on a mission [open]

[Avu]

It had been ridiculously hard, trying to get the watch dragon at Southern Hold to notice him. It wasn’t that Rusahre wasn’t dragon-sensitive; he knew he was – Seth had proclaimed it before, at Benden Weyr. Just because he hadn’t Impressed for four Turns – didn’t mean he wasn’t dragon-sensitive anymore, surely? No: Rusahre was convinced it was the Watch dragon’s fault. Clearly. Because the old blue had picked up on his presence…after he’d deliberately wandered back and forth in front of his nose for days in a row, occasionally swinging his arms in the hope that the movement would make the silly dragon turn around and look at him. He’d felt utterly ridiculous, but at least he’d been able to lie to the Rider when he came out and proclaimed (with a ridiculous amount of enthusiasm) that, guess what, his blue dragon, Auwanath, had noticed him (insert arm-waving and inanely large grins) and thought that he’d make an amazing Candidate for Selenitas Weyr; did he maybe, please, want to go? And so, Rusahre had, being sure that he was acting unerringly polite – Faranth forbid the old bluerider loose an ounce of his completely unnecessary enthusiasm and decide not to take Rusa after all – had said that, oh, what an honor it would be, he’d love to go; how soon would they leave?

The number of times he’d very much wanted to leave the old bluerider were countless: Rusahre felt like very literally smacking his head against the blue dragon’s leg or something. Did the man really have to act like he was bestowing such an amazing honor on Rusa? Really? He’d been Searched before, and tempted as he was to say so, Rusa had bit his tongue and nodded and “mm-hmm”-ed when appropriate; the blue was his one-way ticket to the Weyr and he was not going to loose it. As soon as the bluerider had dropped Rusahre off at the Weyr, he’d left, under the guise that he’d been there before, he had family there; it was okay, he’d better go on by himself – and, bowing and thanking him profusely, Rusahre had positively fled; he felt like his brain had been chewed up and regurgitated courtesy of the Watch dragon’s Rider.

Not a very good idea, as it turned out, and Rusahre was very much frustrated with himself. He didn’t know the layout of Selenitas; the only Weyr he knew was Benden, and that was hardly any help. To put it bluntly? He was lost. Rusahre growled quietly to himself – likely as not people would view it as very suspicious if a nineteen-Turn boy who very much resembled the Lord Holder of Nerat demanded to see the Weyrleader, hmm – and then leaned against a wall, one hand passing over his face tiredly. It was ridiculously warm for winter…did it have to be so warm? The Candidate crossed his arms, chin tilting upwards thoughtfully. Now what? He could ask for the Candidatemaster, and ask him about the Weyrleader, but…hmm…what if he didn’t? It’d be just his luck if the Candidatemaster was stupid enough to refuse him that. He knew the Weyrleader’s name, naturally, but he didn’t know what he looked like…and he didn’t want to speak to Kaegan. Or he could just ask for the Weyrleader directly and hope that he wasn’t questioned…hmm.

Rusahre bowed his head, deliberately letting his hair hide his face as he contemplated. What he definitely wasn’t doing was wandering around squinting at peoples’ knots. So…much as he didn’t like to ask someone else as if he was helpless, that was it. Rusa pushed himself off of the wall, pushing his hair back out of his eyes and turning on his heel to step deliberately in front of the next person to head down the hallway in the direction of the dining hall; his chin lifted slightly as Rusahre spoke, quietly, as authoritatively as he could – he didn’t want to be questioned…

“Any idea where the Weyrleader might be? Or the Candidatemaster. Preferably the former, but I’m not picky.”

[weaving]

She was going to kill him.

If R’wign thought that he could get away with something like that, then he had another thing coming. She was going to make the Benden attack look like child’s play and by the time she was through with him, he’d be in tiny pieces the perfect size for a lovely R’wign stew. Someone in the main hall had been kind enough to bring her a towel, and before she’d gone on her manhunt she’d stopped by the kitchens to grab the sharpest knife they had. Every moment that wasn’t spent looking for the brownweyrling was another moment that he had to try and hide from her and she wasn’t planning on letting him get away. Not this time. There was a difference between getting someone a kitten as revenge and drugging someone and tying them up naked in the middle of the Main hHall. A very large difference. And to think, she’d even wanted to spend the day in his furs! Well, not any more.

She must have looked quite the sight storming down the hallway in nothing but a towel, one hand holding the flimsy cloth closed while the other was wrapped tightly around a very large and very sharp knife. Her hair was a complete mess, forming in wild curls around her hair, the result of a very rough night. The words ‘Free Rides’ were clearly visible across her chest, for she hadn’t had time to remove them yet. No matter. She’d have plenty of time to do so after she was finished with R’wign. The pace at which she walked, coupled with the dangerous glint in her eye and pursed lips, completed the look. No one dared to get in her way if they could help it. In fact, they seemed to be parting to let her through, and the occasionally snicker was met with a glare that would cause small children to cry. This. Wasn’t. Funny.

Therefore she was completely surprised when someone purposely stepped right in her path, though her expression quickly turned into a slight smile when a quick glance told her who it was. R’wign. The idiot, thinking that he could confront her and walk away intact. He’d started to speak, but she didn’t bother to listen, instead rushing toward him to slam him up against the wall of the hallway. Instantly, the knife she’d held was at his throat, though she made sure that it was the flat of the blade against his skin as supposed to the sharp point. She’d save that for later. For now, it would be enough to watch him squirm. He was taller than she was, but she had anger on her side, pumping adrenaline through her veins and making it quite easy to keep him pinned.

“You sick, twisted pervert. You’ll regret doing this, I swear. I’m going to rip you apart, one appendage at a time, starting with your toes. I’m going to cut you up, inch by inch, and then I’m going to create a lovely R’wign stew for the entire weyr to enjoy. But first I’m going to strip you down and throw you in the Main Hall for everyone to enjoy and once they’ve had their fill of you, then I’m going to get you.” Were her words mostly show, yes, but was she going to let him know that? Of course not. And she was angry enough that she knew she sounded completely serious. In her fury, she hadn’t even noticed that both of his eyes were brown, and quite real, as opposed to the green and blue that he usually sported.

[Avu]

Hmm. Apparently he had very bad timing, didn’t he? Of all the people – someone who looked like she was mad? Rusahre tilted his head curiously to one side – what was she wearing; surely that wasn’t normal garb? – but abruptly, she’d ran at him, and Rusahre reacted purely out of instinct; he backed up a step, his right foot lifting off the ground – and in that step, he slid his hand into his boot to pull out the blade concealed there, eyes snagging on the blade carried by the woman. If it hadn’t been so big, he might not have been worried, but it looked far more suited to…chopping up meat, as it were, than fighting. Normally, he would have dodged and had it done with. But normally, there was not a really big knife in clear sight, and normally, he would not have been worried about someone taking off his entire arm in a single swipe; he’d much rather have a dirk in his palm, thank you very much; the Candidate slid it into his sleeve to conceal it even as Lennae slammed him against the wall; she wasn’t big, but she looked…

Completely crazy.

The knife was at his throat, too, though…fortunately for Rusahre, her other hand looked occupied trying to keep a towel up around herself; the Candidate stared back at Lennae, completely and utterly at a loss as she began talking, and – and did she realize that the sharp edge of the knife wasn’t even pointing towards him…? Rusahre almost blinked, and resisted the instinct; the instant adrenaline rush that accompanied being…pinned up against a wall with an albeit backwards knife pressed against his throat had him was momentarily repressed in favor of running over what exactly he’d done while the woman seemed busy talking – twisted pervert, what? He’d only been there for ten minutes – why was he being attacked? Was it because of his looking very Northern? How would that register a ‘sick, twisted pervert’, though…? And – and who was R’wign, and why did Rusahre care about him?

His left hand fumbled for the dirk at his belt, and once he’d palmed it and wrapped his fingers around it, Rusahre felt much more confident. People were staring, but none of them were helping, but that was okay; he’d rather be noted for Northern and alive than look like an idiot and die. Rusahre moved; the knife in his left hand came up and he slid the dirk between his neck and Lennae’s blade, the second blade – it was a very plain weapon: Pointed, double-edged – rose. He couldn’t angle it directly where he wanted to, since there was a wall in his elbow’s way, but that was okay; Rusahre slid it at a diagonal, the tip pressed against the woman’s stomach. She was more or less concealed by her towel, so Rusahre pressed a little harder than he would have if she hadn’t had the towel around her; he assumed it was thick, and he wanted the pressure of the tip of the dirk to be felt. He was hoping that he’d put enough pressure into his left dirk hand to keep her from beheading him – with the blunt end of her knife, hmm – and not quite enough for him to fall flat if she chose to move backwards: He’d see.

“Now.” Rusahre kept his voice deliberately calm, as cold as he could manage, his eyes focused on the greenrider’s face. “Suppose you tell me where the Weyrleader is. Or the Candidatemaster, like I said before. And while you’re at it, why don’t you tell me who R’wign is, and why you want to rip him apart, cut him up, and whatever else it was you said.” So…uh, so far, Rusahre had figured out that someone named R’wign had done something horrible, and…he was being punished for it…? He couldn’t figure out why, exactly, that was; whatever, he felt much, much better when he wasn’t the one in danger of dying immediately. Likely she could still hurt him if she wanted to, but hopefully she wasn’t crazy enough to do so when he had another knife pressed against her stomach – no flat side, for him, either – and one preventing her from decapitating him there and then. Admittedly, his heart was still going very quickly – faster than he’d admit – but at least he’d managed to keep his face relatively composed instead of…cowering, as it were. Hnn…

[weaving]

She was going to kill him, she was. He didn’t look scared yet, though she was shorter than him by a fair amount, and being so close it was difficult to see much of a facial expression, but she’d change that soon enough. If he thought that someone was going to jump in and save him then he was sorely mistaken. Those passing him by weren’t doing a thing to help him; some were even tittering quietly if her ears weren’t mistaken. She smirked, knowing that the simple humiliation would be enough of a blow to R’wign’s pride. Besides, she rather doubted that a R’wign stew would be delicious at all. It’d be too stringy and not enough meat with very little actual flavor. Not her idea of a filling meal at all. Oh well. If she could just get him scared enough, that’d be good enough for her. She wasn’t sure that Checkoth or even K’lir would appreciate any permanent damage to him. A shame that was.

A knife? That wasn’t the R’wign that she knew. As the first one slipped under her blade and pushed it away from his throat, she let her surprise show, her eyes only widening further as she felt the gentle point of yet another blade pressing against her stomach. No, that wasn’t very R’wign-like at all. He was a prankster, yes, but he wasn’t at all a fighter and she doubted that he usually carried weapons on him, let alone knew how to use them. Well, that was…odd to say the least. Of course, all questions were answered as “R’wign” spoke. The voice was decidedly different enough that she began to doubt that the man she’d just pushed up against a wall and threatened wasn’t R’wign at all. Quickly, she stepped back to get a better look at his face…

And promptly burst into laughter. Whoever this wasn’t, it wasn’t R’wign at all. From his knots he seemed more of a nobody than anything else and he clearly wasn’t the healer. Although, he certainly looked enough like the brownweyrling that the mistake could easily be made, which was odd. Not too many people passed through Selenitas bearing such a striking resemblance to anyone else unless they were related and the way this boy hadn’t recognized R’wign had her doubting that it was some long-lost sibling. Besides, hadn’t R’wign only had a younger sister?

“What’s someone like you want with the Weyrleader?” She finally managed to get out after getting her giggle fit under control, though she’d had to bend over and clutch at her stomach to do so. What did he want with the Weyrleader? As a candidate, all he needed to do was check in with the Candidatemaster and then he was good to go. Although… “I’ll tell you what. If you help me track down R’wign and throw him over the falls, I’ll take you to the Weyrleader. Shouldn’t take long. After all, how many men do you know who go around in flamboyantly colored skirts with a fair of firelizards surrounding them?” She did hope that he’d agree to it. Honestly, she didn’t think that finding R’wign was going to be an easy task at all. He’d probably set up his firelizards as scouts to warn him if she got too close. Surely he wouldn’t be expecting her to enlist some poor new candidate to help her.

Besides, the look on R’wign’s face when he met his look-alike would be priceless.

[Avu]

Surprise. Her face registered her surprise, and Rusa would have smirked his triumph had her knife not been so close to his throat still. He was pretty sure he could kill her before she could kill him, but he didn’t really want to have to find out. The Candidate pressed a little harder on the knife he’d gotten to her stomach to emphasize his point, though internally, he was flicking over his memories. Wasn’t Selenitas supposed to be completely, totally soft? No casual murder? This was…not what he’d expected. Assaulted by partially nude women ten minutes into the Weyr, hnn. Clearly someone had it out for him. Namely, Faranth herself. Rusahre kept his gaze frozen on Lennae’s face (mostly because that was all of her that he could see right now with any clarity, considering the fact that she’d most efficiently pinned him against the wall with her own body, hmm).

As soon as Lennae stepped away from him, Rusahre dropped both of his hands, bowing his head as he eyed the greenrider warily through his hair. He’d have probably assumed a distinctly defensive posture if doing so would not have required stepping forward or hitting the wall behind him. As it was, his eyes widened behind his hair as the greenrider – correction, as the crazy lady who had assaulted him – burst out laughing, and Rusa actually flicked his hair out of his eyes, head tilting curiously to eye her. Was she crazy…? Completely and totally crazy? Because, really…he crinkled his nose slightly, and then flicked his head to make his hair obey his wishes and get out of his eyes before he tilted his head slightly to one side, eyeing Lennae. His gaze had turned from cold to distinctly confused as he glanced over the greenrider on instinct – there was nothing at all suggestive about it (or at least, Rusa hadn’t intended there to be; being attacked by someone was who looked completely crazy was so not sexy).

Her question made the Candidate quirk one eyebrow slightly, and reached down to shove one of the blades back into the sheath in his boot. “Well, that was nice and degrading,” he observed dryly. “Someone like me?” He knew she was just talking about his Candidate status (it wasn’t like he wasn’t completely used to it), but it was still condescending. Well then, scratch his plans. Clearly he didn’t deserve to speak to the Weyrleader; he’d skip that, and if the Weyrleader flailed because he needed to know what Rusa knew, then he could blame Lennae. He had no problem with that; it wasn’t like his loyalties lay with Selenitas anyway. The greenrider’s offer made Rusa pause – one of the few things he absolutely could not stand was being lumped into a group and assumed unintelligent – but he shrugged. He didn’t really want to be flipped out at when he had to explain everything to this K’roi of theirs.

“Forget the Weyrleader, then; Candidatemaster…and you still haven’t told me why you want to…uh, basically kill your R’wign…or your name,” he added. It seemed like reasonable enough questions; it wasn’t like Rusa went around tossing people off the edges of waterfalls on a daily basis or anything, and he didn’t really plan on starting without a good enough reason. And as for her name…“I don’t really want to troop around the Weyr with someone I don’t know the name of,” he explained, one eyebrow raising slightly. “And…uh. You mistook me for a man wearing a skirt, surrounded by a fair of firelizards…?” That was definitely…not what he’d expected. Not really a compliment, either; Rusa glanced down at his own outfit even as he cautiously sheathed his last knife. Pants. Shirt. Emphasis on pants. Not a skirt. Stifling in this ridiculous heat, but not a skirt nonetheless.