Early days at Igen, Josilina meets some new faces and runs into one that's at least vaguely familiar. Conversation topics include rocks, family, and getting Ywain a girl.Where:
Igen Weyr Living Cavern.Who:
Devany, Josilina, Ywain, and Laynard.
Logfile from PernMUSH.
Igen Weyr Living Cavern(#600RJMQ$)
Igen's living cavern is an immense hollow in the volcanic caldera, stretching up two stories to a slightly charred ceiling; the light of the glows and hearth are reflected in the quartz which peppers the unique Igen swirled sandstone. Large enough to seat the entire weyr, the living cavern is always buzzing with activity. Tapestries adorn the walls, depicting scenes from Pern's past. The head table sits upon a raised platform at the far eastern side of the room, in front of a huge and continually burning fireplace.
The stairs lead up to a wide balcony that overlooks the cavern. Large tunnels lead west out to the bowl, and south to the kitchens. A smaller tunnel to the east leads deeper into the inner caverns. A doorway in the northern wall opens to the infirmary, while the small door to the northeast opens into the Records Room. In the corner between the infirmary and the records room is a plaque.
Tables fill a good portion of the room ('+help places'). +view is available. Use '+lc/help' for commands.
Bowl STairs Records Room INFirmary Kitchen Inner Caverns
Generally unremarkable in her build, Josilina stands at just under five and a half feet, her build proportionate to match, with just a little extra weight left by motherhood and the passing Turns. Kept long, her copper curls fall to mid-back when loose and tend to frizz, particularly in damp weather. Set under sienna 'brows, her blue eyes look all the brighter for her newly acquired sunburn that also highlights the freckles that have emerged heavy across her nose and cheeks since her move to Igen. She looks to be in her mid-to-late thirties. (+detail available.)
Josilina's poncho-style top spills down from over her shoulders to fall in loose bright pink folds. Her arms are bare beneath the draping fabric, and slits in the sides give her arms free mobility, while showing glimpses of a simple, sleeveless white blouse beneath. The cloth is lightweight, dyed a startling fuchsia with threads of silver floss woven in to glint in the light. Equally flashy is her skirt: black and swishy and falling to mid-calf, it is splattered with largish, bright polka dots: blue, green, purple, pink, and red. She wears her hair bound in two braids and tied with colored ribbons.
On one shoulder sits the gold and black knot of Igen's Weyrwoman.
Devany ambles out from the inner caverns.
Devany has arrived.
Strands of rich honey blonde, with shadings of amber are caught up with black cord, pulling Devany's waist length tresses back in a thick braid. The style serves only to accentuate her aristocratic features; a porcelain complexion stretches over the high cheekbones set on an oval face, that sports only the faintest of clefts in her chin. Her nose could be considered small and is just slightly too concave to be considered fully straight, while her lips are a bit thin, yet well shaped. The line of her eyebrows arc naturally over warm, clear blue eyes which are lightly brushed with hints of grey. When she speaks her voice is a soft alto, that carries more because she projects it, than due to the volume.
The pale, cool, icy-blue linen of the Steward's pullover top has been tailored to fit snugly along shoulders and upper torso. An effect managed in part by its cut, but also by the lacing that draws the lightly boned front together, bodice style from the scooped line of her bust to the bottom of her rib cage. Below there, the fabric billows out in an airy fashion around the indent of her narrow waist; its hem brushing right at the height of her hips. The loose fabric of the 3/4 length sleeves is slit, front and back, showing off glimpses of her arms before lacing back together in form-fitted cuffs. Her trousers are slung low on her hips with a fine leather belt fastened by a simple metal buckle. The cobalt blue linen drapes loose from the waist band, until each leg tapers off at her ankles, showing off her strapy tan sandals. On her shoulder is a resident's knot, in the colors of Igen Weyr.
A spot of lurid pink - both clothes and sunburn alike - on the landscape, Josilina sits at small table that looks awkwardly out of place, situated just near the small door that leads to the records room. Maybe she dragged it there. The tabletop is cluttered with hides of various condition and age, and one might imagine the Acting Weyrwoman is hard at work, sorting and organizing through the information of her new Weyr - but, the truth is, most of her attention seems to be on the quartz-sparkly rock she has cradled in her palm.
"No Euphie, it's quite alright. If you feel they've..." The honey hued blonde that pauses just inside the entrance way from the inner caverns stops to listen to the older woman who remains on the other side, "Ah, well then. I leave that to your judgment also, you know the situation better than I. Just fill us in later, hmm? Zain and I have always trusted you on such things." A warm smile given, Devany turning away as the nanny moves on her way, and gracefully heads on her own. Klah being the substance that calls her, a mug getting filled and in due course the new Weyrwoman is taken in and observed, a single brow provoked to a perfect arc the longer she's observed until, "Finding something to weight the corners of your hides?"
Josilina looks up before she answers, smiling in an open, friendly sort of way when she recognizes the blonde woman. "They're gorgeous, aren't they?" Just a beat of a pause before she clarifies, "The rocks. Here, I mean," she gestures with her free hand to the surrounding walls of the cavern. "I can't really get over it."
"They are," Devany agrees, treating the answer like an invitation and stepping closer, "I've thought so too, though I can't say I've spent much time just looking at them. Unless you count those in the ceiling on sleepless night." This said with a return of the warm smile, "Apparently they are quite distracting though." A hint of teasing and curiosity mixed together as she gestures at the scattering of hides.
"They're shiny," Josilina states in defense, smile ensuring there's no snap in the words. She follows Devany's gesture and the smile goes a little more lopsided, a little wry, "It never really ends. As I'm sure you know," she adds with some sympathy. She sets down the rock in order to push clear a small section of table, asking, "Do you want to sit? I mean, if you're not on your way somewhere?"
"No, it never really does," Devany agrees, elaborating, "Especially for someone who can't just step away. And even then, sometimes it finds us anyway. In my case through a weyrmate who rides the oh so safe color of brown, not bronze." Added amusement for that rather than resentment, a roll off her pale blue eyes does hold a touch of resignation though. "If I'm not interrupting, I wouldn't mind. At least for awhile. Do you need a hand with any of this, actually?"
"You get used to it, I'm afraid to say," Josilina says, a grim undertone - barely there - to her words that Devany likely understands. "I admire you," she adds, abrupt and frank. "I don't think I could do it, if R'sel were me and I," she screws up her nose, naming the tall 'Reachian brownrider Devany has perhaps seen visiting with or without the company of their son, "well, weren't." She shrugs, "'Course, there'd be all kinds of awkwardness if R'sel were me and I weren't, so maybe that wasn't the best example, but you know. Of course," she lightens, "brown's safer, but brownriders have their own complications. Like being crazy." For the offer she waves a hand, "It's all just my own research, mostly. Trying to get a sense of what's what 'round here. Your Z'nal's a help, but I've developed a taste for knowing how many eggs were clutched sixteen Turns ago and who licked 'em." She says 'licked' like it's perfectly normal, too.
"Do they often lick eggs at High Reaches?" One really couldn't expect Devany to start anywhere else after hearing those words as she settles into a seat pulled up to the place cleared for her. Her mug though, she holds onto rather than risk spilling on the hides. "Crazy are they? Well, there might be some truth in that, but arguments could made in many directions I'm sure." Setting her back against the chair, she smiles quietly then, "That does sound like it would be awkward...if he were you and you weren't. As far as getting used to? What I'm most used to is Zain finding ways to turn everything upside down every chance he gets. For he and I, this is more like turnabout. I used to be the one with the demanding position and all the hidework."
"It happens," Josilina hedges, adding, "I really don't know where Candidates get the idea, though." She's scooped up that rock again, turning it over in the cup of her hand. "Well, mine are," she shrugs, and her tone might give the idea that 'mine' refers to more than just her weyrmate, "maybe they're not as bad out here? I haven't met enough to know." Her eyebrows lift a little, "He does things like this often? I mean - obviously not becoming Weyrleader, I'd've probably heard. But - topsy-turvy things?" And at the last she nods, "Right - you were Boll's Steward, weren't you?"
"Candidates manage to come up with all sorts of ideas I've noticed both while being one and observing a couple clutches since. As do Weyrlings and riders. You may have a point about brownriders, more than just yours that is, but don't tell mine I said so. He'll just go out of his way to prove you right." Pale blue eyes roll again, "Oh he does. He really does." Not that Devany elaborates much as she gives a warm smile, at least past, "I was, yes. One of those many things he turned upside down."
"And Stewards," Josilina retorts, playful, even if it gives her pause after she's said it, and her next words are slower even if a smile keeps them light, "even former ones." She half-chuckles as she promises, "I won't tell him. I've my hands full enough with that kind of crazy without having to get another one going. Much less yours." Good to know Jos considers brownriders to be possessions. "So you left for him?" she immediately grimaces and apologizes, "Don't let me pry."
"Oh, it's not really prying. I expect that any number of the aunties would love to give you their version. I'd far rather you had the truth from me." She takes a drink from her mug, then rests it on her lap, fingers lacing about it. "I'd more likely be the one to suffer the craziness then you, by the way." Devany winks and then gives a nod, "I partly left for him. He was having a rather difficult time with us living apart after we conceived our youngest, but I also did so for our children, and more so for myself. My priorities had changed, I found. And having everything else I wanted didn't seem enough if it caused more problems for us."
"That's what I meant," Josilina says, for the craziness. As she listens, quiet understanding and a little sympathy light her face - though Devany may not necessarily recognize that's what tugs the corner of her mouth and crinkles the corners' of her eyes. "Makes sense to me," she looks like she might say more but instead asks, "You've three, right?"
"Yes, three. Daina, Adain and Zevan. The twins being older and born while I was still at Boll. Zevan was born while Zain and I were at Telgar though, Uralth sired a clutch there." Playing with her mug briefly and then stopping, smiling again, Devany meets her gaze and chuckles, "I'm used to his idea of fun, it's no matter really if you do manage to set him off. I doubt he'll let it affect anything to do with the weyr. I don't know that he's even pulled any pranks on Ayana in some time. Unless they are resorting to quieter, less apparent means these days to try and one up each other."
"Pretty names," Josilina looks a little impressed, adding, "Sounds like you've been all over." At the mention of the unfamiliar Igen rider Jos purses her lips, repeating in a murmur, "Ayana." In explaination, "I think I've heard the name - no surprise, I suppose, with all the rosters I've been reading. But I think he may have mentioned her once. Or... someone else has, maybe." She shakes off her confusion, "So what'd you think of Telgar when you were there?"
Laughing softly, Devany shakes her head, "No. Not really all over. But here and there certainly. Gar, Boll, Tillek, Telgar, a few other places, perhaps. But those hit most the high points." Again she drinks, a bit absently considering, the woman across from her, "She's a wingsecond...Mistral, I think. And has a brother at High Reaches that rides a bronze. So any way or the other is just as likely as the last I expect." Smiling more faintly then, "Forgive me, but I found it a little too cold for my liking. Lovely in some ways, but cold."
Josilina grins, a laugh lurking behind her words, "Sounds like all over to me!" - "Bronze," she echoes, again murmuring, then shakes her head, "Unfortunately, we've more than one. Or, not that unfortunately, I guess. But that's probably where I've heard her talked of." There's another laugh, more of a chuckle, "Don't ask forgiveness from me, on that! I've - well, never been to Telgar a whole lot. So, you know, say what you like."
A quick search of her own memory follows, "Baye, she tends to calls him. I can't recall that I've ever met him to describe him for you though." Devany's lips twitch into a lopsided grin, "Yes, I expect you do have a few though." Her drink get's polished off though she holds on to the mug, "My understanding is it's not much different from High Reaches and Tillek in winter would seem only to reinforce that."
"B'yan!" With that information, Josilina makes the connection easily. "Of course - I'd forgot he said he'd a sister at Igen." To Devany she explains warmly, "He Impressed at Lhiannonth's last clutch, and I mentored him in weyrlinghood. He's a good kid." She bobs a nod, "I think Telgar is similar, yes. I mean, things are a little different in terms of, you know, where in the mountains we are and everything, but - similar." Then, curious, "How long ago were you in Tillek?"
Laughing again, though softly, amusement sparking in her gaze, "Not to hear Ayana talk. I expect part of why I never met him was she didn't wish me to. Zain has once though, I believe." Devany's smile lingers as she nods, "Yes, clearly in different locations, but still. - Tillek? Oh a few months ago was our last visit. Zain's from there, if he hasn't told you. His father, brother, sister-in-law, their child and his foster parents all reside there directly or more indirectly with the seacraft."
"Well," Josilina concedes, "he's got a trouble-making streak. But means well." She pauses, then with a wry grin, "Most of the time." Her 'ooh' draws out between slightly pursed lips, "I see. So around the Hold proper? I'm from the area as well," she explains, "and still have family out there. So I'm always a little curious. None attached with the 'craft itself, though."
"Mmmm, So I've heard." Devany answers in a dry tone, "If you leave out the part about meaning well. Still, the dragons saw something after all, so I suppose Aya's version of things for our ears may have been more dire." A quick smile, she nods a moment later, "Part of the family is. His foster parents most assuredly, though his father and brother are more tied to the craft.'
Ywain has arrived.
Cradling an oddly-shaped bag and calling back to someone, a garishly-dressed, dark-skinned fellow strides into the Living Cavern, pauses at the thresh-hold, "Right here. Yes. I promise, thanks, brownrider!" His grin is quick and lingers as Ywain turns and takes in the room here. "Now then. That was blasted /cold/." To himself, mostly, but the comment may invite response.
Late afternoon, when the heat isn't as strong, leaves the cavern not particularly crowded. One table sits slightly apart from the rest, pulled over near the door to the records room and occupied by the pink dressed (and nosed) Josilina and Devany. "Well, siblings are always more dire, aren't they?" Jos points out with a chuckle. "I think it's in the job description." Her head goes up and she glances toward the bowl, mentioning, "Visitors." Dragons are a good early-alert system. So she's quick to spot the incoming Harper, and her face lights with a smile, "Journeyman Ywain! What brings you this way?"
Ever observant, the words as well as the arrival of the dark-skinned man draws an appraising look from Devany. Her observation not lingering past what's polite she still seems to take an inventory of what she finds. "Igen's duties," she offers out before turning back to Josilina to reply, "I expect so. I though sometimes with good cause to be so, I expect."
Ywain stands average of height, his distinctive appearance derived from skin of bittersweet chocolate, highlighted with mahoghany. Broad-statured and broad-featured, dark eyes are large, expressive with white sclera accenting the movements of those eyes. Curly hair falls in long dreads, draping around his shoulders and frequently swinging into his eyes to be brushed away with large, meaty hands. A strong jaw is adorned with a close-cropped beard which compliments his small moustache. A ring hangs from Ywain's right ear. Broad-shoulders slide into a barrel chest which taper to narrower hips and well-turned thighs and the legs of a frequent pedestrian. He appears to be about 25 turns of age.
Ywain dresses in bright colors of reds and oranges, nearly always covered with the obligatory Harper-blue vest to mark his position in society. Embroidered onto the back of that vest, with careful stitch, are crossed drumsticks against the backdrop of a drum. Sturdy boots wrap his feet, and those plain breeches likely hold a multitude of pockets.
Recognition! A smile! Ywain's features beam pleasure and he straightens, turning from whatever his path had been to redirect himself toward Josilina. "Weyrwoman! I am well! Lovely, even. S'rel -- he thought to invite me along, as he overheard me complaining about never quite ever getting away from my charges, and he's here on business for a few moment." Business. A greenflight. Ywain has no idea, really, but simply siezed the opportunity to go, though he had enough time to rethink that, during the three-coughs-moment between. Ywain's smile tilts to Devany, who is evaluated quickly and to whom Ywain nods his head, "Harper's duties, ma’am. I'm Ywain. Currently Weyrharper of High Reaches, until they realize they really aren't as desperate as they thought they were." He shrugs, shifting the drum around on its strap so that it can serve as armrest as well.
"Sometimes," Josilina agrees. "Do you have siblings, then?" Ywain she beckons over, then immediately shoos him, gesturing to the meal table. "Get a drink and join us, then?" she invites, a quick - belated - glance going to Devany to check the woman's reaction. "He sells himself short," she tells the blonde woman, "he's an excellent Harper. Especially if he'll give me news of the Weyr," she adds with a playful smile, projecting just enough so it's clear it's also for Ywain's ears.
"Devany," the honey hued blonde replies with a smile as she glances again to the Harper, "Well met, Ywain. Only a temporary posting for you then? At least judging from your words." For Josilina she chuckles, giving the other woman a nod, "Two older brothers. They are still back home, content to stay at gar and vie for our father's position."
Ywain marks a spot with the drum-bag he carries, shouldering it off, and glancing between the women, "Anyone else -- anything? And an 'excellent' Harper would actually be able to play a harp, wouldn't they?" Ywain winks, and turns to head off toward the source of drinks. "And I'm hoping it's a permanent position, but it's my first posting and I'm sure I'm stepping on toes all over." That tossed over his shoulder, Ywain will listen to see if anyone wants anything. He himself orders a glass of something -- anything -- cool and fermented.
"I'm fine, thanks," Josilina declines. "And," she wags a finger as she chides him, "I know plenty of excellent Harpers who don't play - or, much. My baby cousin included. So I doubt it matters much." Of course, from her tone, it probably wouldn't be far-fetched to assume Josilina's standards for Harpers revolve mostly around her cousin's skills. As Ywain goes to get his drink, Jos wonders of Devany, "How much older?"
"As am I, but yes, thank you," Devany replies despite the empty mug she still holds, "Your cousin is a Harper?" She inquires of Josilina and then adds in a remark to either or both, "I think if you are good at what you do, do. It matters less what you don't. I expect also, we often tend to exaggerate out views of how good or bad our situations really are." A faint smile again and she answers at last, "A few turns and then a few more to the eldest of us. Father would say we are decently spaced."
Pausing to also nab a redfruit, Ywain has that thing almost completely eaten before he makes the table again. A rag appears from a pocket, and he'll wipe his hands on that, before settling in his chair, the drum placed carefully to his side. And Ywain will listen for a few moments to the current coversation, sating the thirst that arrived immediately as he hit the heat, with the beverage. "I'm quite happy to be where I am, what I am, and the rank that I am -- so do not think that I complain."
Laynard ambles out from the inner caverns.
Laynard has arrived.
Ywain sits at a table shared with Devany and Josilina. The table, slightly out of the way of the mainstream traffic, evidently affords the Weyrwoman at least with a good view of the entrances. Ywain, a garishly dressed stranger wearing a Harper's knot, has a drumbag beside his chair and an ale in front of him.
Josilina nods, pursing her lips, "I guess he's not a baby anymore - nearly twenty, if not that already. He's pretty invested in Archives work. And yes," she agrees, "we probably do. I think it's just human nature, or something like that. I like your shirt," she adds to Ywain as he sits back down. If it's bright, she's likely to. It might be noted that the Acting Weyrwoman's dressed pretty garishly herself, which could potentially give a curious impression of those recently from 'Reaches. "And how're your charges, then, Journeyman?"
<=HRW=> Ywain laughs at Josilina's pose. Yes! Let's let them think that NO ONE at HRW has any taste in clothing!
Laynard whistles a cheery if not offkey rendition of a quaint South Boll sea chanty as he comes in from the store rooms. With a casual kick of his foot, the assistant steward holds the door open, directing three residents to carry their parcels through into the kitchens. Once the door swings shut, he decides a break is in order and that includes a wistful glance to the ale table. He judiciously pours a mug of water instead, then glances around the cavern for a place to sit.
<=HRW=> Josilina laughs, Make them think HRW is just this mad motley of mis-matched eyesore outfits. I like it. ;)
At an average height, this lanky man is creeping toward middle aged and a few grey hairs are sprouting at his temples along with a couple of white streaks that only add to his already alarming shock of hair. It doesn't matter what length he keeps it, it's usually standing up on end, so many bovine-licks in it that it seems to grow out from his scalp at every possible angle. Fortunately, his deep brown eyes, narrow nose and pleasant lips make him approachable on most occasions. Sun-wrinkles are evident on his brow and around his eyes and a good sense of humor is shown by his laugh lines.
He wears a simple brown tunic that is kept in surprisingly good repair and matching trousers. Although his high-cut boots are well worn, they are kept in pristine condition. On his shoulder rests the knot of assistant steward, Igen Weyr.
A raised voice sounding from the lower caverns has Devany rolling her eyes and standing, "I'd best go sort that out. It had the distinct tones of my childern's nanny. If you'll excuse me?" The honey blonde stands and offers a smile, "I'll be back in a moment if I can be. But if not, it was nice meeting you, Ywain and nice to catch up with you also, Josilina." The quick steps she takes on her way out, doing little to disperse the easy elegance of her poise.
Devany strides through the passageway into the Inner Caverns.
Devany has left.
"Ever so charming," Ywain's gravely basso assures, as he lifts a glance and grin toward Laynard -- Ywain recognizes that tune all too well, but he's not the sort to break into song spontenously. "Every so charming," Ywain's dark eyes track back to Josilina, "But I've found what my masters have ever complained of -- living with those you teach -- is trying. Even if they /are/ ever-so-charming. I guess I can take only so much charm and of course there's no secrets in the Weyr. Especially if one of the students can get dirt on their Harper." Ywain grins to Devany then, as she begins her exit, "Now then! Good to meet you as well--" A sidelong glance to Josilina. "Fast. She."
"Afternoon, Devany," Josilina calls after the woman, chuckling in her wake. "Fast," she agrees. She does indeed have a good view of the entrance, so when Laynard pauses to search she offers him a cheerful nod and, after a beat, waves an offer toward Devany's recently vacated chair. "You're welcome to join us," she calls. Ywain's reply prompts a chuckle, "I can imagine, I suppose, it might be a little strange to have to eat dinner alongside those you've spent the whole morning instructing in their letters. Charming as they might be."
Laynard lazily grins back at the harper, nods respectfully to Josilana then takes a long drink of water. Automatically, he lifts his arm to wipe his mouth off with his sleeve but stops short as he spies the weyrwoman. Best behaviour! Deciding to settle not far from their table, if his approach toward their general direction is any indication.
It gets old. Ywain's sidelong roll of his eyes, toward the weyrwoman, is deliberate but followed with a wane smile. "I'll tell you one thing -- any shot at romance is out. Unless you and your beau are avid hikers." High Reaches does offer a fine selection of mountains and cliffs in which to get lost. "For those of us dragonless, anyway." Ywain seconds Josilina's invitation to Laynard, but does ask out of the corner of his mouth, "Steward?" He can't quite see the intricacy of the knot. "And how are you liking it here? Seems... Quite a change from Reaches. Coming back soon?" Automatically, Ywain considers his assigned weyr 'home', but that designation hasn't quite creeped into his diction yet.
"Assistant," Josilina whispers back. "Layfard, I think." Well. Close. She raises her chin a touch to call out to Laynard, "How are you this afternoon?" She quirks her 'brows at Ywain's claims, "Surely not all romance?" She clicks her tongue in something of tsk, "You just need to learn to -hide- better, Ywain." Sure, because that's romantic. "But if Jorel gives you any trouble, you tell me, hm? And remind him that I've eyes everywhere." For 'home' she purses her lips, "It's... not quite sure. I suppose it depends on what happens first: the old leaders getting better, or us getting a junior who can take over. But definitely a change." Pause, "A lot more sand."
Laynard reaches for the back of the chair to turn it around and straddle the seat but again... some inner voice stops him. Sitting conventionally, his wide grin is genuine as he greets the pair. "Weyrwoman. I was out on a trade mission up at Keroon when you arrived a while back." Having hearing her mispronunciation, he chuckles apologetically. "Laynard, Assistant Steward and if there is anything I can do to make your stay an easy one, don't hesitate in telling me?" The same easy, slow smile is given Ywain's way. "Igen's duties, Harper. If you be needing any little discreet hideaways, I can give you a map?" He winks good naturedly. "Including some spots where the hand hasn't found a home."
"Not romance, at all." The harper quips the Weyrwoman's sentence slightly altered, but with a hang-dog sort of morose tone to his gravely baritone to suggest that other than dragonets' hatching, threadfall, dragons being injured, dragons and their riders dying, and the usual weyr traumas, romance has been incredibly elusive. "You know. Get out of the Hall and away from these harper 'brothers and sisteres' you have, and hoping to meet -- HIDE?" That word comes out much louder, and Ywain turns from his study of Laynard, to stare at Josilina, his brow curved down somewhat. "Hide? --And they could canvass a Junior from another weyr, to come train under you -- but I suppose you folks already thought of that." Ywain turns to grin at Laynard, "Appreciate. Especially if you'd be directing me to some lovely lass willing to hide-away with me." His grin is quick, and he'll take another sip of his ale. "And Harper's duties to Igen - my thanks! You've lived here long then... With all this... Sand?"
Josilina flushes - splotchy against her sunburn - and raises her fingers to her cheeks, "Laynard. I'm so sorry. You'd - well, you'd been mentioned and described, and I knew you'd be the only one I hadn't met, anyway. But - well, sorry. There've been a lot of names. But," she lowers her hands, extending one, "it's lovely to finally meet you, and please just call me Josilina. Especially as I'm sure we'll end up working together more than once." To Ywain she suggests, "Or the hot springs. You could hide - or, well, go - there. It's not quite as popular with the children as, say, the lakeside." She laughs, a quick abrupt sound, "I -am- the Junior, really. The truth is, most Weyrs can't spare them. Thread's falling, but clutches are still small and farther between than during the Interval. So no one wants to give up a clutching queen, at least not yet."
Laynard sighs heavily but his smile is easy. "Lovely lasses are far and far between it comes to me." Running a hand absent-mindedly through his hair, he admits. "Most of the young lasses are my daughter's age but don't worry, they're always eager when strapping young men come along the weyr. You'll find them knocking on your door, trust me. Shells, there is a gaggle of silly gooses around here." With a snort of self-derisiveness, he shakes off any apology that Josilina might make. "Too many for one woman to remember." His grip is firm and surprisingly elegant in his touch but his contact is brief/ "Well met, Weyrwoman Josilina. I've been here for a good twenty turns, came here as a lad of fifteen but family matters drew me away to face responsibilities for a few turns. Once Igen is in your blood, you always return." A glance up the stairs toward the former Sr Werywoman's quarters might tell there was more than that in his blood.
"*BETWEEN*!" Ywain shakes his head. "That's where they all ran off to! Now then," Ywain turns a mock-accusing eye to Josilina, "Can't you dragonriders do something about that? Lasses running off *between*? --Or you all are busy Searching them out and then restricting their -- well. Anything they might be doing with their loveliness, you know -- Candidacy, then weyrlinghood." Ywain shoots an appreciative look at the Assistant Steward, "I think, Laynard sir, that you've hit on something. Definately. Now. What do do about it?" To the Steward's following words, Ywain leans over the table, lowering his voice. "Not - at - Reaches. They don't be knocking at any doors. I'm here to tell you." Relaxing back, Ywain sends a beaming smile to Josilina. "Baths. Hot baths? I'll try that. Thank you." A pause. "Maybe after I instigate a mud war with the younger kids..."
"Twenty turns, hm?" Josilina grins, crooked, "Well you may find -me- banging on your door, then, Laynard, if you know the Weyr that well. I'm still getting my bearings, you see," she gestures to the hides - records and research - in front of her. "I'd appreciate any wisdom you may have." Discussions of lasses cause her to flap a hand, "I haven't even the faintest idea what you're talking about, but I'd recommend a nice chat in the caverns before anyone's knocking on anyone else's doors."
Laynard laughs heartedly. "Might as well be between or maybe I'm between in their eyes. Never mind, I've got some sweet ladies as it is." He waves off the Sir, however. "Laynard. I left the 'sir' behind me when I abdicated my right to Lord down at my family minor Hold." Enjoying the conversation a bit too much, he forgets his company manners and wipes his mouth on his sleeve. Surely up at that cold beauty of the reaches they'd be looking for a warm refuge?" With a gracious nod of his head and with all absence of crossing any lines. "My door awaits for your knock, Josilina but wisdom? Junni used to call me Lard-bucket as a term of affection, describing my mental capabilities." A long sip of water doesn't help the dryness of his tone as he chuckles. "Right, perhaps tea and biscuits in the inner caverns before any door knocking.. I'll make note of that."
Ywain ahems at this and then grins. "I thought *I* was the one receiving instruction for romantic encounters, Laynard. You already got the suggestion of a visit from the Weyrwoman. But perhaps," he allows, probably merely teasing, "That's not romance, but more of a tour-guide situation. So. For one without Igen in their blood, how might one find entertainment here? Or is it all work, work work, not-Lord Laynard." Ywain's features again suggest nothing but lighthearted fun.
"Any wisdom is more than I've got," Josilina chuckles, "and that sounds like friendly teasing to me. And no, definitely not romance. No offense meant, Laynard. Actually," she shoots a glance toward the bowl, "it sounds like my son may be coming to visit soon, so I should get going." She grins at Ywain, "Can't even escape them here, it seems. It was nice to meet you Laynard, and see you," she nods to the Harper. "Have a good afternoon."
You stride through the passageway into the Inner Caverns.