Dress for Success

Characters Ariadne, Nassir, R'sner, Shetaia, Triven
Synopsis Triven is the victim of a prank gone sour.
Out-of-Character Date June 13, 2018

Igen Weyr - Inner Caverns
Igen's inner cavern is smaller than the main living cavern, but isn't small by any stretch of the imagination. Tables and comfortable chairs are placed about the room, clustered together, and often-occupied spinning wheels and a large loom sit in one corner. A small corner-table holds klah and various crudites and appetizers, refreshed constantly by the kitchen's staff. The walls and much of the floor are covered with a mosaic of colorful rugs, many handcrafted by Igen residents, dampening noises and giving the cavern a more intimate feel than its size immediately would suggest

Nassir has finally gotten some time to actually take a breath. Of course, that is only because he absolutely refused to even glance at the chore board. After the fiasco with the flashlight and the tunnelsnake? The tailor firmly believes he is entitled to a break. For Nassir that break comes in the form of curling up in one of the comfy chairs and working on some long overdue embroidery. Hoop in hand, he's working intently on an ornate pattern of brightly colored flowers while doing his level best to avoid so much as a hint of having to do anything else. Fortunately for reasons unknown, most people are leaving him to his own devices, although a few have stopped to peek at what he's working on. Nassir, however, has steadfastedly ignored the lookee-loos, going so far as to shake his curls down into his face to avoid even an accidental glimpse.

Ariadne sits, and works with needle and thread as well, although in her case, she's trying to clean up some of the very uneven stitching of her very old robe, shaking her head. "How did we end up with candidates robes from Fort, anyway," she wonders idly as she does…

Shetaia might eventually start working on her robe again. The thing lays off to one side of her as she feeds small tidbits to the very young firelizard that's resting on her forearm. Her stitches might not be uneven but they're still weirdly disturbing. Thankfully she has not pulled The Sapling out for more bug getting in the LC, for some reason he seems to freak people out.

Robes.. that would be nice to have right now. But saddly someone has seen fit to make a spectacle out of the tattooed man. Triven is currently peeking around corners as he tries to make his way to the barracks. The real problem is that the man is stark NAKED!! Currently he is covering himself with what was probably the lid to an old glow basket, it does a job of hiding the goods in front but only barely so the red faced man is creeping along trying not to be noticed..

Nassir frowns faintly at the question, one brow arching as he spends a few more moments on his embroidery. "What makes you think they are from Fort? That seems a little impractical for Fort and Igen…" Glancing up belatedly, his head gives a mild toss, the curls blown out of his face in a frustrated gesture. "It's fair more likely that…" Whatever he was going to say, however, is lost as he tilts his head and blinks repeatedly at Triven. "I…." Trailing off, his brow arches higher, his lips twisting in a smirk. "I am not sure I even want to ask," he murmurs.

Ariadne smiles over to Shetaia, having been gifted with one of the other eggs from that small clutch. In the crook of one arm, a very tiny green head can be seen, asleep. "How is he doing, Shetaia? Still hun…" she trails off as she sees Triven. Amusement crosses her face at his predicament, as she chokes back laughter. "Oh dear. Traven, what happened? Did the clothes thief strike again?

Shetaia's attention is mainly on the little bronze darling, who really is not really darling looking. But first Nassir with his questions and then Ariadne get a glance and a nod. "He's doing good and from Fort?" is asked before she glances the direction the others seem to be looking. A dark brow is arched in amusement, let's face it. "Triven, you seem to have forgotten something. I wouldn't advice going out in the Igen sun like so." sunburn, harsh stuff.

Crap! He has been spotted, Triven does a little dive behind a chair hiding good thing his hair is so long because it covers anything from really being scene. He pops his head up behind the just barely enough to see his eyes that glare squint at them all. His ears are a bright pink, his voice is muffled but can be heard as he says "I bet NONE of you know what is going on dooo you?"

R'sner is all business. Four days in Igen, and he's already walking around as if he owns the place (or at least, he's walking around with that long, confident stride of someone who is assured that they belong here, and MIGHT know where they are going, and doesn't really care if anyone else thinks otherwise). Through the living caverns, into the inner caverns, and probably on his way to something else when a number of things catch his attention. Or, more specifically, two things catch his attention. The first is Triven, naked and trying unsuccessfully to duck behind a chair. The second is Nassir, tucked into his chair and working away at that embroidery, and who was likely his intended target. It is this first that has his steps stuttering, a frown darkening his expression as he looks as if he might voice a question only to think better of it and just keep on walking as though perhaps he did not notice the naked man in the first place. But he did, oh yes. He definitely did. Which is why he's pressing his fingers into his forehead and sighing in a manner that signifies headaches and longsuffering. And it is why he's eventually speaking because he just can't help but to point out that, "even in a Weyr, nudity in public is typically frowned upon," as an opening statement. And just for good measure, that disapproving frown of his will pass to both Ariadne and Shetaia as well, cause /why not/.

"Well," Nassir sighs. "Clearly you've decided to become a nudist. The timing is questionable, but.. I strongly advise you refrain from getting to close to Taia's tree." That? That could be painful in the extreme. Nassir, an odd combination of bemused and amused, shakes his head, the gesture inviting thick curls to fall back into his face. It is the sigh, a sound he knows oh-so-well, that stirs him to glancing over his shoulder, a wry smile immediately tracing over his lips. "Fair point," he notes on an attempt not to laugh. "Apparently, someone stole Triven's clothing, though. Seems to be a spree going on with the Candidates." In the wake of the words, he sets down his embroidery, neatly tucking the needle and thread to safety as he rolls to his feet and steps toward R'sner.

Ariadne does, but she's not about to admit it (and actually does deserve R'sner's disapproving glare.) Nope, you never admit the prank. She just sits there, managing to look shocked, and chokes back laughter. (Are you sure this one wasn't a theatrical specialist at the hall?) However, she can't resist gilding the lily just a bit, as she hides the (closed) eyes of the tiny green in her arm.

Triven is all but amused, and being such isn't as reserved as he usually is.. nope instead comes the retort "Thanks, sir.. Glad to see the rules haven't changed in the last candlemark since I went in and someone stole my clothes…" He still glares at the others as he reaches around the chair trying to grab one of the larger pillows to cover himself better he glares at Nassir "Oh by the way I think someone is going to need a tailor, they left me a dress and it didn't fit, ripped the whole seem out."

Also not at all amused, R'sner just turns that disapproving look right back onto the naked candidate. That he didn't like Triven to begin with? Well. Definitely not helping. "And where was it you were coming from, that necessitated the removal of clothes?" ALL THE DISAPPROVAL! All of it. And all of it aimed at Triven, if just because he is not (yet) aware that it is Ariadne who might be worthy of his glowering. Even Nassir's joining him does not soften it, though he does slide an arm around the tailor-candidate's shoulders in acknowledgement.

Nassir tilts his head as he regards Triven's glare, clearly imagining him in a dress. "Well, I'm sure something can be worked out to repair the garment. Naturally, you'll have to work out repayment with them," pausing a beat, he adds with a flashing smile. "Since you ripped the seam out." With R'sner's arm slipping around his shoulder, Nassir leans comfortably into the greenrider's side, one brow twitching mildly at the question directed at Triven. He is, however, wise enough to refrain from further comment, if only because the last thing he wants is the DISAPPROVAL cast his way. That does not, however, keep him from a 'tching' sound.

Uh-oh. One prankster, hoisted on her own petard. She looks shocked. "What? My best performance dress…." Then, she immediately clamps up, flushing BRIGHT red. Oh dear, it would appear that the truth DOES come out when the prank backfires on the perpatrator.Realizing that the feline is out of the bag, the harper girl tries, unsuccessfully, to make herself /VERY/ tiny and inconspicuious…

Shetaia might have been tuning them all out, or she might have just been listening and not bothering to acknowledge R'sner's glare of disapproval. Maybe there is immunity to such a thing. The eldest of all the Candidates shakes her head at the whole of it. "A dress even, do you have the legs for one?" and yes, she's serious about the question. The aesthetics of someone in a dress with not the legs for it is just horrible.

Triven doesn't care about judgemental green riders.. He has delt with people like R'sner his whole life. His own DISAPPROVAL sent right back at him saying "The baths, sir." He keeps his tone flat as you respect the rank if not the person wearing it.. But he does stick his leg out from behind the chair enough saying "and yes Shetaia I do have the legs for it.." He completely misses Ariadne's confession, as his anger is starting to get the best of him.

"Don't the baths have towels?" But maybe something has R'sner holding his tongue from further inquisition. Perhaps the fact that he has no authority over Triven. Or perhaps it is Ariadne's round-about and unconscious confession, which has him suddenly turning the full weight of his wrath upon the (not at all successfully) shrinking Harper. A twitch at his eyebrow, the tension at his jaw, the sudden inhale as though he is preparing to /speak/ (and it would undoubtedly be disapproving on SO MANY LEVELS) and yet no words come. Just silent glaring toward the harper in the chair. A second. Two. And he finally decides, "A ripped seam in an expensive gown is the least of your concerns." And /back/ to Triven. Or, rather, Triven's leg that is briefly on display. Sigh. "Someone get the man a sheet!" And while he might not be weyrlingmaster in Igen, that doesn't stop him from using his very /best/ Voice of Authority. Someone, undoubtedly, is running for sheets right about now.

"Watch your tone," Nassir snaps at Triven. "R'sner most assuredly did not steal your clothing. Save the anger for whomever did this." Protective? Why yes, he is. Granted, it's sort of like a kitten hopping and hissing, but hey. He does, however, pull his robe off the back of the chair. Not the robe for /on/ the sands, but rather the one to wear /in/ sand. "Here," he states as he slips away from R'sner long enough to toss the garment to Triven. It's not a sheet, but it will have to do.

Ariadne has that herdbeast in the dragon's sight gaze on her face. She's in /deep/ trouble,. and she knows it, not to mention that, now, she also has to pay out from what few marks she has to get her dress repaired on top of that, not to mention she doesn't even know where it is at the moment 9or if it's even still in the bathes, or sent to the Middens, as someone /might/ do to an abandoned and badly torn garment. She looks down, crestfallen, and /tries/ to focus her attention on littleSonata. Unfortunately the tiny green picks this moment to wake up, and start creeling for food…

Shetaia is not a great one for being wary of anger or disapproval, the emotions seem to be accepted as someones opinion and just let there. Triven's legs though, they do warrant a look and she looks his visible limb over. "My mistake Triven, you do in fact have the legs for it." Ariadne's words about /her/ dress draw her attention and she hmms softly. "That's rather unfortunate, I doubt anyone will be reimbursing you for ripped seams. " is noted in a rather dry tone as she watches the interactions of the rest of them. Her free hand seems to search on the table near her, looking for her absent notebook. Nassir kitten spitting is something to take note of, of course.

Triven just gives Nassir the 'you want a piece of this?' look before he joins in the Ariadne staring. "WHY…" anything else he was going to say is just chewed down as he is handed a sheet. He wraps it around him toga style. Once he is properly clothed he turns and starts making his way back towards the barracks quickly as one can with out having there rear hanging out for all to see.

Now, see… R'sner is cool with that righteous wrath being directed /his/ way. Nothing new, there. He's used to it. But when that look turns on Nassir? And he happens to catch sight of it? Yeah, no. That's not OK. There is an altogether dangerous look in those blue eyes of his, pinned upon the naked candidate behind the chair there. It is a look that spells doom and destruction, even if Res doesn't say a single freakin' word as Triven snatches a sheet (which is probably the wiser choice, as he MIGHT have lost a hand if he'd thought to reach for Nassir's robe), makes a toga, and books it for the candidate barracks. Can you feel those eyes, stabbing you in the back, Triven? Stab-stab. And those ain't kitten claws. A very pregnant pause, before he's turning to regard the remaining candidates. And still, no words. Which might be for the best.

Nassir shakes his head as Triven makes his retreat, one hand raising to push his curls out of his face."Honestly." As his hands fall, he finally notes the look on R'sner's face and immediately steps back toward his side. Normally, he would do his level best to serve that rising ire, but he's not about to risk embarassing R'sner in public. Instead, he picks up his embroidery hoop, fiddles with it a moment and lightly clears his throat. "Everyone is so tense today," he murmurs to no one in particular. He does, however, cast a 'help me calm this down' look toward Taia. "How is your robe coming along, Taia?"

Ariadne tries to take advantage of suddenly being ignored to make a discreet retreat, or as discreet as one can with a hungry firelizard hatchling. Unfortunately, she doesn't notice Quiara, the very same AWLM who threatened a dire fate if she found the clothing thief when her dress 'disappeared." Hand is placed on the candidate's shoulder, and Ariadne looks, going pale. "Um, I can explain," she says, meekly…

Shetaia would, if perhaps the wrath had been slightly less visible than Raptor level terror, have offered a wink in response to R'sner's regard. She does have some social cues that don't go over her head after all. The now slumbering bronze is nudged up to her shoulder where he can wrap himself comfortably before she clasps her hands in front of her. Her mouth opens and then closes, whatever response to Nassir's 'help me' look kept behind her teeth as he offers a better question. The robe is drug off the back of a chair and held up. It's horrible, strangely weirdly wrong in some fashion. "It, is a robe." she shakes it out as if this might help the thing look better. Yes, that's disgust on her face but she squares her shoulders anyway. "I'll make it work." Ariadne's plight with the AWLM is noticed, with Shetaia shaking her head before calling out. "Get a bowl of meat from the kitchen before you take her to task. That young one can't wait." her voice, it's a bit different with those words. All official and Dragonhealeresq.

There is still silence on the part of the Half Moon Bay weyrlingmaster, R'sner's expression not at all friendly despite the naked candidate's retreat, and the one responsible for said nakedness being taken to task. Robes. Assistant weyrlingmasters. Creeling baby firelizards. It's enough that Res is contemplating the door with a hard, /hard/ look before there's a sort of exhale and forced return to reality. That being Shetaia and her mangled robe, Nassir and his embroidery loop, and Ariadne being taken by the assistant. The latter has him summarily dismissing the harper. Not his Weyr. Not his Candidates. And apparently Quiara's got this. Shetaia's robe gets a squint, but he seems to think better of speaking. Instead, there's a few long strides taken before he's claiming Nassir's abandoned chair as his own, a hooked arm around said candidate being utilized to haul him along and down into his lap for obligatory (grumpy) cuddling.

"What…" Blinking in horror, Nassir shakes his head as he stares at Taia's robe. "What did you do to it.." Immediately, he regrets saying that and casts a sheepish look at Taia. "The stitches are very straight." Then there is an arm around his waist and he exhales a pleased laugh as he is pulled down into R'sner's lap. "Good morning," is whispered before he leans in to brush a kiss over R'sner's lips. "Always exciting," is added as he drapes his arms around the greenrider's shoulders and snuggles in with a contented sigh. Grumpy, is clearly, in Nassir's opinion, impossibly sexy.

Ariadne shoots Shetaia a greatful glance as she's drug away.

Shetaia doesn't even narrow her eyes at R'sner's squint, she's busy owning the idea of wearing what she knows is wrong looking. Her reaction to Nassir's words isn't hurt really merely a sigh of agreement "It doesn't behave like things being stitched ought to. There's no spring or recoil in the fabric and apparently my best stitches are not" and here are quotes "'Clothing' stitches." she doesn't roll her eyes but the sarcasm is implied. The cloth is being stubborn and not bending to her superior stitching skills.

A gruff noise in the back of R'sner's throat is the only return greeting that Nassir is going to get. Apparently, words are not a thing that the greenrider is interested in employing just yet. But he at least softens (marginally, fractionally, impossibly /slightly/) in the wake of that kiss. His arms settle around his captured candidate, a hold that is not constrictive but certainly not about to allow for escape. He MIGHT be using Nassir as a social shield. But that doesn't stop him from peering over once more to Shetaia's robe as she speaks on it. And now, at least, he decides to give his two cents on the matter. "Only has to last an hour or so. It's fine."

"Oh! I have something for you," Nassir states with a broad smile. Twisting in R'sner's lap, he tosses his embroidery aside, reaching behind the chair to draw out a portrait sized piece of canvas with a sturdy wooden frame. "I commissioned this right after getting searched," he affords as he twists back around with the painting in hand. Holding it up, a pleased smile traces over the tailor's lips as he waits for R'sner's reaction. The painting is of Toith. Rather then a romantic sort of imagining, however, it has her arranged on the rim of the bowl above Igen— the desert stretching out behind her— looking both majestic and oddly imposing all at once. It's the detail, though, that really catches the eye, particularly the artfully arranged patches of mud (and what is probably something more gorish) on her hide. Despite the more realistic additions, it's really a rather outstanding depiction of the green dragon in question. "It's Weyr warming gift," he informs as he cranes his neck to look at it. Lolling his head to the side, he casts a wink at Taia and notes reasonably. "We won't be wearing them for terribly long. And really? It's going to show a lot of leg." Nassir clearly approves of a lot of leg being shown.

Shetaia gets two cents for from R'sner and they're not bad credit! There's almost an upward tilt of her lips in his direction, almost. The painting though it, or what she can see of it is beautiful and she doesn't spoil the moment by intruding. Too much. Nassir's mention of her leg has her holding one out and pulling up her loose pants to show off a calf. "I'll make it work. I must admit, I did not realize I would be nervous. I have been around dragons since birth, my mother's lifemate was more father to me than my own. Yet this is not a pleasant feeling."

"It's horrible," Nassir sighs as he glances at Taia. "I could never have imagined that anything could make me so tense." Grimacing mildly, he makes a disgruntled noise in the back of his throat before glancing back at her robe. "I told you I would help you with it, if you wanted me to. I'm sure there is more then enough time for us to sit down and tweak the way the fabric falls." If he only knew. He does, however, slant a glance at R'sner, his expression curious before he gives the greenrider some time to process the painting.

Ariadne returns, very abashed, as she first picks up her robe. Sonata is now curled up on the harper girl's shoulder. Quiara follows, making her way to the chore board, and marking in Ariadne's column. Stables, every day, plus a second chore section after the lunch and early afternoon rest period. Dish Room. And a notation that these are the girl's permanant chore assignments until after the hatching, and beyond should she impress, until further notice. Aria, still crestfallen, mqkes her way to the baths, and then retuns yet again, empty handed. Apparently, the dress was gone. Up the steps to the living caverns she goes, headed for the middens. She might ber able to afford repairs, but no way in Faranth's name can she replace the dress…

Shetaia doesn't wrinkle her nose she merely sniffs slightly. "It was a long horrible fight with the cloth, it's done." there's an unspoken, enough. "I might burn the thing afterwards, unless they'd like it back." she rises, leaving the robe on the back of her chair to find a more comfortable one to sit in near Nassir and his R'sner chair. The bronze on her shoulder doesn't even stir, he's in a meat coma. "It won't be long now, aren't they saying less than a sevenday or two?" she knows this, she's a dragonhealer for goodness sake but maybe her brain fell out with the nerves. Ariadne's entrance as well as the subsequent chore board changes has her raising both brows. "Well, that's a lesson learned I believe." mind you the lesson might be 'don't get caught', but still.

Nassir glances at the chore board and shakes his head, a faint tsk sounding under his breath. "Pftt. Two sevendays, I've been hearing that since I was searched." He's pretty certain that, at this point, the eggs are just taking their sweet time. Shifting in R'sner's lap, exhales a sigh, one hand raising to give an absent wave of his hand. "I'm over it," he laughs.

R'sner was not expecting a gift, weyr-warming or otherwise. And he was definitely not expecting a painting of Toith. It's clear enough in his expression, which bounces a bit between surprise, fascination and appreciation. "It's…" but really, he can't find the words for it, even if he's momentarily releasing Nassir to grasp the painting instead. There's a soft exhale that /might/ be laughter, and a subtle twitch at the corner of his mouth, for the taking in of those oh-so /Toith/ details. "Thank you," is what he finally settles on as being an appropriate response. It is definitely heartfelt, as is the kiss that gets pressed to the candidate's cheek before he's tucking the painting somewhere safe for the moment and settling his arms once more around Nassir's waist. On the subject of eggs, and robes, he remains silent; though his ire has faded and it is now a much more contemplative, almost /pleasant/ sort of silent rather than the seething disapproval of before.

Shetaia is reminded! She knew R'sner moved here right? "I didn't get you a weyr-warming gift." she pauses, thinking for a long moment. "I would be honored if you would accept The Sapling as a welcoming gift to Igen?" isn't she nice, don't you want your very own gift. "Or I could get you another tree from the conservatory staff."

Ariadne suddenly runs in, almost in tears. "It's gone… I can't find it anywhere…" She runs, frantically towads the dorms, to ask Triven, if he's willing to talk to her, after all of this, what he did with the dress. Gifting of The Sapling isn't even noted or commented on, nor is the Nassir/R'sner lapsitting (as most of the candidates are, by this time used to that.)

"You are welcome," Nassir purrs as he nestles comfortably back against R'sner's chest. Course, at some point, he'll point out that Triven painted it for him. But right now? For right now, he keeps that to himself. Cozy and comfortable, he lets his head drop back on R'sner's shoulder, dark lashes sweeping down in a half-lidded expression of lazy relaxation. It's the mention of The Sapling that nearly has him choking. "What? No! Ah.. I mean, you can't give that away, it was a gift." No re-gifting on Pern! "A fruit tree would be nice, though," Nassir adds in calmer tones. Whatever else he was going to say, however, is lost when a rider comes in and shooes them all to the barracks. "What?" Staring for a moment, Nassir twists on R'sner's lips, kisses him and scoots before getting yelled at.

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