Welcome to Gaia! ::

(Just trying to get Moira into the swing of things. =) Anyone can respond~)


Someday, you will do great things.

The last words her mother had spoken to her before she left echoed in Moira's thoughts. Immediately, she knew today was no such day. From the moment she'd set foot upon weyr ground, confusion has assaulted her from every angle. There were suddenly classes to attend, chores to do, people to meet, and places to go. Writings and sketches had imparted her only knowledge about weyrs and their inhabitants, leaving her to gawk openly at the strange surroundings (and often stranger people). Moira had been taught about such places - her mother had schooled her so thoroughly in dragons and weyr etiquette that the old woman bordered on religious fanaticism – but never could her mental images have compared to the reality that was Ista Weyr. She managed to overhear snippets of gossip spoken in hushed tones and clipped phrases as she went about acquainting herself with her new surroundings; a dragonet had died, candidates had been mauled, and a newly hatched queen had rampaged through a crowd of girls before finally finding her match.

Odd behavior for a Queen, Moira thought, but only a fool would try to tell a dragon how to properly behave. While Moira was many things, a fool was certainly not one of them.

Regardless, it was an interesting, if sad, time to be entering as a new candidate. Interesting... and utterly terrifying. Moira had set up the bedroll they had given her in one of the few empty patches of stone floor, the recent influx of candidates making beds a valued rarity that Moira didn't care to fight for. Even with the recent exodus of the newest Weyrlings, beds had been quickly snatched up by those who had been around substantially longer. It was of no consequence to Moira; one didn't need a bed to be a rider. Her things had been pitched in an unorganized heap next to the bedroll, a few odds and ends that were of little monetary value. Of astoundingly simple origins, Moira valued wit and intelligence above any material wealth. What little money she had gathered through chores or gifts she had spent on things that would be useful to her studies, not gaudy trinkets with which to impress other candidates.

Being as settled as she could possibly be considering her new living arrangements, Moira made her way through the Weyr, intent on acquainting herself enough to prevent getting too horribly lost in the future.

Indeed, nothing could ever be easy.

For several long moments, Moira had been working her way through the morning crowd, trying to shoulder her way through the think throng of people who, for whatever reason, seemed to be going in the opposite direction of where she wanted to be. Where that was exactly she didn't know, only that it included exploring the outside of a Weyr that everyone else seemed intent on getting into. There was a social hierarchy in Weyr's, bred by generations of custom and tradition. If you were not a rider, a craftsman, or in some position of authority, you were a nobody. As a candidate – and the newest of them, no less – Moira fell into the latter category, as indicated by her struggle to get through the thick throng of people.

“Excuse me,” Moira said, reigning in her growing impatience. She was nowhere near meek, but Moira was doing her best to keep her controlling personality under thumb, lest she give the wrong first impression. However, strong-willed as she was, the candidate did not take too kindly to being shouldered aside and having her toes stepped on. Particularly not when she was waltzing around barefoot. Having spent a great deal of her childhood engaging in the usual activities and running, jumping, and climbing in the rocky countryside, the bottoms of Moira's feet resembled one big, thick callous. Unattractive, perhaps, but a blessing when it came to freeing her feet from shoes and socks in the unbearable summer heat.

Occupied as she was with fighting her way through the crowd, a small flash of reflection caught her eye as something went rolling through the jumble of feet. A few toes unknowingly kicked it about as Moira's attentive gaze followed after, pulling the rest of her body along in pursuit of the object. There was a thing. The thing was going to get stepped on. The thing must belong to someone. Thus, she must retrieve the thing.

“Hey-hey!” Moira yelled as an unknowing passerby kicked the object away in stride. The offending man glanced down at the object, down at Moira's flustered expression, and smiled. He kicked the object a few feet back with the heel of his shoe, grinned, and turned away. The corners of Moira's small mouth turned down in annoyance.

“Did Thread eat your face or were you born that ugly?” she snapped, jamming a bony elbow against the offending man's back to spur him in the opposite direction before lurching forward in pursuit of the object. She scrambled down on hands and knees, finally wrapping her hands around the thing before making a beeline for the first opening the crowd provided.

Moira emerged, her thick hair mussed like a birds nest around her reddened cheeks, just next to the Journeywoman. She slumped down to the floor, not knowing who the other woman was or why she was sitting there. Nevertheless, Moira turned to her with a wide-eyed stare, pointing with the recovered object as the bustling mass of people, “It's like a sharding stampede in there,” she said breathlessly.

Moira's hands were indeed less than competent when it came to the device. However, her brain was able to put two and two together. It was a distance viewer. Thus, she surmised in a stroke of absolute brilliance, it was somehow used for viewing things. Distantly. Ah, to be a genius. It was a heavy burden, but hey, someone had to bear it. The candidate gave no squabble, ceasing to use the device as a pointing mechanism and handing it over to Weiren with an arch of her thick black brows.

Just in time, too, as one of the rushing passersby stumbled over Moira's outstretched feet. The man stumbled forward, nearly dropping the tall stack of neatly wrapped packages cradled in his arms. The man made a harrumph noise and glared back at the pair. Moira put on her most polite smile and combed her fingers through her hair. “Terribly sorry,” she said, lifting a hand as if to signal peace before using it to gesture towards her feet “They like to turn invisible sometimes. A dreadful affliction, really. Can't blame you for not seeing them there, even with the profound attention you seemed to be paying to where you were going.” Her toes wiggled, a sweet smile turning up the corners of her mouth. The man glared a moment longer, squared his shoulders, and marched off. He vanished quickly into the crowd.

“Call me ignorant,” Moira mused, pulling her knees in so as not to trip any more of the people streaming carelessly around them, “But it's a bit rude to glare at the person who just save your whatsit, no? I could have sworn I read that Weyrs were generally receptive to the helpful sort, though I fear I must have missed the appendix on Distance-viewer Recovery Guidelines.” She seemed rather serious as she mused, even if she shrugged off the thought a moment later and put on an introductory smile.

“I'm Moira. Candidate extraordinaire. Do you have a name, or should I give you one?”

There was one man who didn't seem to mind all the hustle and bustle going on about, weaving his way through the crowds, all arms and legs that were far too lanky for their own good. One would expect him to have been jerked and jolted about in the crowd--but he had one excuse that most today did not. The demure, faintly striped green at his side had grown extraordinarily since she'd first Hatched, though she was nowhere near her full size.

For a dragon, however, she was looking rather... meek in the midsts of all these people. There were so many people here, so many she wished to sit and observe and study! But no, Hers had somewhere to go, and she would follow without complaint. Even if all these people were making her jumpy. It was the odd behavior of two girls that made her pause in mid step with open curiosity, but she knew staring was rude and dropped her gaze again. Mine... What are they doing? She sounded concerned, lifting her head to watch her rider.

"Eh?" J'riar glanced obediently at where his love had directed--had to squint--but yes, he recognized one of those women! "Weiren?" He called out, Ianquith following at his heels as quickly shifted his way closer. "Weiren!" He was a bit more cheerful now, having confirmed her identity and letting a broad grin spread across his face. Well, at least, until he saw whatever she was holding in her hands.

Mine... Ianquith's tone held a warning note, and J'ri rubbed at his neck awkwardly before he realized--the one girl was still sitting, and he didn't even know her names. "Shards, sorry." He held out a hand to offer to her as well, clearly not caring if it looked stupid besides Weiren's. "J'riar, rider of green Ianquith, and resident wherry here at beloved Ista." The grin turned a bit more lazy, though hadn't lost a bit of its friendliness. "And you are?"

You know, it was funny. For a moment there, Weiren was just surprised to hear someone call her by her name, and that was as far as her brain had gotten. She wasn't the most social creature, keeping mostly to herself and her weather logs; she got by at the Weyr knowing very few people, and it was a life that suited her well. But still, she couldn't help but feel a bit of wonderment and excitement to be recognized. Seeing who it was, she struggled a moment to place the face with a name - Jiriar, the friendly boy with the beasts, and she thought oh so warmly of him and how kind he was to an outsider like her --

Then she saw the dragon, and all bets were off.



At some later point in time, Weiren would be likely to confess that the scream was probably a little bit much, especially in such a crowded room as they were in. Ianquith wasn't a very big dragon yet, after all, even if she was starting to push Wei's tolerance (her general rule of thumb was that if a dragon were so big that it could probably engulf your entire arm in its mouth, it was too big, and that was that). But dragons were bad enough without them managing to sneak up on her, shards - could anyone really blame her for being a bit startled?

Weiren might also allow that actually dropping Moira, who had done her nothing but kindness from the second she'd met her, in mid-hoist was somewhat of an overreaction. But in all fairness, she might later insist, one couldn't properly shriek without also throwing one's arms in front of them in self-defense, and if she hadn't let Moira go, she would have probably ended up unintentionally flinging her toward the green - so really, she only had the girl's best interests in mind!

But promptly dropping to her knees and cowering fearfully behind the Candidate girl... that one, Weiren would have to ruefully admit, would be a bit hard to live down. Especially because she was already sobbing like an infant.

"Qrrwrp!" In a heartbeat, dark blue wings beat at the air. Baro might be a lazy gnat of a firelizard, but that didn't mean he wouldn't arrive to defend his mistress when she needed it! Of course, arriving on the scene, he wasn't altogether sure exactly what she needed defending from... best to dive at the heads of all those involved, he decided, just to make sure. Better start with the one that was clearly too close to Wei, and work out in a circle from there, until everyone in the entire crowd had gotten an earful of the young firelizard's caustic tongue.

Several things happened at once.

First, a piercing scream shattered through the low din of the hall like a hammer through ice. It was as though the room suddenly froze, the traffic of passersby grinding to an abrupt halt. On the outer fringes of the crowd, the more curious elevated up to their tip-toes, struggling to get a view of the latest drama over the heads of others. Dozens of eyes locked upon their little gathering, faces turned in expressions that varied widely from simple curiosity to stark terror, as though Weiren's scream had announced the coming of Threadfall.

Second, Moira was nearly dropped swiftly to her rear. It was only J'riar's grip on her hand that kept her feet grounded and her tailbone unbruised. She cast him a clearly thankful look, but there was little time for gratuities amidst the sudden theatrics. Moira hadn't even the opportunity to respond to Ianquith's compliment, though she was clearly displeased that the green felt the need to flatten herself against the dirty floor.

Third, the young Candidate was suddenly doubly occupied with a sobbing Journeywoman cowering behind her and an angry firelizard diving at her head. Moira stood fast, staring the thing down with a 'Just what in the hell are you doing?' expression. Shoulders drawn back, chin slightly elevated, she affected as commanding a presence as she could manage, being rather short.

“Hey. Hey!” She reached out a hand to lightly flick the berating flit's side as it buzzed about, her thick brows drawn down over a condescending stare. “That is hardly called for,” Moira drawled as the flit set in on Ianquith. The sight of a dragon cowering, while interesting, was a disheartening one. “Oh, shards.” Moira breathed her words in a heavy sigh, waving a hand as though to bat the angry flit away, “Shut it, won't you?” Moira glared at the flit for a moment, before stooping down to wrap and arm around Weiren's shoulders.

“Weiren, really now. If you go on like this you might drop your whatsit, after all,” Moira gestured to the distance-viewer, glancing up to J'riar in a way that conveyed she had no idea what in the hell was happening.

His long face had gone slack with utter bewilderment at Weiren's reaction, clearly concerned as he let himself crouch near the two women. What... was he supposed to do now? Well, keeping an eye on that firelizard, for one. And look how she gave him a flick, just like that! 'Course, that was no Aeron, either, and he was glad that the little blue seemed to just want to make himself heard. Was he Weiren's? Shards, had to be! And so, he could excuse the blue's actions, considering the girl was obviously upset... but why?


Oh. Ianquith said uncertainly without warning, seeming to piece something together between the sobbing, the flit (who she admired for listening and no longer screaming!), and just... everything. She would stretch her neck up a little as though offering a meek perch for the blue, but in the next moment, she was quickly slinking back down the hall to round the corner and disappear out of sight.

J'riar stared.

"Wait, Ianquith, where are you...?"

I-I-I t-think I scared her, M-Mine, s-so you can tell her I've g-gone away now! The dragonet's head peeked briefly from around the corner, her eyes still yellow before she ducked out of sight once more. Oh, what was she supposed to do? She hadn't meant to scare anyone, but surely she wasn't too much bigger than flit!

"...Weirin? Are you... scared of Ianquith?" The greenrider asked incredulously, unable to believe that. Surely that wasn't it! The man blinked and rubbed awkwardly at the back of his neck. Surely, of all the dragons in this Weyr... Ianquith?

At the appearance of a landing pad, Baro had swooped down in his usually too-heavy manner to attach himself to the green - but what was the poor blue to do, when it disappeared again before he could reach it? Ianquith had left just as he was going into his approach! The little firelizard screeched, fumbling in mid-air to regain a control he'd barely learned, and then went into a free-spin. Just barely, through use of teeth and claws, he managed to stop his tumbling fall by sticking to some hapless gawker's back - especially hapless, because in the favorite fashion of Ista, the man was wearing only a thin knit top to cover his flesh.

While the man was screaming and the terrified firelizard retreated between to escape his righteous wrath, Wei was emerging cautiously from her hysterics. She still wept, leaking from the eyes and nose (though she did her best to wipe this second one away on her sleeve), but she was at least daring enough now not to be curled up on a ball of reckless despair.

Which meant that she was aware of the stares she was getting. The Starsmith's face shot red, her eyes tracking desperately from Moira to J'riar, and she managed a feeble, tremulous smile, trying to pretend as though her outburst had not occurred. When it became clear that the gesture was fooling no one, however, she dropped her hands into a lap and took a breath. "I... I am not fond of dragons," she whimpered pathetically, trying to make excuse for her behavior. "N-not the large ones. Not the s, s-small ones either, right now...."

As if nobody could have guessed that.