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 Posted: Tue Jul 19, 2011 11:04 pm
“Oh no you don't, you witty little vixen!” Gruffly snapped the sandy haired boy beside Quindrife as he gripped her wrist causing her vision to narrow venomously at him. “She don't get to use her own dice, they aren't Perfects!” Irritably barked the boy as he jerked her hand up and caused her to drop her dice on the ground. As they fell they rolled onto sevens, just the number she needed to win the lot of marks they all were gambling with.
Cocking her hand back from his grip the lithe framed brunette snarled. Shoving him roughly Quindrife looked down at the roll and grinned lightly, though the looks on the other lads faces seemed extremely suspicious of the outcome.
“Hoy, come on now, those dice are Straight and Square! My Da bought em' for me, made special just for me, they aren't falsies! And how dare you claim em' to be loaded, ya git!” Quindrife loudly thundered in retort to his accusation. So what if they were rigged, her daddy had bought them for her, lucky harper dice he called them, they were expensive because they had trigger buttons that were like a puzzle to get them to work properly otherwise they were normal and fair dice. “Fine! I see the looks on your faces, ya bunch of pansies. Fine! I will prove it---” Standing up she pulled off her over tunic and threw it on the ground behind her, her under shirt was sleeveless and plain. She however wore a harper blue wrap on her toned upper arm. Stretching lightly she snubbed her nose then shoved her empty hands to the whole lot. Bending down she scooped up the dice and blew on them, then with a well practiced flick of her wrist she tossed the dice, laughing heavily as she rolled snake eyes. “See you bunch of deadglows, my dice are Perfects! You all just don't know how to woo Lady Luck is all.”
Scoffing lightly the sandy haired boy upturned his nose as he crossed his arms over his broad chest, oh she would be getting hers later, when there weren't any eyes to merit being witness to what he was planning on doing to her. His father was a guard not some snotty harper, his father didn't lavish him with gifts but had taught him how to be a man, he wasn't going to let this tart out show him.
The game went on for a short while longer before pockets were emptied and cusses were muttered. Claiming her share of the winnings, which were most of the marks in the pile Quindrife put her over tunic back on and lined her money pouch with the winnings. All in all, it was a fairly nice haul for a midday game. Patting her friends shoulders and nodding her head towards those that she hailed as just acquaintances, the tall lithe framed brunette exited the alleyway nonchalantly, she had chores to tend to but first she could stop and buy a treat for herself. The sudden pang at the back of her head caused her to topple over, when she woke up she would make whomever had hit her pay.
The harsh buzzing in the back of Quindrife's head caused her to rub the spot that ached, slowly, sluggishly she checked her body. Her left hand was swollen and bruised a boot heel was clearly visible in the mark across her knuckles. Holding her head with her right hand she noticed at her coin purse was half empty. Staggering to her feet she balanced herself against the nearest wall, fumbling in her pockets she froze, frantically her stormy gray eyes began to scan the ground for her dice. The light snarl that pulled at the corner of her mouth was followed by a deep throaty hiss. Near her feet the shattered metal remains of her blue dice. Taking in long deep breaths she calmed herself as she carefully picked up the fractured and dented pieces.
Her head still pounded as the slim built powerhouse darted backwards sending her barefoot against her opponent's jaw, the boy snarled at the heavy contact. The acrobatic brunette danced circles around Baston but the sandy haired boy proved his own worth with solid brutal strikes, the fight lasted far long than the normal petty squabbles and it was this that caused the quarrel to finally come to an end. The severity of the wounds were more than superficial and blood literally glistened and coated areas where the two fought and the pair looked much more gristly with faces that were swollen and caked with gore and torn flesh. When the dragon rider pulled Quindrife and Baston apart the two all but collapsed from exhaustion, pride and willpower alone kept the two locked in their petty battle from midday until dusk.
For the second time that day the well-toned brunette found herself stirring from unconsciousness, for the most part her wounds had been cleaned and treated however with the pain that flowed from each little scratch she knew that the healer had not bothered to use any sort of analgesic on the unruly candidate girl. Sitting up with a wheeze and a grunt her eyes watered painfully at the feeling of the cracked rib in the upper part of the protective cage of bones.
“You are to stay where you are Quindrife, I have called for the Weyrleader. This time girl, you will not go unpunished for your deeds.” Angrily snapped the healer venomously. This time she knew she truly was in trouble.
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Posted: Tue Jul 19, 2011 11:37 pm
Being summoned by an angry healer wasn't how T'rel had planned to spend his day. Still, he figured it was probably in the job description; being summoned by angry healers who were tired of dealing with disobedient candidates. Honestly, couldn't he have gotten a well behaved one for once? He had heard about Quindrife before. Seventeen turns and a troublemaker, T'rel had had no desire to make her aquaintance. Until now.
The young Weyrleader entered the Healer's ward, putting on his best stern face. Even though he'd planned to rest this evening, it looked like he'd be dealing with misbehaving children. "Quindrife, is it?" he asked, looking at the injured girl. He sighed. Clearly the healer was biased against the teenager. Maybe she knew the other candidate the girl had fought with. In T'rel's mind, they were equally at fault. "Talon, take care of her after I'm done talking to her," he muttered to one of the masterhealers.
"I wanted to inquire which of the candidates you were having an arguement with," T'rel started evenly. "So I can deal with them as well." He flashed the girl a reassuring smile. "You want a bubblypie?"
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Posted: Tue Jul 19, 2011 11:57 pm
The man that entered Quindrife had only seen in passing, he was a good looking sort of man with a warm demeanor around him however there was also something else there, something that was just comforting. It was something in his honey sweet eyes, large brown pools of tenderness yet a glint of something else. Mentally snapping herself from the daze the tomboy only managed to wheeze a bit more before dropping her bravado. She was simply too tired. “Baston---” Stoolpigeon. She could hear it down. The whole Weyr would know that she told the bronze rider whom had started the fight. “He started it,” she deflected with rebel defiance. A rare thing from the awkwardly built lass. He hadn’t asked that yet she couldn’t help but blurt it out regardless, a stewing rage continued to boil underneath her calm surface yet her stormy gray eyes denoted exactly what she was feeling internally.
She blinked and cradled her ribs. Did the Weyrleader just ask if she wanted a bubbly pie?
“No sir. I don’t feel so good,” gruffly murmured Quindrife in a low hazy voice that cracked and wavered dryly. “My Ma works in the kitchens, when she hears about this I will be lucky to get scraps for dinner much less sweets. Thank you though, sir.” Once again her respectful disposition returned yet the pain in her face kept her expression neutral.
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Posted: Thu Jul 21, 2011 12:24 am
T'rel's eyes widened. Baston was also known for causing trouble. "Baston?" he repeated, frowning as he looked over his shoulder at the healer. "And I'm sure you took proper care of him?" he asked, glaring. He wouldn't hold with such obvious favortism in his Weyr. "Pack your things," he instructed the healer in question. "You'll be transferred to Fort at dawn. Shard it, woman! I don't care what you think she's done. Neglect is not something tolerated at Ista," he paused for dramatic effect; "nor is it, I believe, tolerated in your own Healerhall," he finished coolly.
He turned to Quindrife, expression softening considerably. "Well," he said, "I see no need to inform your mother of the arguement you had with a boy that starts trouble so often even I am aware of it. Perhaps I will tell her how you helped me," he smiled at her. "Helping me know who is causing trouble in he Weyr is very important, Quindrife, you see," and here the blonde gave a rueful grin, "being Weyrleader usually means I don't know everything that's going on in the Weyr. I rely on my friends to keep me informed. So you tell your momma--and anyone else concerned, that Weyrleader T'rel is grateful to you."
Unfortunately, T'rel, being grateful, made a quick movement that caught on one of the many healer's tools in the room. His tunic ripped down a sleeve's seam, allowing a strangely shaped birthmark to show. "Oh, shards," he muttered. "Always clumsy."
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Posted: Fri Jul 22, 2011 2:44 pm
At first the wounded lass couldn’t help but smugly smile as the Weyrleader took up for her and even dismissed one of the healers! The woman had never liked her, regardless of how many errands she had ran for the woman or how nice she had been to the older woman. She was a troublemaker, or so everyone thought. If it wasn’t for Baston no one would even know her name, he was the one that gave her the reputation that she was known for. The grin that held steadfast on her visage during the ordeal suddenly turned sour as the bronze rider ripped the seam of his shirt on a sharpened instrument, for a moment the longhaired brunette felt a swimming notion of guilt panging underneath her ribcage where her heart resided. Surely it was her fault that his tunic had been damaged sure it---
Gray eyes squinted in the light of the room with interest on the odd marking donning the man’s arm. The shapely pink spade with nearly ornate purple designs greeted her stare, unblinking the candidate found herself breaking her gaze, a flare of pain in her abdomen caused her to double over gripping her muscular core with both arms. After a few moments that seemed like forever Quindrife straightened upright again then cleared her throat before addressing the former harper.
“Is that a birthmark on your arm there?” Her pitch was uncharacteristically soft and passive as she spoke towards the blonde haired Weyleader, the expression on her face curious but subdued. Gritting and gnashing her teeth Quindrife lifted her left hand and rolled the dirty and torn sleeve of her green tunic then halted in her action suddenly embarrassed. “I have one too---did cha wanna see, sir?”
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Posted: Sun Jul 24, 2011 10:18 pm
"Oh, yes... It is," T'rel seemed puzzled as he looked to his arm. He had never paid much attention to it; as with many things he saw every day, it held no interest for him. "See yours? No thank you--but thank you for asking?" Definitely puzzled now, but T'rel certainly seemed hesitant to see any part of a female that wasn't her face or forearms. "You should rest," he instructed gently. "You've been hurt quite badly. Master Talon will come in soon and see to you." He gave the seventeen turn old his most reassuring smile.
"You said your parents work here in the Weyr?" he inquired. "I'll have Zelith call for them. You're in no state to leave the healing wards this evening," he continued, frowning in concern. Zelith, could you?
Zelith didn't respond to T'rel. Instead he focused on the task. I, bronze Zelith, was asked to contact you. Your daughter has been injured most severely. Mine wishes to speak to you, he is in the healing wards. Come quickly. The bronze's message to Quiniso was was brief. The dragon clearly had no interest in furthering the conversation.
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Posted: Tue Jul 26, 2011 5:16 am
The guitar in his hand mangled the note that the journeyman harper had strummed when the bronze beast boomed loudly in his head Queniso found his warm chocolate colored eyes widening. The powerful words that the dragon spoke instantly caused the man dressed in lavish blues trimmed with hues of gold and ornate buckles to jump to his feet.
‘Quinnie!’ Scrambling out of the door the blonde made use of his long gait, striding at full measure with each step he planet on the ground. Various thoughts jumbled in the man’s head as he dashed across the Weyr headed directly towards the medical chambers, on one hand Queniso was grief stricken that his only daughter was severely injured then on the other it had been Zelith that summoned him which meant--- shaking his head to cast away the thought the harper found himself panting and wheezing, he was a thin man by normal standards with long legs that made him appear taller than what he actually is however the length of his limbs didn’t seem to make a difference when it came to running a great distance. Even with all of the exercise that he had preformed everyday at the Harper hall the man still didn’t know how to breath correctly to keep from getting stitches in his side. Pausing for a moment just outside of the archway that lead into the healer’s warm Queniso steadied himself to regularize his air, sweeping a calloused hand through his thick golden curls he straightened himself to his full height then adjusted his robes and tunic before rapping on the entrance to where his daughter and the young Weyrleader awaited him.
He prayed that his baby girl was not near death--- why else would bronze rider T'rel summon him.
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Posted: Tue Jul 26, 2011 3:37 pm
T'rel was at the door in an instant. He opened it and paused, studying the man before him. Something about him seemed familar but he couldn't quite put is finger on it. "You must be Quindrife's father," he said, "I thought we could discuss her staying here for the evening," he added, gesturing to the candidate. "She had a bit of an arguement with Baston," he frowned at the boy's name. "Who won't be attending the next hatching. Quindrife told me he started the fight--but I think I'll allow Ky't to handle her punishment for participating. Also," he glanced at the candidate. "If I hear you've been teasing Baston, you won't be attending the next hatching either. Normally, we wouldn't allow those who took part in a fight to attend, but circumstances being what they are... I'll just remind you that once you're a weyrling, gambling, fighting, and other things, are not tolerated."
Not having seen Niso around often, T'rel looked to him and gave him a smile. "Journeyman?" he asked, having spotted the man's rank knots. "Do you go to the Hall often? Tanasha was looking for an impartial harper to help us with tithing agreements." But with a second glance, he realized he had never seen this man at the Harperhall. Maybe he was a holdtrained harper? "You know who I am, if Zelith blabbed." Of course, T'rel assumed there were still were people out there that weren't aware that he was Weyrleader. "T'rel, of bronze Zelith," he introduced himself. "Came from the hall myself," he added conversationally. "But I was Searched five turns ago."
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Posted: Sun Jul 31, 2011 3:17 am
Curling forward the tomboy opened her mouth to argue with T’rel however as soon as her lips parted and formed words in opposition a wave of nausea made the heavily muscled teen clamp her mouth shut and rub her watering gray eyes. She hadn’t teased the boy, she was never the one that started the quarrels she however always made sure to finish them; Baston was a terror and it was her responsibility to protect the other candidates from his cruelty. Maybe Ky’t would understand that and give her a punishment based off her good intentions rather than the fact that this spat started over a friendly game of dice. It was almost scary how well the Weyrleader knew her habits, perhaps the rumors were more wide spread amongst the higher ranks than what she thought. Grunting with disdain the brunette simply rolled onto her good side and pulled knew knees to her chest in hopes that she wouldn’t miss out on the next hatching.
Brushing a long curl from his face the blonde harper bowed with flourish towards the strapping young man before him. “Indeed a journeyman. My name is Queniso, Weyrleader sir,” straightening up to his full height the lavishly flamboyant man smirked towards T’rel then cupped his neatly trimmed goatee. “I very rarely visit the hall, the Masterharper and myself don’t exactly see eye to eye. But that is a story best left unsung. I have to say T’rel I wasn’t expecting to hear a call from your bronze today much less regarding my daughter Quindrife,” letting out an exaggerated sigh the man glanced towards the longhaired brunette resting on a cot only a few feet away, his facial features knitted together with hints of worry. “Baston has been a torn in her side for turns now, ever since he found out that she is a bit---” Queniso trailed off for just a moment before tucking a long blonde curl behind his ear. “confused about her preference, I am sure she will out grow it when she is ready though. Tell me though Bronze rider, how badly is she hurt?”
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Posted: Sun Jul 31, 2011 8:37 pm
T'rel had meant that if he heard Quindrife teasing Baston about him not being allowed to attend the next hatching, she wouldn't be attending either. But of course, since he did not know that his words had confused her, he could not correct her. He was deep in thought, apparently already reconsidering punishing the girl. He had heard quite a bit about her, and very little of it had been good.
He looked to Queniso and smiled, removing blond curls from his eyes. "Nice to meet you," he said. "I was an apprentice until I was Searched, scarely five turns ago. It'd explain why I haven't seen you there before, if you only very rarely visit." He didn't see how anyone could disagree with the Masterharper, though--the former apprentice still had a great deal of respect for the man. His brown eyes narrowed slightly. "Really? I count the Masterharper as a friend." Of course, it was important for the Weyr to keep close to the Harperhall.
"She's broken a rib or two. The healers haven't checked her out yet."
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Posted: Mon Aug 01, 2011 1:00 am
“That is a shame- well to a degree that is a shame. I would wager my last mark on you being a shelling good harper. I bet you were amazing with strings you have the fingers for it.” Complemented the journeyman off-handedly. “Ah, the Masterharper and I used to be the very best of friends. The man raised me since I was a just a little thing, I respect him--- in fact I respect him greatly but---” tilting his head over his shoulder he glanced towards his boyish daughter then sighed deeply, leaning closer to the Weyrleader in front of him the older of the two spoke in a low voice that would not carry in the close quarters. “after I lost my weyrmate and son, I turned away from my friend, I truly do regret it but my pride keeps me from going back to the hall.”
Pulling away Queniso brushed the fuzz on his chin for just a moment before clearing his throat and speaking in his regular tenor. “Broken ribs? Eh. That is terrible. She really isn’t a bad girl T’rel, she truly isn’t. A bit spirited in her ways but not a bad person. When she fails to Impress come her twenty-second turn I have arranged to send her off to the Harperhall to start her training. She will be a bit old to be an apprentice but I am sure she will walk the tables quickly. She has a knack for singing and drums. She isn’t too bad on her feet either. She is a little bit of an acrobat, I have no idea where she got that talent from.” Knitting his brow together the man once again glanced towards the nearly unconscious brunette resting on the cot. “Why hasn’t she been seen by the healer yet? If you don’t mind me asking. She needs at least something to numb the pain, make sure there isn’t any internal bleeding or something like that.”
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Posted: Mon Aug 01, 2011 1:48 am
T'rel beamed. "You might be right," he agreed. "I've always had a way with strings. Especially the guitar. I could make it sing from even before I was ever made an apprentice." He lifted his arm, glancing at his caloused fingers before chuckling. He didn't seem to notice his torn sleeve was showing as he moved. "I suppose this gives it away," he said, grinning. "I've always been told I inherited my talent from my father, but I've never been able to find records of him. Not his name, nothing about him. Plenty about my mother, Antara--you might have known her, since you visit the Hall sometimes. She died a sevenday after my birth, though--I don't know much about her, aside from what I've learned from records." He paused, and frowned. "I'm sorry for your loss, Queniso. I can't even imagine."
He could. He had almost lost Ky't during Threadfall. But to lose a son, too--T'rel couldn't imagine it. He didn't want to. "I know that, and you know that. She has to show them," he made a gesture to show he meant the entire Weyr, "that she's not a bad person. A healer should be coming in soon--I had Master Talon go for felis and numbweed. We're pretty sure there's no internal bleeding, and she doesn't seem swollen."
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Posted: Thu Aug 04, 2011 3:04 am
Queniso bristled, his flamboyant and confident demeanor shriveled within just a moment. His warm chocolate hues widened and his mouth instantly went dry. Peeking through the torn sleeve of the bronze rider the journeyman found a mark donning the young man’s flesh, the ornate spade shaped birthmark burned into his mind causing his heart to hammer painfully against his ribcage. Visibly paling longhaired blonde found his knees buckling under his weight, instinctively large calloused hands stabilized the man against an empty cot, there was no way that it was possible, it simply could not be. Running a trembling hand through his golden locks Queniso tried to ease his suddenly troubled mind---
Antara.
No--- there was no way that he--- there was no way that the man standing in front of him was---
“It can’t be---” his voice came out as a heated whisper, scratchy and meek. Antara had been the love of his life, the mother of his first born child. He had lost both twenty turns ago and now there was a lad no older than what his son would have been, with his family mark upon his forearm just below his knobby elbow. “Tarel---? Can I see that mark on your arm? Please… it is…important…” Twisting his hand around the broken cloth Queniso didn't want for permission before he stepped forward with heavy lackluster movements. Narrowing his eyes he chewed on the bottom of his lip nearly drawing blood with is chipped eyetooth. "You are twenty turns of age, aren't you? I can't believe this---I just---there is no way---there has to be some other reason---" The harper rambled before relinquishing his grip on the young Weyrleader's arm. Stepping backwards Queniso pulled at his own sleeve rolling it onto his bicep, in nearly the same spot a mirror image reflected upon his own skin.
"I knew Antara--- she was my---" his voice cracked and hot tears poured from his soft brown eyes cutting him off from finishing his sentence.
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Posted: Thu Aug 04, 2011 10:08 pm
"Shards, are you alright?" T'rel asked, moving to reach for the man, concerned. Was Niso having a heartattack? A--what was that thing called? He didn't know. He'd have to ask a healer. "Do you need something to drink? To eat? You're shaking..." Shardit, he didn't have any healer training! And Master Talon was no where in sight, he was probably still checking the stores for numbweed and fellis. Ever since Threadfall, the Weyr healers had been stocking up on basic supplies.
"What can't be?" T'rel asked, still concerned. Was the man ill? He looked to Quindrife, and then back at Niso, wondering what to do. "What?" he asked, rather surprised. The man wanted to see his birthmark? Why? "Well, I suppose--" he began, but instead, found his arm already in the man's grasp. "What're you--" he began again, confused. What did that sharding mark have to do with anything? He'd spent his entire life ignoring it, and now, two people in the same day thought it was interesting?
"Almost twenty-one," he lied immediately. He hated being reminded of how young he was. Especially since it was usually coupled with a complaint about how he ran the Weyr. "...You knew my mother?" he asked, brown eyes widening in surprise.
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Posted: Sat Aug 06, 2011 9:55 pm
Quindrife stiffened as she heard her father cry out in a mix of pain and another emotion that she couldn’t place, lurching forward the tall tomboy garbled out a strangled scream as she forced herself from the cot and onto her wobbly feet. Step after heavy step the lanky figured candidate attempted to approach the man dressed in flamboyant shades of blue however the ache in her midsection sent her doubling over and guarding her stomach with both arms in effort to fend off the pain that assaulted her body.
“She was my weyrmate,” Queniso rasped loudly while trying to control his sudden outburst of emotions. The man seemed distressed beyond the point of being consoled, his handsome face was twisted and contorted with a myriad of ache. Thrusting his arm forward the sandy haired gentleman brought his own birthmark in plain sight of the Weyrleader’s vision in effort to gain his attention. “You and I--- we share the same mark of heritage. There is no way---they told me---you died with your mother----” At T’rel’s lie the man bristled and extended a long finger at the lad almost threateningly. “You liar. You barely just turned twenty! Don’t lie about your age, boy. Not when it is so important that you tell the truth.”
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