh to continue to put the smooth moves on Pyrene… Out of respect, of course. Eyeing the skin he just passed to the goldrider, the lad winces internally. There he is, just stating how wonderful of a wine tester he is, and he just passed the weyrwoman a skin of turn old ale? Oy-vey. "Actually," Bron states, reaching out to snatch the bottle back. "This one /just/ won't do… Let me .. um.. see what else they have here…" He quickly turns around to search through the carefully penned labels for something more… um… weyrwomany.

Donis trawls down into the cellars, with the perennial half-sweetroll in one hand - though it's been joined by a meatroll in the other. "Jo-ohn…" he calls out, and then falls silent. Eeek. Weyrwoman alert!

Pyrene considers Auryn briefly. "By the volume and shrillness of your protest, I would say that Tyara probably /should/ know. But I'm open to dealing at all times, dear." Pyrene believes in teaching kids survival methods, not morals. Her eyes roll at the further influx of children, and she folds her arms. "That goes for your mothers too." Then the children are forgotten momentarily as she calls after Bronagh: "I like reds!"

Slight and spindly, her frame is nevertheless held as stubbornly tall as possible, falling only just shy of average height. Curves have in part softened the sharp angles of old, turning scrawny and frail into stocky and trim, while breast and hip testify to her motherhood. Still, there's nothing neat about the lank tendrils of dark brown hair as they escape the skimpy plait that struggles to keep them under control. Plaguing her point-nosed, thin-lipped face, they only serve to emphasise the peakiness of her complexion. Yet if there were any doubts about her vitality, the grey eyes that snap out from beneath dark brows eliminate them as effectively as twin thunderstorms.
A blue firelizard is perched on her shoulder.
Black, blue and sea-washed gold tangle their way over the badge worn by all members of Esprit wing.
She is an adult of about 30.

The gray of a winter dusk lurks in those deep-set eyes, placed as they are above fairly prominent cheekbones. The barest snub of a nose leads down to her small, pouty mouth, and a strong chin completes the shape of her face. Tresses of unruly, auburn hair have grown as long as possible and curl their way almost to the small of her back, and spill over her forehead and into her eyes. She stands a bit short for her age, with thin arms and frail legs - one may suspect she's taking after her father's height. However, there is a stubborn strength in her that speaks of a temper, contrasting her physical appearance.
Her dress hangs loosely on her thin frame, a practical shade of dirty-brown it is. Sturdy boots are tied securely to her feet, to protect them against the ground. Her mane of hair is tied up with a single black ribbon, and hangs like a llama-tail down her back. Two firelizards are perched on her shoulders.
On her shoulder sits the knot of a High Reaches Weyrbrat, dirty-black and faded blue witnessing the row of previous owners.
She is a child of about 10.

Thick waves of auburn hair sprout from atop this young man's head, unevenly cut so that strands stick out in spiky angles. Sun kissed skin covers broad brow and high cheekbones; the faintest dusting of freckles helping to highlight the emerald orbs that peek out from under faint lashes. Acicular nose extends slightly over thin lips, revealing even white teeth when he smiles. Standing over six feet, Bronagh may at first appear older than his Turns, but his boyish grin reminds people of his true age.
For such an autumn child, earthen colors are encouraged; that is why Bronagh's flowing tunic is dyed a swarthy forest green the appropriate hue to intensify the deep emerald of his gaze. Meanwhile, the squared shoulders of this garment accomplish another feat with Bron's upper build, allowing him to look much more brawny than whats factual. Thin, silver braids trim the button-down front and the pleated cuffs while dark wooden buttons fasten the material comfortably against his chest. In contrast to the loose jacket, the trous that sheath his legs were fashioned to fit much more snug; ruddy klah fabric begins low upon narrow hips and tapers down to tuck neatly into laced boots. More silver trim runs along the outseam and rounds the hemmed ends and a black leather belt finishes the outfit. A brown firelizard is perched on his shoulder.
He is a teenager of about 19.

A round face is eternally youthful, bordering on cherubic with proud-appled cheeks that are quick to smile and bright mud-brown eyes. Small pink lips are a splash of color on pale skin, as are beetle-black eyebrows, twins to the unruly ringlets that bounce around just below his ears. Short stature can be attributed to genetics and age, but no childhood tubbiness for him: legs and arms are faintly wiry from the movements of restless muscles.
Bright colors make up Donis' tunic, a cheerful sea green's blue brought out in the bright navy stitching that makes sturdy cuffs and decorated seams of a supposedly indestructable piece of clothing. Pants are durable wherhide left in its natural tan, without frill except for more reinforced seams. They bunch around the tops of scuffed half-boots, too long for his short legs.
He is a child of about 12.

Auryn perks up visibly as other fellow brats enter the cellars. "Do-onis! Ash-leee! Do you want to play with me and Druseth?" she calls out, waving her hand wildly from her seat on her blanket. The silly adults are all forgotten now - besides, they're still stupid. Even though Pyrene doesn't look like she'll tell Tyara she saw her daughter alone in the cellars with a sleek guy.

Ashli bounces and flounces down the stairs after Donis, having decided it's much more exciting to follow a fellow searching for a flit than to sit around like a lazy bum. Her cookie, however, is still clutched in a hand, and Draggieth swings from the other. Ashli sproings deeper into the cellars, and, upon noting Bronagh and Pyrene, waves amicably, "Heyla!" she chirps happily. Auryn is then noticed on a blanket on the floor, and she waves at the older brat, "Can Draggieth come?" is asked as she sproings over that-a-way. Ahh, the joys of playing with plushies…

Donis cringes visibly. "I don't play with /girls/," he answers Auryn rather irritably, letting Ashli rush past in her enthusiasm. "I'm looking for my firelizard…. Hello Weyrwoman. You going to get some wine?" he addresses Pyrene in as grown-up a tone as his reedy treble can manage.

Bronagh catches the comment and searches for something red. He inspects every skin, turning them this way and that, hardly believing his good fortune with this chance to impress the weyrwoman, of all wonderful ladies. Upon raising one skin up close to read the scribbled label, he nearly drops it as more screechy, childlike voices come into play. Oh no. Not more! When we he ever get any sleep, and why are kidlest allowed in the cellars anyway!!

"And what's your firelizard made from?" Pyrene enquires of Donis sweetly. "Felt? Wool? I'm not getting wine. /Bronagh/ is getting wine." Because Pyrene is a weyrwoman and /far/ too important to get her own wine - if there's a dupe willing to do it for her. "Ashli, play quietly if you must play."

Auryn looks up at Ashli with a beam and nods her head vigorously. "Of course! He can play with Druseth." And with those words, she falls silent and concentrates on playing with the plushies… in fact, you'll probably not even notice her being there.

"Weyrwoman Pyrene, my firelizard is a /real/ one," Donis tells the woman patiently. Sure, he has a stuffed llama somewhere, but…. "Are you going to drink the wine though?"

Auryn goes home.

Ashli rolls her eyes at Donis. "You were having a conversation with me earlier." she remarks blandly from her position near to Auryn, rolling her eyes yet again for good measure. She plops herself down on the blanket and hops little bronze plushie around with the help of little bronze flizzen, before blinking up at Donis. Silly boy. What /else/ would she do with it? But, Ashli holds her peace, miraculously enough, and sighs as her playmate leaves, getting up from the blanket and peering around…

With a yelp of discovery, Bronagh holds high a fine skin of Benden red, dated back some 16 Turns or so. "I think you'll find this one much to you liking," the still sleepy, (but trying hard to hold his composed charm in place) resident exclaims. Alas, for certain the date and type are right, but the poor lad forgets to check the flask for puncture marks, meaning that air might have entered over the turns and damaged the wine. Maybe he'll be llucky as usual, and things will end up /just/ fine… As they should. Because that's what happens to charming, roguish, handsome lads like Bron. (Even when he's dead tired with shrieking kids trying to make his head explode)

Pyrene just beams at Bronagh, quite amenable to people who are getting her alcohol. "Thank-you so much!" she coos. "Now, I could drown Donis in this. Or I could serve it to the Telgar Weyrleaders when they visit this afternoon - which do you think would be best, Ashli?" she asks, swiveling to look at the youngest child.

Donis makes a face at Ashli. "I did /not/ have a conversation with you. I just asked you if you'd seen a brown firelizard." There, that said, he catches onto what Pyrene said, and half-squeals in horror. "You shouldn't drown me in /wine/! Mom wouldn't be pleased…."

Ashli is /not/ a shrieking kid. She's a hungry kid. Crunch chomp crunch. Her cookie is soon devoured, and she riffles around in her pouch for another. Upon not finding one, she pouts momentarily, and riffles around again, this time looking for any sort of food. She triumphantly finds a sweetstick, and straightens with her prize held in a hand. Pyrene's question is mulled over, and she slowly answers, "Well, I'd serve this one to the Telgar Weyrleaders, and use that other one to drown Donis. The one-year old one." A bright nod and a giggle accompany this statement. A kidlet who somewhat knows about wines. The world may be coming to an end…

Bronagh isn't sure that the weyrwoman should be drowning any child in wine - good or bad. Because no matter the vintage, that's just a silly waste of wine. Water will do just as nicely. However, Bron keeps his comments to himself regarding this topic. With the flush of kids seeming to get thicker, the lad decides that perhaps the cellars /aren't/ (afterall) a great place to take a nap. The dorms, though loud as they may be, are prolly his best bet… "Well… um…" Charm is slowly slipping fast, and sleepiness is gaining, as the resident picks up his blanket and pillow and bows again to the goldrider. "It was a pleasure serving you, Weyrwoman Pyrene. But I should perhaps continue on my search for a resting spot…." Not that he wants to leave her side, but with the kids and the fact that he's about to fall flat on his face, you can understand his concern about not embarassing himself before her in such a way, neh?

"There are worse ways to go," Pyrene observes for Donis' benefit. Ashli probably has better knowledge of wine than Pyrene at any rate. The goldrider has precious little palate, but she enjoys it nonetheless. "You sure, Bron?" she queries, eyes alight. "Perhaps you'd better take a skin with you. Surprising how often wine can aid in a quest for a warm bed at night." And she smirks.

Bronagh will take that comment with him to his grave. His beautific smile grow wider, if that is indeed possible. Nodding, the lad chooses something of a lesser vintage and quickly pockets it. "I will remember that," he tells the goldrider, bowing once again for good measure. He then gives the kidlets another smile, though this one isn't as roguish. "As for you… Would you like for me to drop a note to your nannies, informing them of where you are? I mean, I wouldn't want them to worry, or anything…." Muahaha…

Donis scowls again. People wanting to drown him. "Can I have some wine then, Weyrwoman?" he pipes up. "I want a new bed."
Donis also scowls at Bronagh. "We don't need nannies. Our parents are dragonriders." So nyah.

Ashli waves at Bronagh as he escapes, and nods, looking towards Donis, "You could get flamed by a draggie!" she suggests as an alternative. Some alternative. Ashi blinks a few times at Pyrene's suggestion, and muffles a giggle with a bite of her sweetstick. Ashli abruptly spins and glares at Bronagh, "I've got Aries covering for me, don't you worry." she murmurs oh-so-innocently, before blinking at Donis, and rolling her eyes, "/You/ need a nanny."

Bronagh just grins. "Well, you know.. Just checking.." Then, with a jaunty step and a whistle, the lad makes his way off down the dark corridor. Well, at least until the first turn, where he then gives into the much needed request for sleep by his body, and finally does fall flat on his face. Thank goodness that was a skin and not a glass bottle in his pocket, neh?
Bronagh goes home.

Pyrene glares at Donis. "That's all the more reason to have a nanny. Your mother has better things to do than look after you. Ashli, dear, please don't discount me in your evil schemes for Pern-domination. I think you will find me a worthy foe." Fiddling idly with the skin she debates whether to retreat or to continue brat-baiting.

"I do not need a Nanny. I'm old enough not to need one. Unlike /you/ and your brother," Donis retorts to Ashli. Poor Pyrene, caught in the middle just the way she used to be. "In fact…" Donis strikes a sort-of adult pose. "I'm old enough to be a Candidate for Tiareth's eggs. Aren't I, Pyrene?"

Ashli rolls her eyes mirthfully at Bronagh, and blinks at the sound of a falling person. She sneaks over towards said turn and peers about, muffling a soft giggle with her hand as she notes the sleeping boy, before darting back over towards Pyrene and giggling, "Oh, I don't want to dominate Pern. Only 'Reaches." See, she'll start small…

Pyrene stifles a smile at Donis' oh-so-subtle hint and continues looking at Ashli. "He's right, he is, although boys mature later than girls anyway. But you watch yourself young lady, because whether or not I'm going to tell your mother will be my own decision, not yours."

Donis frowns a bit. "You're not going to tell my Mom anything, are you?" he checks worriedly. "I mean, there's nothing to tell - 'cept that I lost my firelizard, and he'll come back when he's hungry." The lad eyes up Ashli. "You want to take over the Reaches? Huh."

Ashli sighs. "I'm /almost/ old enough." she notes mournfully, before azure eyes widen considerably, "But…but…I was only kidding, really! The nannies are boring…it's so much more fun to be out and about. See, if I'd been with the nannies, I wouldn't be talking with you! And that would be sad." she nods at the end of that statement. Ahh, the maze of kidlet logic. Indisputable.

"Ashli, you've four turns until you're old enough!" Pyrene points out with maddening accuracy. "And seeing as I never seek out your company, it's hardly likely that being able to talk to you makes me glad you're down here. Donis, I may or may not tell your mother. Depends what you'll offer me for my silence." The corruption in High Reaches politics spreads deeper than most realise.

Donis looks worried - he clearly can't think of anything. In fact… "I wanted to ask something of you, Weyrwoman Pyrene," he tries at his politest, brushing black curls back from his face. He has thought of something. "Could I be a Candidate for Tiareth's clutch, please?"

Ashli sighs again. "Well…yes. But, that's better than five Turns!" she notes optimistically, before giggling, "Well, maybe you haven't seeked out my company before because…um…you were afraid Aries would get offended!" she nods brightly at her solution, taking another bite of sweetstick…

Pyrene sighs. From subtle hint to full frontal offence. "Donis," she says heavily, turning to face the lad, thundercloud eyes staring down at him. "If I were to ask anybody to Stand, it would be a decision made not lightly. What possible reason could you have to think that /you/ would be worthy to pass beneath Tiareth's eyes, and the eyes of the Weyrleader's dragon to take a chance at one of their children?" Ashli is ignored in favour of cutting down Donis, but chances are the little girl's logic is erroneous.

"Well, my father /was/ Weyrsecond and Weyrlingmaster. And my mother's been a Wingsecond too," Donis points out perfectly rationally. "I'm a lo..logic…locigal… obvious choice, aren't I?"

Ashli muffles a giggle with her hand, before finally getting herself under control, though azure eyes dance with laughter. Ooh, shot down. Draggieth is swung idly, and her sweetstick is finished with a happy flourish as Ashli subtly takes a step back from the weyrwoman, perhaps in hopes that she'll continue to concentrate on Donis.

Pyrene seems to loom a little taller over the lad. "So the only reasoning you can offer is the name of your parents? The name of your dead father is going to become a bargaining chip, is it? Not to mention the fact that D'renn was the only person to have been sacked from the position of Weyrlingmaster in memory, so even there you're on shaky ground." The rebuttals turn cruel now; behind the malicious humour, Pyrene disdains Donis' temerity to ask.

Donis can stand up for himself though - no ex-nanny, gold dragon or not, is going to reduce him to jelly. "How do you know that a dragon wouldn't want to Impress to me? What if I wasn't on the Sands and it was. What would it do?" Ok, not the best argument on Pern. "Maybe you don't think I should, but if a dragon sniffs me out tomorrow, you'll be sorry!" Childish petulance takes over from his best attempts at being grown up, and his lower lips gets stuck right out.

Lorsalia wanders in from the catacombs.

Ashli tilts her head to the side curiously, and nods slowly, before wrinkling her nose and sighing. Pyrene's good. Poor Donis. Ashli blinks a few times, and muffles another giggle. The poor boy's even forgotten that the hatching probably won't occur for a good long time…definitely not to-morrow. Ashli stays silent, hovering in the background, Draggieth clutched tightly. Py wouldn't tell Ris or Areiah, now, would she? Naw…of course not…

Pyrene will take the risk. "If a dragon sniffs you out tomorrow, I'll be sorry indeed. I would think that there are many more deserving people than a sulky child to stand on the Sands," she notes dryly. "And Hatchling dragons aren't overly fussy. They're shatterwitted and hungry - they're not going to waste time figuring out who is and isn't there. The point of Searching people is to make sure that who /is/ there for them is worthy of them. And I can't say that I consider /you/ worthy." Malice doesn't so much drip from her words as freeze and shatter on contact with air. And then she turns from Donis, ignoring him completely to greet Lorsalia. "Lors! Areiah's not sent you to look for Ashli, has she? I'm sure somebody must be missing the brat by now."

R'sli comes down the stairs.

Lorsalia's coloring is rather golden, with tanned and freckled skin and strawberry blond hair. Blue-grey eyes are clear and framed by pale lashes; her arching eyebrows are also pale. The sharpness of the rider's pert nose and wide mouth are softened by the roundness of her face, which serves to give her a somewhat youthful appearance at this stage in life. Furthering the cause, her hair is a short and angled bob, just past her chin in the front and with barely any length in the back. Lorrie is average height and though slender, muscled from her duties as a dragonrider. No one could claim that she isn't feminine, however, since she definitely has curves in all the appropriate places.
Lorsa wears a simple bone-colored canvas dress, the knee-length thing mostly shapeless except that it has been paired with many sheer scarves of magenta. Two each fall from her shoulders, simulating sleeves, while another long one ties around her waist with a knot on her left hip. The ends flutter nicely past the hem of the dress, making it look that much shorter.
An emerald green ribbon, for Yajisarath, entwines with Lorsalia's black and sapphire knot into the shape denoting a WingSecond. The brown, black, and blue badge above proclaims her a Mudslider.
She is a young adult of about 21.

Youth's countenance has faded from his face; tinker heritage faint amongst the wind-burned lines of a rider's stature. Coal-black hair, dusted with starlit single-strands of silver, is trimmed short, the longest strand a scant knuckle's length. Silver-framed spectacles with small, round lenses perch upon his nose, those and the silvery scar across his brow, intensifying his violet gaze. His medium 5'7 frame is tightly packed with ropy muscles gained from Turns of riding. With riding comes a price, though - evidenced by the limp that's apparent when he moves. As he catches your gaze he offers a lopsided-grin, leaving you the urge to count your teeth to be sure he hasn't charmed any away. Yes, he's one to watch out for, all right.
R'sli wears a linen shirt, dyed royal blue, tucked loosely into black wherhide pants that hug his thighs and disappear into calf-high black boots.
He is an adult of about 35.

Ashli suddenly feels sympathetic for the poor Donis, and creeps slightly farther back from Py. "No, no, I've got Aries covering for me, don't you worry…" she insists yet again. "You don't need to send anyone to tell anyone…" Ahem. Right. Lorsa is noticed, and Ashli waves brightly, "Lorsa!!" she exclaims, bounding over towards her, and hiding oh-so-slightly behind her. She's not afraid of Pyrene…naw…well…maybe a /little/…

Any stealth Lorsalia may have attempted was ruined as soon as she put on her pink party dress, which is terribly wrinkled and in need of ironing. Still, she lurks at the exit to the catacombs, spying on the small group until Pyrene points her out. "Aww, Pyr/ene/. I don't wanna take her back. You do it. You were the nanny." She immediately whines, forgetting any etiquette that might call for more polite speech. "And besides, I only came down to see if there's some good Tillek. Someone stole all mine!" More likely, she drank it all, since it seems very few people actually like the stuff around here. Ashli receives a death glare and Lorsalia does all but turn her back on the girl. "No. I'm not taking you back."

R'sli enters - slipping in, really. Quickly scanning the room, his face falls just a little as he realizes that he's not alone. Guess this raid is a bust. Instead, he takes a deep breath, and steps out of the shadows. "And just what is Aries doing for you?" he asks his daughter. If she's ducking work, she can't be up to any good.

Suddenly the heat seems to be off Donis, and he takes a few steps back from the looming Pyrene. Although he's getting to be nearly as tall as her, she's still scary. He just looks…. well, angry and unhappy at the same time.

Pyrene nods solemnly at Ashli. "Ris, what are you doing here? Ashli told me
Aries was covering for her." Tattle. "You should ask Bronagh for some wine, Lors - you just missed him. I'm sure there's some Tillek around here somewhere. I've got Benden myself, but that's for the Telgar Weyrleader. He's visiting today, y'know…" Brats forgotten, Pyrene is happy to chat.

Ashli squeaks, and bounds away from Lorsa. "No, I don't /want/ to go back." she asserts, before jumping with a squeak from her corner. "Daddy! Um…nothing, really." she insists, somewhat persuasively, attempting to smile winningly. Just her luck, she had to mention Aries and covering up when Ris arrives. At least she didn't blurt out her 'plan' of…"Awww, Pyrene!" Tattletale.

R'sli nods, although his expression indicates that he's not quite falling under the girl's charms. "Mmmhmm," he says, and moves to the racks. "Is there any more of that Benden Gold?" he asks Pyrene. "Or is that being squirrelled away for Telgar, as well?"

It seems that not even Ashli is paying attention to Donis now…. and the lad quietly starts to edge away from Pyrene and towards the steps out.

Pyrene snorts. "Now I know why Areiah was so amenable to me procuring the Benden red rather than the gold which Zi'n mentioned. There was a new shipment in apparently. Not sure where it's been put." She continues to take no heed of the brats, although she herself has to get going soon.

Lorsalia sniffs at Ashli and R'sli, passing them all by to look for what she wants. "Who's Bronagh?" The wingsecond asks Pyrene over her shoulder, trying to peer closely at labels. "Never heard his name."

Ashli sighs in a somewhat relieved fashion, and nods in response almost automatically. Phewpf. Draggieth is delicately placed in her pouch, and Donis is noticed again. Uh huh. Very sneaky. Trying to escape from Pyrene. Well, /she/ won't give him up. Silence from her position.

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