Scene: Weyrling Barracks
Scenario: Weyrlings discuss the issues of privacy and cramped quarters.

"I miss having space to myself," admits Myca. "That was the best part of being Assistant Headwoman, I actually had a pair of rooms to myself. Not huge rooms... very small, but they were -mine-." As she talks, her fingers nimbly work, attaching the collar to the tunic with neat, even, professional stitching.

Deinha emerges from Sebayeth's couch, having disappeared briefly to retrieve ... hmm...nothing. Regardless, the girl was gone and now is back, just in time to catch Myca's words. And those words earn a quick sigh, "I agree. At Icevale, I had my own room, and ... mmm, that was nice." Privacy! "Just having another room where I could bring my friends was helpful, too. Even if my parents did want that for themselves, now and then, it still wasn't a place for just ...strangers."

Myca chuckles softly at Deinha. "Well, out of all of us, you're the only one who -knows- where her weyr will be," she teases gently. "You're going to be over there in gold row with Tamial and Jindra. Have you ever seen Jin's weyr?" she asks with a grin. "It's... rather something, let me tell you."

O'kano, standing alongside the oil bins with paddle in hand, remains silent while he slathers the last coat of sticky liquid over Jharzeth's dark hide. Peering under the bronze's neck, he offers his opinions on the matter with an annoyed edge. "I don't see why /they/ get all the nice weyrs. I'm -- we're -- just as important as them golds."

Deinha blinks at Myca a moment, almost as if surprised, then smiles, "It still seems odd -- putting me with them." A glance to Sebayeth, and she murmurs, "Yes, darling, that's your doing." And then, "Oh? I've only visited Tamial's, really, but it's quite large enough." She makes her way towards the bins, steps halting at O'kano's words. Her mouth opens, closes, as she opts not to answer that. Instead, she grabs a paddle, dunks it in some oil, and -- still silent -- heads back towards Sebayeth, who waits. Nevermind the trail of oil, but watch your step, all the same.

Myca's fingers turn from collar-attaching to cuff-attaching as she snorts at O'kano. "There's only three golds here, what with Oneah and Annath over at High Reaches. I'd wager there's at least thirty, perhaps as many as fifty, bronzes. There's not enough -room- to give every bronze-rider the kind of weyr the golds get. And the bronzes are not any more special than the browns, greens, or blues, but the golds are more special than bronzes if only in that -they- lay eggs. As sad as it would be to lose a bronze... It'd be a tragedy to lose a queen. It's the queens that pick the weyrleaders, after all, and the weyrwomen who are in charge. Something I'll wager you're not used to, coming from a Hold."

O'kano's response comes in the form of a pointed glare in Myca's direction. "Whatever." He dismisses her words and disappears to the out-of-sight side of Jharzeth, presumably to finish up with the oil-job. Nothing more is heard from Puo, expect a few muttered words directed to his lifemate who just snorts and shifts to a more comfortable position, angular head sinking to forefeet.

Deinha tosses a smile towards Myca, though still comments not. The only sound from her direction is a soft, "Wing out, please," and, as Sebayeth complies, "That's it..." And Deinha stretches up to get a little more oil spread across one rosy left wing. After a moment, though, as if she couldn't help herself, Dei's voice is lifted long enough to ask, "Anyway, aren't all the weyrs fairly large?"

Myca looks highly amused as she watches the indignant bronzling. "Furthermore, since you're such a stickler for protocol and ranking... Unless you should someday become Weyrleader, your highest possible rank will be that of Weyrsecond. Junior golds are equal rank with Weyrseconds. That means, my dear O'kano... Deihna outranks you. Permanently. Keep that in mind." She chuckles as she awaits O'kano's response, then turns to answer Deihna's question. "Depends on dragonsize. Has to be big enough for the dragon. Eilanth doesn't need a big weyr, being so small and dainty. Jharzeth, on the other hand, will need a fairly good sized weyr to accomodate his bulk. Some weyrs are nicer than others, too. Maybe the occupent before you took the time to carve out shlves in the rock walls, or crafted a good fireplace, or did something else to make the weyr more comfortable."

"Shut up." Here, O'kano snaps out at the greenrider, head peering 'round the backside of his bronze to glower. "How do you know that I'm not going to be Weyrleader? Or Weyrsecond? Or whatever? Besides, she --" Here, an accusitory glance is sent towards Deinha "-- wasn't even born into rank. She was just..just /given/ it. I, on the otherhand, am of the Blood. My whole /family/ has been ranking since Faranth." If he contradicts himself a bit -- he, too, didn't do anything to earn rank -- it goes unnoticed by the lordling and he sulks once safely out of view, behind Jharzeth.

"I never once said you couldn't be Weyrleader. It's unlikely that you'll be WeyrSecond until you've been graduated a few years -- would your father appoint a youngster to be his Steward? I think not," responds Myca, undaunted by O'kano's glarings. "I told you ages ago to let go of what you were taught in a Hold because it doesn't apply here and you'll just make yourself miserable. Once you're Impressed, it doesn't matter what you were before that, Blooded son, run away holder girl, crafter apprentice, or holdless. We all become equal upon Impression and until you get it through that head of yours, you're just going to be unhappy for no point." Myca folds up the tunic she was working on and tucks it neatly into her work basket and that gets put away with her other belongings. "In the weyr, it's who -you- are, not what your family was that matters. Just because my father is a wonderful animal handler doesn't make ME a beastcrafter, after all, so the fact your father's a Lord doesn't mean a thing when it comes to -you-."

Deinha blinks swiftly on hearing her name, and selects that moment to dodge around to Sebayeth's other side. Out of view. "Oh," is the response to Myca. And then there's the dull sound of a paddle being dropped, once O'kano's spoken. "Sweet Faranth, what's wrong with you?!" is the soft exclamation. And Deinha steps out from behind Sebayeth, looking straight to O'kano. In fact, she takes several steps closer to the pair, moving around Jharzeth as she nears. "No one cares." She crosses her arms, "Not a single person, except you and your vain self! I have tried so hard to ignore what everyone else says, but ... you know what, O'kano? They're not talking about what amazing blood ties you have. They're saying what an arrogant..." She trails off, shaking her head fiercely, "You know, forget it. I've talked to you. I know you're not always such a .. a ... ugh! But right now, I tell you, you deserve every word they've said."

O'kano stubbornly shoots back at Myca, "That's what you think. You don't know what it's like down in Boll." While he moves his oil-paddle in furiously quickening circles and Jharzeth snorts out a warning -- don't go hurting lifemates, now -- he bites down upon his lower lip, hard. A shocked hesitation comes as Deinha speaks, and he pivots to eye the other weyrling. Eyes widen, then narrow, but Puo remains silent, speechless, and sputters out inarticulate phrases after a long pause. "But...but...I...well!"

Deinha sniffs, even, and adds, softly, "And just stop talking about me like that, too. You don't even know where I come from, whether I had any sort of ranking or position. And right now, I still don't. Neither do you. Neither does Myca. So, until we graduate, or you find something useful to do with yourself, just hang up all your petty obsessions with title and concentrate on learning what it means to be a -rider-." There. Now she's finished. And, cheeks flushed, looking not a bit regretful. Yet.

Myca watches Deinha and O'kano carefully, getting up off her couch (much to the green's dismay; Eilanth's been ignoring the human squabbling thus far) and approaching the duo. "O'kano, we're more interested in what -you- can do than in your family's doings. Why do you cling so hard to the accomplishments of others? You're a -rider- now, you have this big wonderful lifemate, and a whole world out there to explore and put -your- mark on. Sure you were a possible heir to your father's Hold... now you have all of Pern to play in, not just one Holding. Shards, O'kano, you don't even have to worry about Thread falling to hurt you or Jharzeth."

<*Jharzeth*> Privately, Sebayeth flushes a bright yellow, crimson edged, of confusion. << Mine is most upset with yours. >> A bit reproachful, though not consciously so. << Oh dear. >> to Jharzeth

"Maybe I don't want to be a rider." When Jharzeth's indignant rumble comes, O'kano hastily amends, "I mean, not that Jharzeth isn't wonderful -- he is, and I can't imagine being without him, but that doesn't mean that I want to be here. Or a weyrling. Or learning what it means to be a sharding rider. I was perfectly happy before. And Thread's not around, anyways. We could just go down to Boll and live there. Everything'd be just fine." Anger colors the bronzeling's tone as he adds, "I never asked to come up here. The only thing that's any good is Jharzeth." A pause. "Nevermind. You wouldn't understand."

Okay. Deinha's beginning to look a little smaller, now that her words are out. Myca is a welcome addition, and she rewards the other young woman with a big smile, nodding as this new advice is dispensed. Not quite looking back to O'kano, she murmurs, "He could do great things now, yes. Jharzeth chose him for something..." She does glance quickly to him, now, before finishing, "Other than his title." She looks to the ground, "You are here. You are a rider." She looks up, "So just do what you can, as a rider, because nothing short of tragedy is going to change that." Even though she doesn't dwell on definitions of 'tragedy,' the girl does cast a quick smile Jharzeth's way -- apology -- before returning attention to his lifemate. "I'm sorry you don't like it here. I do. And I like the people here, and I don't understand you at all. Even when you do something nice, I ..." Giving up, she shakes her head, "I still don't understand." She bites her lip, then adds, softer still, "And you keep trying to make it impossible to do so." And she keeps trying, anyway?

Myca shrugs faintly. "Not that you ever try understanding us, either," she says quietly. "You could have refused the Searching. I know a few who did. You are certainly stuck now, that's for sure, and you're making yourself more miserable than you have to be. I really dislike seeing you like this, to be honest, but.... You know where my couch is, if you should ever feel like talking to someone. C'mon, Deinha. Let him be alone with his thoughts."

<*Jharzeth*> Privately, Jharzeth shades vermillion and burnt, burning scraps of umber. <<Mine noticed.>> Wry, rueful, his tone slips between flaring sparks, adding heat to his next comment. <<Mine doesn't know what he does. Doesn't know what he wants. And he didn't mean to upset yours.>> to Sebayeth

Quiet to listen to Myca's piece, Deinha refuses to meet anyone's eyes. And Myca's suggestion gets a limp nod -- Dei's tired now. She retreats.

<*Jharzeth*> Privately, Sebayeth coats softer hues now, bristled tones of earlier settling. << She is not upset so easily. I don't understand. >> Quietness for long moments, just the faint notion of undefined breezy touches, whiffs of vanilla and stirring hints of gold. << Now she is upset with herself, too. >> Despite this, wry amusement lets her echo << Neither does mine know what she wants ... of yours. >> to Jharzeth

"It's not so easy to refuse Search when there's a dragon drowning you in snow," Puo sarcastically interjects, rolling his eyes. "You try it sometime." The oil paddle is returned to its place as the lordling moves in the opposite direction, outside, and decides not the grace the other two with a parting shot. Jharzeth, stretching, rises to his feet, too, and pads out after his lifemate--for berating or comforting, it's anyone's guess.

Deinha glances curiously at Sebayeth, expression surprised (oddly enough) before smiling again at Myca, a bit shakily. As she heads back towards Sebayeth, the girl murmurs, as much to herself as to Myca, "That was ... tense. I feel like I've been hauling firestone or staying up reading for too long." With this, her own last comment, Deinha slips into thoughts of her own, as she's known to do now and then.

<*Jharzeth*> Privately, Jharzeth fades to smoky fragments; wisps of thought trail out as the bronze physically moves away, significantly quieter than the earlier, trumpet-like mindvoice. <<Everyone is upset.>> Observance sparks briefly before he mulls in several stretched moments. <<Things will become a-right, eventually.>> to Sebayeth