Welcome to Gaia! ::

The runner arrived in the midst of one of the afternoon storms, his runner-beast soaked and exhausted from the journey, like it's rider, who dismounted as soon as he was within walking distance of the Weyr, tugging the lagging animal along by it's reins with a sort of plodding determination. He wore a hood and light cloak to try and shield himself from the storm, but it was clearly soaked through, indicating that he had made no further effort to try and shelter himself.
Within ten steps of the nearest person he pulled down his hood, raising his chin, and unleashing an spectacular spray of steel gray hair that, even soaked through the hood, stuck backward from his head like so many clumps of thick whiskers or wire. The rain sluicing down his palid complexion and sunken, pitted cheeks, and even dripping like a tiny water fall off the tip of his beakish nose, made him look almost too ridiculous to be real. This impression only underscored by his large, rusty-brown eyes.
In spite of this, his arrival went fairly unmarked, since people often came and went from the Weyr. He handed the leads to his runner-beast off to the nearest looking person who seemed like they belonged there with an dismissive and hoarse grunt and continued inside, leaving them blinking in bewilderment at his dismissal and assumption, though as much of that could have been because of the bright scarves he was clearly wearing around his neck in spite of the thick wet heat persistent even in the midst of one of Ista's storms, or perhaps secondarily it could have been his long boney fingers with their claw like nails, which left faint marks in the wet leather leads of the animal.
He continued inside with a curious deliberation, making his way through the edges and gaps in the crowded halls of Ista, though he paused every so often, as though consulting some sort of mental map, tracing a claw like finger through the air every so often and mouthing silently to himself before continuing. Left...right...left... up.... These and similar silent instructions to lead him where he was trying to go.

The curious man turned her direction, with his lips still pursed slightly in a half formed word from his mental map, and with great deliberation, he raised one eyebrow, giving Favan a look of detached curiosity, the way he might have studied an interesting bit of architecture, and just as smoothly gave a slight wave of his hand. A gesture that in most cases would be considered an somewhat imperial dismissal, but SURELY not from such a ragged creature to FAVAN.
"My business is with the Weyrwoman Helirra." He noted, apparently quite certain that this was clearly not Favan, regardless of her braid. He flashed her an smile that was every bit as skull like as the rest of his face, full of even, slightly predatory looking teeth, perhaps more because of his general look of being unhealthy than any particular quirk of nature. "Although if you could tell her that Runner Nilen is here to see her at her convenience, I would appreciate it."
He knew this wasn't going to go over well, it was obvious from the glimmer in his eyes, but Nilen wasn't terribly afraid to use the excuse of being too old to care, or pretend that his eyes 'weren't good enough' to make out the colors on her knots. Which was of course not even remotely true. There was nothing wrong with his eyes, but this young woman didn't need to know that... Besides, this was Weyrwoman business, not simple gossip, and how often did you really get the chance to make a fuss over an important bit of information. Not so much really.

Oh-HO. Was that who the walking-stick was? He'd been wondering which one of the shocking number of gold riders this character was.
Nilen made an follow up show of squinting at her braid, making a heavy abuse of what he called the "Old Man" game, and sniffed, raising an eyebrow again as though to say 'How about that'.
"Oh is THAT who you are. This weyr has so many gold riders who can really keep track." He noted, vaguely, rubbing the bridge of his nose with an dirty nail. "Sorry. Weyrwomans ears only. Strict orders."
Lets see how she handled THAT. Probably not very well, but the noise might actually attract someone who WOULD go tell Weyrwoman Helirra.

Nilen flinched, squinting his eyes and crinkling his hawkish nose in the onslaught of raw volume the woman was capable of producing, his thin lips pursing so tightly they were practically non existent.
Faranths tail, that woman had a set of lungs on her that could probably blow ships to port!!
Bravado, and important orders or not, he wasn't actually as brave a soul as he attempted to make himself out to be, and he had to try and cover his nervous quail, tugging franticly at his sleeves and moistening his lips while he attempted to think of sufficient cover. After all how was he supposed to deliver the message if this woman killed him in the hallway.
"The orders of a Weyrwoman supersede the orders of a Junior Weyrwoman." He managed, though he was no longer doing quite as good a job looking indifferent to her, though the change had more to do with the immediate threat she posed than her rank. "As a result, I can't tell you anything I wouldn't sell to anyone else looking to buy news, since my orders are also from a Weyrwoman." He bartered that out there, defensively, leaning back slightly away from her. Did she have friends? He'd really rather not have someone try and stab him over gossip.

Oh, now those were fighting words. HIM? Waste TIME? like some kind of fireside gossiping wherry? Like some storyteller making tales from wholecloth?? How DARE She imply that... ok well she was pretty sharding scary. He stiffened his shoulders and set his jaw, trying to look stubborn without provoking her even more. "Sour. Grapes." He snorted. Implying that she only thought that because she didn't know, though he now had one shoulder turned slightly toward her, to minimize the things she could hit, claw, or kick. "It's not my work to ask her why." Unless maybe the whole thing had been to see how this woman would react to a juicy rumor walking past her nose. Faranth he was starting to feel slightly set up here. Did Thera know about this woman? "Perhaps it was to see what you would do." He implied, cannily, hoping she'd latch onto -this- bait at least. If he could just vaguely convince her that it was in her best interest to be hospitable...
At least let her think the word might get to one of the Weyrwomen... This thought made him slightly jealous of the riders, which he rarely was. At least then he could count on something relaying the entire situation.

Ok.... that was a plus... she wasn't screaming. Good start, good start. "Perhaps, the idea was to see how you would respond to information being relayed in an different way..." Or more likely to see how she'd treat someone from outside the Weyr. That was probably more like it. What would it gain her to trail the story in front of... well. Alright it might gain HER quite a bit but he was the one with his neck on the line with the mad woman in front of him threatening to stake him out for thread, however long that took. He had to repress another shudder, imagining the stuff alone was bad, and his vivid imagination could almost imagine what it might feel like to have it writhing on and burning into your skin.
UGH.
"... Sometimes... unusual situations require..." he fished for the right words, trying to keep on the woman's good side. "The ability to react to things outside of the normal paths. Especially in these... stressful times."
Not that he thought -this- woman was that particularly adaptable. Well, maybe, but more like something large and predatory moving to a hunting ground with more prey.

Chibi

Nilen gave a somewhat palpable sigh of relief, running his fingers through his hair. "I would greatly appreciate that, Junior Weyrwoman." He added, using her title to try and smooth things along. Maybe he'd actually survive this after all.