Morchainth's Source
Sparsely occupied, X'ian's weyr is devoid of anything but the most necessary furniture, with the notable exception of a clump of black pillows that have been piled up into a spare corner. Neatly made up in smooth charcoal sheets, with his ratty grey pillow tossed into place, his metal-framed double bed has been shoved into the deepest, darkest corner next to a small three-legged table of the same shiny material. On it rests a rounded bar of metal that looks like it's meant to sharpen knives, a slender hidebound black book, and a mostly-covered basket of dim glows that casts a pallid green light over the entire weyr. Closer to the ledge, near Morchainth's immense stone couch, an uneven set of herdbeast bones have been laid out into a position that roughly resembles the actual configuration of the animal. The bones are by no means in the correct places - the legs are mismatched, and a few of the longer bones actually look like wherry themurs - but it does have a head, four legs, a spine, a rib cage, and a tail - the unnatural look of which is made eery by the weyr's low lighting.

Olwen steps with the flutter of fabric in from the Morchainth's Ledge.

There isn't much in X'ian's weyr. Thusly, there are really only a limited things once can do in it. One of those things happens to be condensing hide notes into a leather-bound journal, which is what X'ian is doing at the moment - sitting on the side of his bed with notes scattered in some obscure organizational system across the sheets and floor around him.

Olwen's arrival may or may not be heralded by X'ian's lifemate. The appearance of a small green on Morchainth's ledge would be enough to give the bronze pause, but as to whether or not he's in the mood to let X'ian in on the arrival remains to be seen. Olwen, herself, has bundled into a red sweater and long pants. Despite the summer warmth, Reachian nights remain decidedly chill. With the soft glow of starlight illuminating her entrance, Olwen arrives with the soft grace of the self-reliant. "X'ian."

X'ian glances up to the new arrival, then back down to his notes - not quite registering what he's seen until Morchainth drops off the ledge after the green, leaving his rider with enough information to prompt him to look back up again, brows raised - his pen poised above the paper in his lap. "Olwen. I see you managed to escape a miserable death in the bowels of the Weyr at the hand of starvation."

Olwen doesn't answer. Instead, Olwen casually walks to where X'ian is pouring over his notes and lightly pulls at her pants as she kneels down. At eye-level with X'ian, she holds his gaze as long as he'll let her before her hand leisurely raises and snaps forward, catching X'ian full on the cheek. Olwen's expression remains carefully devoid of emotion, but once the slap is administered, she leans slightly away, returning her attention to the notes; appearing for all intensive purposes as if nothing at all were amiss.

X'ian's head turns with the force of the slap. It's not the first time he's been bitchslapped. It will not be the last. Working his jaw as if checking to make sure everything is still hinged in properly, X'ian turns slowly to look back at her. Glare back at her, anyway, his chin tilted down and his brows hooding over his eyes in outright anger. "What. The hell?"

Olwen doesn't notice the glare, as she's currently looking downward. Occasionally pulling a few sheets closer to skim them in more detail, she answers. "Someone had to, might as well be me." Replacing the sheets she rocks back on her heels and slowly maneuvers to a stand. Long limbs stretching faintly into their new upright position, Olwen starts for the ledge.

"So what - you're just going to flyby bitchslap me and then leave?" Snapping the book in his lap shut with one hand, X'ian stands as well, ignorant of the notes he knocks onto the floor in the process.

"Looks like." Olwen responds without breaking stride.

"How?" There's no dragon on the ledge, now. It's quite bare. Still standing back a few paces, X'ian folds his arms firmly across his chest.

"Shouldn't be too long, I told the weyrling I'd only be a minute or two. I would have had him wait, but I figured your dragon would take offense at having to share his ledge for any amount of time." Looking unperturbed, Olwen waits for her ride to return, without so much a glance in X'ian's direction.

"You have forgotten that I have a telepathic system by which to negotiate, Olwen. That kid isn't coming back until I want him back up here - if I do at all." Forcing a quick, thin smile, X'ian doesn't await a reaction - turning back to his scattered notes.

"So now your plan is to keep the person who slapped you in your weyr for as long as you'd like? Perhaps you didn't see what just took place. I could show you again, if you'd like?" Olwen turns around, lightly folding her arms across her chest as she regards X'ian without a touch of irritation. The statement is even, though Olwen isn't talented enough to keep the cynicism from dusting her words.

X'ian's brows raise again, even if his back is turned to Olwen and she can't see his expression. It should be evident enough in his tone. "Maybe I would like that. It's been a few turns since I've had it rough outside of a flight."

Olwen sighs, leaning against one bare wall as she studies the empty ledge. "What are you doing?" And the tone she takes implies that she's not talking about his notes.

"Condensing various Weyr records from the start of the previous interval into indexed journals for easier access." There should be no doubt that he knows exactly what she's asking, but he refuses to really answer nonetheless - stooping to gather what isn't easily reachable otherwise.

"I don't guess you'd find it particularly interesting, really, seeing as you haven't ever expressed any interest in politics or history to /me/. I did find some terrible old novel though - sex on the beach, that sort of thing. Wyn mind find it interesting if you don't. She has quite a collection. Seems a little uncomfortable if you ask me - sex on the beach. Sand everywhere..." X'ian drones on, his back still turned to her as he goes about cleaning up as if talking to himself more than he is to her.

"Enough." Olwen pushes herself from the wall and begins pacing quietly. "If you're going to keep me up here so you can tell me about your work, I'll jump."

"Would you really? I imagine the splatter radius from this height would be amazing." Unphased, X'ian glances up at her to smile again as he works everything into a relatively neat stack, journals excluded.

Olwen shrugs, as she considers the splatter effects. The idea is enough to rouse a brief morbid smile as she wanders over and quietly takes a seat next to him.

"I take it you changed your mind. Ah, well. I suppose explaining Morchainth heaving live herdbeasts off the edge will be easier to explain than your mutilated corpse, in the long run." Bending over to slide the stack under his bed, X'ian sets both journals on the small stand at his left. "So. I don't suppose you brought anything with you to do? Surely you must have realized that I wasn't going to let you off that easily."

"You're right, I thought you would have the mind to let the person who slapped you out of your weyr instead of giving them more reason to attack you." Crossing her legs beneath her, Olwen regards the stack being scooted under X'ian's bed before pointing towards the notes. "Can I stack something?"

"Hmm..." X'ian considers this for a moment, his eyes squinted thoughtfully. "No."

Olwen sniffs irritably before stacking some random pages regardless. "Don't care."

X'ian lies back on his bed, spreading out his arms to pin a number of the sheets down while others are crinkled and folded. He really doesn't seem to care. "I could keep you up here for days, you know. Nobody'd know."

Olwen frowns as she feels that tell-tale blush begin to creep across her cheeks. Taking a breath, Olwen turns her face away, even as X'ian lies back. "That weyrling would know."

"Yes, but marks and threats go a long way to keep a single mouth closed for short periods of time. Particularly when they're that young. Plus, if he thinks something is up, he might fear punishment for not saying something sooner." Smirking to himself, X'ian peers at the high, bare ceiling for a moment before closing his eyes.

Olwen says, "But you're not going to keep me, are you?" "

X'ian shrugs, a brow arching even as his eyes remain closed. "I'm thinking about it."

Olwen slowly moves towards X'ian's bed, gently crawling on top and letting the blankets sink around her. "What about Ashli?"

X'ian sighs, scowling as he opens his eyes once more - if only to roll them. "I've already slept with someone else."

"You slept with someone who wasn't me? You floozy." She quietly stretches out beside him, careful not to make contact yet. "Alright, so you slept with someone else, what does that mean? I assume you're going to tell her and she's going to forgive you and then you're going to do it again." Olwen begins gently swinging her ankles about over the edge of the bed, her fingers curling into the blankets as she peers about.

"I was drunk and she kept unfastening my pants." X'ian mutters by means of lame excuse, lifting a hand to rub at the stress-induced frown lines between his brows. "But that pretty much sounds like how it'll go down if I simply tell her."

Olwen extends a hand, gently rubbing it along X'ian's shoulder. "Which leads to the obvious question, are you planning on simply telling her?"

X'ian's gaze shifts lazily to the left - away from Olwen, and then back again, his only visible reaction a faint scowl. "I don't know."

Olwen retracts her hand and begins scrubbing her face. "Listen, I'm sick of being in this position so this is it. If you want to be with Ashli, then I'm going over there." And she points towards the opposite end of the room.

"I don't think I'm cut out for it, Olwen. All I want is sex. Raaandom sex. I don't want to snuggle, I don't want meaningful looks, and I don't want to feel responsible for hurting anyone who doesn't deserve to be hurt. Just sex."

Olwen nods. "Yeah, I see that. So what the hell are you doing with Ashli? I've met her, X'ian, she's like the most innocent creature alive. I bet she thinks she can change you... what I don't understand, is why you believe her."

"I don't. I never did. But I thought....'Hey, Ashli is like...the most innocent creature alive...maybe we could make this work. Maybe I'll like it. Maybe that's what I've been missing all this time.' Only I don't think it is. I think I'm just an inexcusably miserable human being that happens to really like sex. And alcohol. I'd ask Wyn what to do but she'd probably just make me figure it out on my own anyway. I have to tell her something."

"X'ian, if you stay with Ashli, you're only going to hurt her. You can't stop being who you are, and you can't stop feeling what you feel. If you want to be the sort to snuggle, the sort to have sex with /one/ person, the sort who doesn't taint innocence, then stay with Ashli and I'll figure out some way to castrate you." Pausing a moment to venture into -that- terrifying visual place, Olwen continues. "But if you want to have sex with anyone you're attracted to, if you want to avoid deep attachment, if you want to worry only about hurting yourself? Then tell her it's over. You'll hurt her, but it's better in the long run, as far as I can see. But then again, I'm not a rider, I don't know how you and Ashli interact." Shrugging out of her red over-sweater Olwen remains in naught but her tiny white camisole. It's obvious which decision Olwen is behind, personal agenda or not.

"You sound like Morchainth." X'ian mutters, blinking hard and rubbing back at the side of his face - trying to clear his head. "And neither of you is gifted when it comes to maintaining relationships. I don't know what to tell her. When I told Raj to shove off she nearly fell off the edge of the star stones."

Olwen says, "Ashli is smart, and adaptable, and I've never /had/ a relationship so how do I know whether or not I could maintain one?"

"Because you're practically stalking this Joshe guy, and the instant he walked in on you and your significant other snuggling, you'd probably drop your pants for him." X'ian growls, rolling over enough to peer directly at her.

"Fuck off." Olwen shoves herself into a sitting position, glaring back at the ledge. "I want my ride."

"Ah, yes, analyze my failure and go all surly the instant I bring yours up." X'ian snaps, rolling away from her. "No."

"You can't keep me here," is her rejoinder as she stands and stalks away from the bed. "I'm aloud to analyze your failure. /Everyone/ analyzes your failure. You have eggs on the sands, and you ride a bleeding bronze. You're supposed to be discussed and gossiped about. But when it comes to my life? Especially when it comes to Joshe? Don't try to Wyn me. You have no idea what my life is like."

"Since when have the actions of the unruly Weyr masses been justification enough for you, Olwen? I don't see you mingling with them. I don't see you dragging girlfriends around and gossiping enough to even know what the hell they think of me and my dragon. So stop bullshitting yourself, and stop bullshitting me, because it's offensive that you'd think I'd fall for it." X'ian doesn't roll back over, content to glare at the wall.

"I'm not bullshitting you. Just because I don't mingle with the people here, just because I'd rather spend my time with defunct bronzeriders and mind-numbingly accurate blueriders doesn't mean I've completely cut myself off. I'm not ignorant and I'm not stupid. I can hear just as well as you can, and you are brought up in conversation almost as much as Wyn. And I don't analyze you because of popular opinion. I analyze you because you're my fucking friend." The pacing has started up again, but it's not nearly as quiet. Shoes slap angrily against the rock as she shoots glances towards the ledge in hopes some flurry of green will reappear.

"'You have no idea what my life is like! You can't keep me here!'" X'ian mocks back at her, snorting. "You sound like a bratty teenager. I'll do as I damn well please, and if you want to get out of here before the sevenday is up, I suggest you find an alternate means by which to negotiate your release. The tactic you're using now isn't working."

Olwen covers the distance between herself and X'ian in three strides, hand raised as she readies to slap him again.

X'ian rolls over at the sound of an approach, jerking one hand up to grab at her arm if it should be raised to slap him again. And it would appear that it is.

Olwen is caught, and as she can't slap him, she does the next best thing. Nearly plowing him over with her foreword momentum, Olwen doesn't give him time to react. Her lips press hungrily against his as she careens him back against the bed, her free hand roughly entwining his neck.

X'ian returns the favor with a forceful amount of enthusiasm, his hold on her wrist quickly loosened as his hands rove over her for a more appealing grip - scattered papers crunching and crinkling in and on the sheets around them.





X'ian is half covered - the heat of the sun able to penetrate his shallow weyr to offer enough warmth to keep him comfortable anyway as he finally begins to move - stretching and lifting a hand to dislodge a crumpled piece of hide that happens to be digging into his bare left shoulder.

Olwen is not covered in the slightest. She snoozes on, occasionally emitting little snorts as some dream or another has her mumbling unintelligibly and occasionally shuffling her feet.

X'ian finally sits up - wincing as the muscles in his shoulders and back give a fair amount of protest to any movement at all - much less ones that involve him looking over at Olwen next to him, sighing, and throwing his legs over the side of the bed to search for his trousers.

Olwen stirs, slowly. Peeling open her eyes to stare at X'ian's back for a long moment. "Sorry about those," she mutters faintly before she scoots to her side of the bed and begins wiggling into her undergarments.

X'ian stoops for his boxers, which are pulled on lazily enough with one hand while the other reaches under the bed for a fresh pair of trousers. The ones he was wearing last night appear to be tangled in the bed sheets. "I'll survive."

"I figured... could you hand me my shirt?" With pants on and bra hooked, Olwen curls herself against the top of the bed-- supported by her pillow.

X'ian tosses it to her once he's gotten his khaki trousers fastened, only to reseat himself on the bed's edge - shirtless and shoeless, and unshaven. "I'm going to be in so much trouble."

Olwen sighs, rolling her eyes as she watches X'ian begin his self destructive rant. "You were already in trouble. I was thinking this might be the breakthrough you needed."

"Yes, but. You're Olwen. I know you. Everybody knows you." X'ian isn't ranting. Really, more than anything, he appears to be sulking - his impressive dragonrider muscles reduced to slacking into a slouch.

Olwen chuckles, sliding into her camisole as she scans the weyr for her sweater and finds it tangled with X'ian's trousers. "No one knows me, and I'm not going to tell anyone. No need to get your boxers in a twist, stud."

"Wyn is going to find out. She always does. And she knows you." Scratching at the scruff on his chest, X'ian lifts his brows as he speaks. "And I still haven't decided what to do about Ashli."

"I'm not going to tell Wyn, but I have a feeling you might." Pausing in her attempts to untangle her sweater she briefly runs a finger down one of the shallow scratches now turning a light red on X'ian's back. "Well, for one thing, you're going to have to stop riding the thread line. You either stay with her or you don't. I think it's incredibly stupid that you're with her at all, but we've talked about this. Just make a decision already, X'ian. Save yourself and the rest of us some self-defeating blather."

X'ian's brows knit at that. Not saying anything immediately, he allows his back to tighten back up at her touch - discomfort reclaiming his posture. "Your weyrling will be here soon."

Olwen pulls away and continues fishing at her sweater. Managing to free the clothing, she shrugs it on and stands, leaving X'ian on his bed without so much as a glance as she makes her way towards the ledge, sweeping up her shoes in the process.

X'ian turns to crawl back into the still-warm depression left by his own form once she's moved out onto the ledge, only to pull the sheets up over himself.

"I thought I was giving you what you wanted," floats from the ledge as Olwen pulls on her shoes as she waits for her weyrling. "I mean, sure, I knew you'd probably do this, but I thought maybe... well, never mind. Not the first time I've been politely kicked out of a weyr in the morning. Snorting with amusement she straightens and peers into the sunny expanse. "If you want to make it easier, just say I seduced you and got you real drunk."

"I just need to think, Olwen. I'm not angry with you." X'ian calls back, his voice muffled by the sheets drawn up over his face.

"Like I'd care," she shoots back, but not nearly loud enough to reach his sheet-covered form as the sound of a dragon alighting on the ledge has her on her way.

"Fine!" What a mature end to a very mature argument. X'ian balls up and falls silent after that - the sounds of a dragon out on the ledge signaling an end to their conversation.



OOC Note: These two actually include X'ian, but they are amusing, and I don't have a journal for Xorvian to post them in.



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...

Wyn is here.

In as dark and shadowy a corner he could find well away from the general traffic of the Weyr, Xorvian is hunched over a table by himself, with one arm curled loosely around his half-empty glass and a skin of God-knows what. Disheveled and tired, his normally slick hair tousled, he doesn't appear to be at his best - his normally sharp gaze peering blandly at the wall to his right.

Wyn may appear to be a rather passive observer of weyr life to the uninitiated, but in reality she's keenly aware to any changes to the normal patterns of her little empire. A drunken and disheveled healer Journeyman with Istan orange in his knot is most certainly a change, and so Wyn, in the company of a mug of herb tea with ambersap and a dollop of heavy cream, drifts her way a little closer to the shadowy corner that Xorvian's attempting to become one with. She enters the shadows herself, and sits. "You, sir, appear to be drunk."

Xorvian sniffs as he turns slowly and somewhat reluctantly from the wall, only to look mildly surprised at seeing that Wyn has plunked herself down in the seat across from him. It's not really a pleasant sort of surprise, either. His voice is slow in answering, and a bit raspy - his gaze drifting back to the wall as he tries to sit up a little straighter. "Yes...I've been drinking. Cause and effect."

"Of course, the cause, to wit, drinking, is in itself the effect of some other cause," Wyn points out, lifting a hand and holding it at the ready in case Xorvian's attempts at sitting up properly cause him to topple off of his chair. "It's that initial cause that I'm more interested in... would you like me to get you something to vomit into?" she wonders, solicitous and calm, although it must be said that she edges a little bit out of the way of the line of fire.

"No. I'm not that drunk." Xorvian's reply comes after a moment of consideration that might suggest otherwise, but he does look back at Wyn and make eye contact in a gesture that's meant to be forceful. "I don't need you to be interested."

Wyn makes eye contact right back, grey eyes calm and unconcerned, letting the weakly forceful look splash and then sink beneath the surface of them to get lost in the abyss. "Yes, but I don't care about what you think you need." she replies, raising her mug of tea in a slight toast to him. "You're sitting around publicly drunk in my living caverns, which makes you my problem to deal with."

"High Reaches doesn't seem to've a pub. My options were somewhat limited." Xorvian replies, giving up on his attempt to stare her down as he slouches back into the wall - his head scraping lazily against it to solve the mystery of what's up with his ever-increasingly grizzled hair. "I won't drink anymore."

"It's not whether you drink anything further that concerns me." Wyn demurs, eyeing Xorvian with the sort of vehemence that Professor McGonagall has down, in other fandoms, when dealing with members of her House doing dumb things. "It's the fact that you've felt the need to drink so much, and to do so -here-, where I wasn't aware you had any ties beyond my research assistant."

"I forgot to take my knot off..." Xorvian says to himself in the middle of what Wyn's trying to tell him. Thusly, suddenly concerned over the realization, he turns his attention onto detaching it - conveniently missing anything involving research assistants in the process - although he can't quite help but squint as the title rattles around in the back of his mind. "She...I think..." His knot gripped loosely in his hands, Xorvian stares at it, somewhat slack jawed for lack of a proper way to put what he wants to convey.

Wyn watches Xorvian battle with his knot with a dry shake of her head. "I assure you, Journeyman, that I'm quite probably one of two people, perhaps three now that Eitanex is back with his parents, that could identify you, and drunkenness is hardly an unpardonable offence here. Although you -are- worrying me," she admits, refraining from poking him curiously in the shoulder, but only just. "Uriala. What about her?"

"I don't know. I've never given any indication...I was simply visiting to see if you were the sort of role model that I had hoped for...and I believe...I think...It doesn't happen very often...Only Sapha, and I was inebriated..." Talking half to himself, he doesn't fail to include Wyn in his mumbling, glancing slowly to her occasionally to see if she's following. "She looked at me strangely...flirting? Is that the word?"

"Well, I'm pleased at your concern for her, but I imagine I'd be more pleased if you currently weren't slobbering drunk," Wyn sniffs, and this time she does prod Xorvian lightly, before angling her chair to spare him from being stared at by the rest of the caverns. "But flirting?" An eyebrow lifts as she observes Xorvian and attempts to see him as an object of lust for Uriala. The attempt fails. "She was asking me earlier about how to go about attracting men... she may have been trying to practice on you to see what you would do, because she's Uriala."

Xorvian looks at his shoulder as he's prodded, then at his hand once he's wiped it over his mouth to make sure he's not actually slobbering. "It was extraordinarily...discon...certing." Xorvian muddles his way through his usual vocabulary, slouching further over the table. "But it couldn't have been anything else."

"While student crushes on an instructor are hardly uncommon," Wyn drawls to Xorvian, after taking a few sips of her tea while waiting for him to slowly fumble his way to a reply. "You and I both know that Uriala is unlikely to develop them, and -you-, sir, are unlikely to be the object of them. Two unlikelihood’s paired together suggests looking for an alternate cause first." Theory sketched out with broad strokes, she interrupts herself to wonder "Should I get you some strong klah before you fall off your chair?" and then continues. "So, since you're the innocent here, she's probably either experimenting with some theory she's come up with, or messing with your head."

"Perhaps." Xorvian replies shortly to her klah offer, his attention wavering back onto her with more strength at the idea that Uriala might have simply been messing with him. Apparently, the shock of the incident removed any doubt from his mind that she was completely sincere, and for a moment, he actually looks hurt - his brows knit and his gaze lost as he looks over Wyn's face to see if she's kidding. "I thought she wasn't angry with me..."

Wyn doesn't seem unduly surprised that the reputedly sour faced Journeyman is capable of looking hurt. After all, look at the surprising band of emotional rejects that she associates with on a regular basis. She merely meets his eyes gravely, and then offers a reassuring pat to his knee. "She likely isn't. If she was messing with your mind, it was probably merely a tactic to make you go away. She applies it to Eitanex, after all. Uriala, as you've no doubt noticed, is rather emotionally crippled in spots. One of those is empathy, and so therefore if she wanted you to go away, she'd do what she thought would make you most efficiently go away, likely without much, if any, malice in it at all. Or with any thought for your feelings."

"But I hardly managed to speak to her at all." Xorvian's shoulders slump slightly at the pat, his expression changing little until Wyn mentions /feelings/, at which point he tries to straighten himself back out. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. She won't be getting back into Healer, and I'm sure she knows as well as I do that it's partially my fault."

"And through what grievous chain of errors do you figure that?" Wyn wonders, her word choice arch, but her tone steady and reassuring. She absents herself for a moment to rise and collect a mug of klah off the tray of a passing serving girl, and presses it on Xorvian. "Drink. Alcohol is a depressant."

"Also," Wyn tacks on, somewhat more dryly. "From what I've heard of you, you've turned upsetting people in the shortest amount of time possible into something of an art form. Although bear in mind that my reports come from my father, who's seeing Master Aerrin,"

G'deon quietly strides in from the Central Bowl.

"I know. I spent turns studying to be a mindhealer...I'm not completely helpless." His tone edging back to the grumpier side of the spectrum as he peers down into the murky drink, Xorvian scowls. "I induced her original breakdown, and could have done a great deal to see to it that Fort gave her transfer request a serious amount of consideration. I didn't, though. I don't think she should be a Healer." Finally sipping at the klah, Xorvian sighs before continuing to answer. "Nobody likes what I have to say."

"Studying is not the same as an aptitude for it." Wyn replies, a touch crisply, drawing a line with herself on one extreme, and Xorvian on the other. "But never mind that. So, you could have petitioned Fort Hall to take her on, despite your misgivings about her ability to ever be a proper Healer. You'd be acting out of guilt, for contributing to her breakdown, rather than out of good sense. You made the proper choice not to." That dealt with, she moves on to the next topic and wonders "Have you thought about whether it's your content or your tone that makes people dislike your words? You're drunk now, but I imagine you'd be unpleasant to be around for anyone not wholly secure in themselves. Which very few, if any of us, are."

"I have considered it, and I'm sure it's a mixture, but it's not one that I can change, so don't bother asking. You wouldn't be the first. It's just me. It's how I am. Just like you constantly trying to dig into my brain when we speak. Automatic." Stirring his klah lazily with a spoon despite having nothing to stir into it, Xorvian uses his other hand to prop his head up. "Anyway, I know I made the right choice, but I could have told her that she didn't have a chance."

"What made you decide to be a Healer?" Wyn wonders then, changing the topic at the behest of some personal curiosity in the face of all the negativity being poured drunkenly upon her. Her tone is simple and interrogative, open without any agendas peeking. She lets silence hang, and then wonders "Have you tried apologizing to her about it, if you're feeling guilt?"

"I don't know. It just seemed the thing to do. That, or steward...But marks never change, and people do, and math is so...impersonal. I was bored. Not learning anything where I was." Unusually matter-of-fact with the admission, Xorvian sighs once more. "I don't even like most people. I don't know what I was thinking. And I tried apologizing to Aerrin some time ago, and I don't think it went over as well as I intended it to. I'm probably better off without trying again."

G'deon strolls on in at that moment, full of cheer and the pleasant summer morning. Spotting Wyn and someone he doesn't recognize, Gid heads on over and invites himself to a chair, pulling it around so he can take a leisurely seat. His blue-eyed gaze goes from Healer to former Healer, then back again. "How's it going, folks?" he asks a little too cheerfully. If he's heard any of the conversation, he's not about to give away his eaves-dropping. They can tell him to bug off if they'd like, of course.

"Or perhaps you just need to get into the habit of apologizing so that you can learn to do it properly," Wyn advises, tipping her chin at Xorvian, and looking arch. As G'deon approaches, she chooses not to examine Xorvian's admission in front of new company, and instead raises her mug of tea in a toast to her mentor. "Bronzerider and Dragonhealer G'deon, this is Healer Journeyman Xorvian, up for a visit. He used to teach Uriala." Identification and introduction made, she shows no sign of telling him to bug off just yet.
Xorvian is disheveled, tired, drunk, and quite clearly displeased at G'deon's interruption. Nonetheless, he manages a grudging, muttered greeting once he's been introduced, his gaze falling back to his klah - which he continues to stir.

"Ahh," G'deon replies, nodding to Wyn slowly before giving Xorvian a smile. "Pleased to meet you," he offers the Healer, along with one of his more charming smiles, undaunted by any obvious displeasure. "I suppose I'm interrupting another of Wyn's ever deep, ever thoughtful and ever exploratory conversations?" he adds, half question, half teasing jab at the bluerider, at whom he quickly winks before leaning back in his chair a bit, looking quite comfortable right where he is.

"Naturally," Wyn banters back to G'deon. "We were just getting through his childhood and his relationship with his mother during it, and I imagine we'll be analyzing his thoughts on puberty in short order." Mindhealing joke made, and neatly covering the actual topic of conversation, she wonders "And how are you doing with that construction project I've been tripping over drafted drawings for in the enclave?"

Xorvian manages to return G'deon's smile with a look that could probably melt a glacier if he was at the top of his game. Fortunately, G'deon isn't a glacier, and Xorvian looks as if he might've been trampled recently.

G'deon is luckily quite impervious to glacial glares and simply goes back to the former healer, chuckling quietly at Wyn's explanation before he grins most mischievously. "I just finished bartering for the supplies as of this morning," he confides, sounding confident. "Soon you'll be tripping over lumber instead. Isn't that fantastic?" Why yes, of course it is. Just ask him. "I've also been thinking, should we commission a giant... uh... that listening thing that you Healer types wear... the Y-shaped thing..." Gid glances from one to the other, hoping for a little help. He's not a healer, obviously, just related to one.

"Listening tube." Xorvian drawls semi-helpfully, slouching over enough to rest his head on his arm on the table.

"Thrilling," Wyn replies, before allowing philosophically that "I suppose, however, since you've been remarkably pleasant about tripping over my tunnelsnakes and my lo- Antonias," she substitutes, on the off chance that Healer Hall hasn't heard the word yet. "That I can approach my imminent appointment with barked shins and bruises with good grace." She pauses to let G'deon stumble around for a word, and then to let Xorvian supply it, and nods gently. "Actually, a listening tube -- I still have mine and use it -- doesn't increase in effectiveness for increasing in size. Standard sizes work best, since they're limited by the fact that we humans are -not- giant."

"Tube, yeah," G'deon replies with an easy smile, lacing his fingers behind his head as he leans back a bit more. "Much better than pressing my ear to some dragon's chest who's bleeding all over the place." Oh, the compassion. You could cut it with a knife. "But yeah, I suppose it's not really needed. Or maybe I should just see about getting one for myself." Gid winks at Wyn and shrugs a little. "Don't worry, you know I clean up after myself. It shouldn't be too bad, unless the Smiths decide they can't leave me alone with a hammer."

Xorvian rolls his eyes, apparently at the stupidity of such a suggestion, but he seems disinclined to speak up otherwise, content to drift off into his own drunkenness.

"And flailing." Wyn agrees. "They always do seem to flail a bit... one of the pluckier greens gave me a mild concussion a fortnight ago after cracking me with one of her wingspars," Comfortable reminisce given, she sips at some more of her tea, and sinks more deeply into her chair, threatening to disappear from view on her side of the table. "Xorvian, have you ever had any contact with dragonhealers at work.?"

G'deon rubs a thumb along his jaw line idly for a moment, perhaps testing for a need to shave. He finally sits up straight and starts to stand. "All right, I'm definitely butting in here. Just wanted to share the good news with ya, Wyn. Enjoy your cheery companion here," he adds with amusement, winking at the fellow dragonhealer. "I'll let you know when the Smiths deliver the goods. Oh, and if you're not expecting any additional visitors later today," namely, another particular healer, "a few of us were thinking of having a bit of a bonfire and grilling down by the beach around dinner time." He straightens his tunic, gives both Xorvian and Wyn a smile, then heads off towards the bowl again, just as cheerful as ever.

G'deon exchanges the protection of stone for the bowl outside.

"Dimwitted ass." Xorvian mutters after G'deon after mumbling something about flailing dragons not being his area of expertise, and making no effort to adjust his posture or his tone once he's gone.

"Actually, he's quite brilliant, and a good portion of the weyr dragons owe him their lives and continued mobility," Wyn replies calmly to the muttering Xorvian. "You seem to have a problem with the cheerful."

"They give me indigestion." Xorvian replies, his dim glare rolling lazily back onto Wyn.

"There are herbs you could take for that," Wyn counters.

"It's easier to cure them of their cheerfulness." Xorvian murmurs back at her, his tone droll.

"Ah, this explains why my brother drives you to distraction without breaking a sweat," Wyn nods as if enlightened, eyes twinkling. "You do know that if you keep this up, Journeyman Celeste will probably take you on as a personal project."

Olwen arrives from deeper in the Weyr.

"I never see Celeste anymore. I keep to myself. Aside, I'm a person, not a project, despite your apparent tendency to believe otherwise." Finally pushing himself up back into a reasonably seated position, Xorvian pulls a deep breath in through his sinuses. "So what do you think?"

"Everyone assumes I see people as projects, when really all I see are unhappy people who needn't be that way and whom I could help, if they'd consider it." Wyn counters, lifting her eyebrows at Xorvian from the corner where she's closeted with the obviously inebriated Healer journeyman. "What do I think about what?"

Leisurely making her way into the commotion of lunch, Olwen narrowly avoids being bumped, bobbled, trampled, and covered in some sort of tapioca. Sweeping her excess skirt fabric up, she darts towards the less busy portion, plucking up an apple on the way. And look who happens to /be/ in the less busy portion. Smiling amiably at Xorvian, Olwen eases into the corner as she takes a loud, decidedly juicy bite out of her apple. "Not interrupting, am I dear sister?" And if she is, she seems to be enjoying it rather thoroughly.

"Well surely you must have some sort of diagnosis in mind by now, if not a solution. I've answered practically everything you've asked me." Looking as if he'd like to say more, Xorvian pauses there, his brows knit back at Olwen's smile before he turns the look on Wyn. "I shall make an attempt to find somewhere more secluded to drown my sorrows next time."

Uriala walks in from the Central Bowl.

Uriala comes into the Living Caverns. Uriala sees Xorvian and Wyn talking. Uriala about-faces. Bowl. Yes. Bowl is nice this time of year.

"I think you don't actually give a snake's arse about what I think," Wyn replies to Xorvian, treating him to a level smirk. "And that even if you did, you wouldn't be interested in doing anything about it, because that would require actually taking responsibility for your behavior instead of excusing it as the way you are... drink your klah." she orders, before smiling at him quietly and getting to her feet, falling into step beside Olwen with her mug of tea still in hand. "Just finishing, sibling-mine. And just who did you sleep with to put you in a chipper mood?"

Olwen's smile becomes a brilliant grin at Xorvian's words. Eeexcellent. Now that she's thoroughly destroyed what rant the man could be pouring out at Wyn, she purrs a response for Wyn as she quietly hooks her arm with Wyn's. "Wouldn't /you/ like to know. But let's just say, it was a fun ride. It's fabulous outside, I was thinking of taking my apple to the lake."

Xorvian opens his mouth to reply to Wyn, only to leave it slacking there for a moment, his bleary glare fixing blankly on her as she stands and leaves him. Simply sitting like that for a few minutes, his expression unchanging, he lifts the mug to drink.

Uriala exchanges the protection of stone for the bowl outside.

Wyn would probably have enjoyed dissecting any rants piece by piece, but the elder of the two siblings -can- share a little fun with the younger now and again. She's not quite as easy as Olwen is about linking arms and sallying forth, the contact just a little too free and easy for a public place for her liking, but she submits to it with good grace, and agrees that "The weather's indeed lovely, and I've been cooped up indoors all day, chasing down paperwork and people problems. Let's head lakeside, and I'll attempt to extract a name from you before weyr gossip supplies it anyways."





Uriala is wet, dressed only in swimming clothes and a towel around her waist, and appears from the vicinity of the lake, heading towards the ground weyrs.

Xorvian is still quite drunk and messy, although no longer sitting down. Instead, he seems to be feeling his way into the bowl from the caverns - only a few meters from the entrance and leaning heavily against the wall to keep from tipping over.

Uriala doesn't immediately notice Xorvian, near the wall as he is. She looks a bit distracted, and drunks aren't entirely unheard of in the Weyr. She does notice him as she draws closer, however, and halts, her lips parting in surprise. Man. Isn't the Weyr supposed to be /big/?

Xorvian coughs, one hand still against the wall as he pauses to hunch - cough some more - spit - and carry on along at a hobbling, hesitant walk. It isn't immediately obvious where he thinks he's headed. Odds are, he doesn't know.

"Oh, for the love of..." Uriala's voice is quiet, and distinctly irritated. She steps forwards towards Xorvian, reaching out to hopefully support and guide the Healer. "You need to get to bed," she informs him, her tone cool, definitely distinct from her earlier seduction.

Xorvian turns towards her with a limited amount of startled surprise, his back going flat against the wall as she reaches out for him and he squints down at her, his dull glare wavering quickly in a slow effort to determine her purpose in doing so. "Apprentice Uriala! Surprised to see you here...I was just..." Xorvian looks back up in the direction he was headed, his forehead wrinkled in confusion as he tries to recall exactly what it was he had planned on doing. "Just...heading...to...ah..."

Uriala reaches for his elbow again, politely but firmly. "For bed. And you're not going to find yours anywhere in the vicinity." Her exasperation is tamped down under a sheet of necessity now. "So come with me. I'm not going to leave you unconscious in the middle of the bowl.

"If you're sure, I suppose..." Reluctant to part with the wall, Xorvian glances to it before seeking to mantain some sort separate balance with Uriala's help.
In the pens, Nylanth goes home.

Uriala cups a firmly supporting hand under Xorvian's elbow and guides him in the direction she was taking anyway. She opens her mouth as if to say something, then presses her lips tightly together, suppressing the impulse. Lecturing the drunk is very rarely any use, anyway.

Uriala abandons the bowl for ground weyr's shelter.

Open sky is exchanged for protecting stone.

Ground Weyrs
Once a mere overhang in the bowl wall, this arched stone enclave was deepened in aeons past by who-knows-what to provide shelter for injured dragons and their mates. Craggy walls loom high to dwarf rider and dragon alike, sloping back from the weather-open entrance to a low opening into the infirmary itself. Stacked under rock-shaded cover are low supply chests of sturdy timber, flanked with long tables. Other openings are shaded by wherhide curtains, leading to smaller, private caverns for the dragonhealers' patients.
To the northeast, you see seven dragons.
Settled on rough-hewn ledge are three firelizards.
You see Guards' Lock-up here.
Uriala is here.

Xorvian has a reluctant tendency to want to sit down along the way that comes into play twice - but he never quite makes it, and ends up trudging along, muttering to himself and to Uriala. By the time they've made it to the groundweyrs, he's got a not-quite-companionable arm around her shoulders, whether she likes it or not.

Imagine Uriala's surprise. She doesn't object, just guides the journeyman to the back of the ground weyrs and one of the available cots there for riders. The niche is rather overlarge, as it is sized for a dragon, but the cot is closer. "Sit," she instructs, attempting to extricate herself and deposit Xorvian.

Xorvian allows himself to be untangled and sat down, now reduced to staring down and to the left in a semi-dazed state. His hair tousled over his forehead and his eyes hollow, he could probably pass for an insane man as well as a drunk one.

Uriala takes a step back and studies Xorvian, who can sharding well sleep in his clothes; she ain't undressing him, for sure. She draws a slow, deep breath, lets it out on a sigh, then points and says, firmly, "Stay." She moves a bit away, aiming to get some water, but glances back to make sure he isn't going anywhere.

Xorvian seems too fascinated with his hands to do much of anything other than pull on the fingers of his left one one by one, only to compare their lengths to those of the right a moment later.

Uriala comes back after a minute with a pitcher of water and a wooden cup. She fills the cup, drops to her knees in front of him to try and regain eye contact, and hands over the cup. "Drink," she says. She's still wearing a bathing suit and a towel, so even if he spills all over her, he's not likely to do damage.

"Uriala! Surprised to see you here!" Xorvian takes the cup and smiles weakly at her before struggling against another mild coughing fit. Seemingly unbothered by it, he lifts the cup to sniff at its contents before lowering it again. "What's it in?"

"Water," Uriala answers drily. "You're drunk. Water will make it easier to sleep."

"I could use a nap." Xorvian concedes, finally seeming to recognize the look she's giving him enough to reason that he should probably try to drink the water. Which he does.

Uriala takes the cup back and rises again, placing cup and pitcher well out of the way.

"Go to sleep, then," she instructs, grabbing a blanket from a nearby cabinet and tossing it onto the foot of the bed, just in case.

"If you insist." Hooking an arm around the blanket, Xorvian lies down - and passes out almost instantly.

Uriala rolls her eyes and stalks away, presumably to get dressed.