Mare Vitalis [R'wign]

[Lotty]

Barnacles. Davy Jones' slippery, slimy, beard hanging from his weltering in gore corpse. The smell of fish. Peg legs, eye patches, hooks for hands. Sea monsters twenty leagues under the sea, stinky pirates with their scurvy, and the worst offender of them all, the fried and battered tentacles of a particularly ugly ocean denizen known as the squid. And to think that he was almost duped into eating the local cuisine on the promises of some little folklore and the knowledge that he, the son of a lot of land loving forest dwellers, wouldn't know the difference between the head and a tail of a fish much less what was hidden under that golden crusty coating. Well the joke was on them! He was not so foolish as to think that the term "you are what you eat" should be taken so literally, and despite the woman's insistence that it would cure his butterfingers, and his tendency to drop and break everything he came in contact with - as was the case with just about everything at gather so far, his exploits were becoming renowned amongst the workers - he still didn't see the logic in the woman's argument.

Which meant that ultimately, he wound up buying the dish, although not for himself. His salamandyrs of course needed something to eat, much more than he did, and considering the combined factors that firstly, he had a little trouble saying no to the very nice lady who talked him into it, and secondly he would do just about anything for Doppelganger and Peccadillo including giving up his right arm, it didn't seem like such a bad idea to acquiesce to the little buggers. Plus, Doppelganger wanted the fried food so badly, because it was golden you see, and would be so pretty for his pile. Surely Mimic would want a piece too, it would be most excellent. So there the bronzerider was, not using his cane again since it was pinned under his arm in order to free both his hands so that he may carry two cups of water - it was hot and Dilly refused to share a glass with Doppel - and the plate of squid...

Oh and one thing for himself. He felt he needed, no, deserved, a drink of an adult nature - a mug of the mead that he kept hearing about - though there was absolutely no intent to get drunk. Actually he was avoiding that as much as humanly possible considering the massive hangover that he woke up with last gather (not to mention he also made a complete ass of himself). He was going to take it slowly, and just drink this one harmless drink...just as soon as he made it to a table. Obviously balancing acts were not his strong point and half of the calamari was sliding off the sides of the plate as over zealous mandyrs tried dunking their heads in the cool water mid walk. Stilllll youuu green Dilly hissed at him in complaint.

[glamourie]

Mi’rah. Mi’rah. R’wign clicked his tongue and played the name in his mind, quite astounded by the similarities between the way it sounded and the way that Meira’s did. He knew little of the bronzerider except that he was an apparent push-over and that he owned the twin to Meira’s little brown menace. (No matter what the salamandyr did, he would always be, to R’wign, an omen – a foreboding reminder that he’d never have quite enough time with Riaren, because Mimic always arrived before Meira showed up to take him home.) He didn’t know much else – bronzerider, wingsecond. He was finding out more by observing him in interest than he knew from the little that people spoke of the other man – which, really, was a compliment. Being spoken about wasn’t the best of things to have happen. Rumors weren’t very forgiving, after all. But learning by example – that was genuine. That was real. And R’wign was getting a great deal of entertainment watching Mi’rah be effectively swindled.

It looked like fun.

Swirling his finger over the tip of his cup of water, R’wign cocked his head to the side. It looked like the man was willing to believe virtually anything that he was told – and R’wign was good at manipulating people. He liked doing it – it was almost a hobby. A thought turned through his mind, blossoming from the mere bud of a concept to a full-fledged wicked plot. He allowed himself the vaguest of smirks, distinctly amused. Numbers flew through his mind, the plot unfolding. Meira would kill him. Did he care? Not really. Messing with people was one of the few things R’wign really, truly got a kick out of. Especially if it was relatively harmless.

Mi’rah. Meira. Mi’rah. Meira. They were both from Benden, weren’t they? And Mi’rah looked old enough. R’wign drummed his fingers and glanced down at the table in front of him. “What do you think?” he asked of the salamandyr standing, meerkat-pose, on the table in front of him. A dark, shimmering green, Vex was definitely a beautiful, if evil creature. She flicked her frill out, and then her eyes whirled in amusement. R’wign clicked his tongue. “Why am I asking you? You love messing with people. I think I learned it from you.”

Vex disagrees. Vex learned from LoveHers.

With that voiced thought, the green flung herself up onto R’wign’s shoulder and scurried around to sit next to his neck. She leaned up against him and trilled loudly, her small body pressed against his neck – obviously loving. She did so adore Hers. Even if he fussed, he was her favorite person ever. She was even fine with sharing him.

Rolling his eyes at his salamandyr, R’wign pushed himself up and away from the table. He turned and walked around it before smoothing his clothes out stubbornly. Did he look reputable? Yes, yes he did. He brushed his hair back, until only the missing eye was hidden by the long black locks. Good. Good. His plan was going to unfold well. His eye narrowed and he turned, stalking around the tables until he came upon the one where Mi’rah had sat – obviously spoiling his salamandyrs (he’d never give Vex things like that – she got enough attention as it was). His hands rested on the top of the table and he tilted his head, nose up slightly, a look on his face akin to irritation. Oh, he wasn’t really upset, but R’wign was very good at faking when he wanted to – and he had to be believable if he was going to accomplish his evil plots, didn’t he?

“You’ve got a lot of nerve,” he said, indicating the plate in front of Mi’rah. “Here you sit, spoiling your salamandyrs and you don’t ever buy anything for your grandson. Honestly! You should be ashamed of yourself.”

[Lotty]

Thank Faranth. He made it, and without too much incident. The plate was set on the table, with the cups not far behind, each one sloshing out liquids from Mi'rah's wobbly. uneasy, grip. The two mandyrs were all over it immediately, Doppelganger falling into one of the water glasses with a little squeal. Rahmine! Hellllllp please~ Scary wet! Without even a thought, the bronzerider was pulling the grateful brown out by the tail as he propped his cane against the bench and tried to ease himself into the seat. Not the easiest of tasks, but again, done without complaint. Peccadillo was busy munching on the calamari. Sooooo kind of hers to feed her, though she had no doubt that he would, after all she was the one who planted the idea in his head.

This was the ideal situation for the bronzerider. Peacefully alone with two of his favorites, oh and of course a drink for himself too. Not that he was a recluse, he just, had a deep respect and admiration for moments when he got to sit back. To be removed, yet watching everything and nothing was a special treat for the wingsecond and he was sure to soak it all in. It must have been a trait he picked up from his people watcher of a dragon, but this was all irrelevant because it didn't change the fact that he was becoming very absorbed. The blinders were on, and he was growing increasing oblivious to everything but the happy little idyllic scene that he was witnessing before him, and for a moment, he was totally and completely content with his life. Nothing could mess this up for him. Not angry stall keepers, not other riders, not his responsibilities, not his bad leg or his past. That was until he was interrupted by the thrust of a hand and a voice....the words were filtered and processed through his mind. Error. One of those words did not compute. Even his mandyr's stopped to regard this newcomer.

He looked across the table at the man, his social ignorance made him rather oblivious to the fact that it was the weyrhealer. For the sake of his own sanity he assumed that this character was confused...no, just mistaken. Certainly Mi'rah didn't look like many other people at the weyr, he would be hard pressed to find someone who he could be confused for, but one could never know and so his conclusion would stand because for the life of him he couldn't remember having grandchildren. Before daring to correct the man, he looked up to the sky. What it was up there that was giving him confidence he would never know, but he followed through with his typical little tick before addressing the man. He was positive that he heard him say grandson, "I um..." nervously he twitched, though he didn't know why. He shouldn't feel so conflicted about this, "I'm sorry. I think you are mistaken?"

He felt himself reach for his cane, and pull it in tight to his body. It was becoming his security, and he didn't want to take the risk that it could be taken from him. Sure, there was no threats made that suggested the crutch would be taken from him and used to beat him or anything but...he needed it. In all of his turns he had hardly stopped to think that he might have any children much less grandchildren and the concept was beyond frightening. Could he? No, no, this was a mistake.... Doppelganger, frilled in distress. What was wrong with His? The little creature snapped up a piece of fried seafood in his mouth and bounced up Mi'rah's arm; offering the calamari to his bonded Rahmine look bad. Yummies make good? Eat yummy Rahhhh.

[glamourie]

“Mi’rah, right? I don’t think I’m mistaken.” Oh he looked so flustered – R’wign had to force himself to remain serious (outwardly). He knew it wasn’t very kind to pick at Mi’rah the way he was – and that Meira would undoubtedly find out, since her salamandyr and his were brothers, but… did R’wign care? Not if it got him marks to spend on Riaren. He’d love to spoil his son rotten. It was one of the few things he took complete, mindless pleasure from. Seeing Riaren happy made him feel like the world was a little brighter – a little better of a place. It was ironic, since when Meira first told him that she was pregnant he’d actually gotten sick (Ka’rys was not pleased to be vomited on), and spent the following sevendays terrified that he’d be an absolutely horrible father. A turn later, he was just sad that he didn’t see Riaren often enough and always wanted to lavish him in toys and attention when he did. It was a wonder the boy wasn’t spoiled rotten from the way that R’wign behaved… but he wasn’t. And R’wign had no intentions of going easy on the gift-lavishing. Especially not when it provided him such fascinating opportunities.

Taking a seat across the table from Mi’rah (even though the offer wasn’t posed), R’wign leaned forward and pointed at the man. He was pretty sure if the bronzerider tried to escape, he’d be able to chase him down – he may have been missing one eye but both of his legs worked just fine. He didn’t think the man would try to run though. Not like it gained him anything and he just looked like a coward (although no one was around to listen to them – probably to R’wign’s fortune, since he was sure that most of his friends would scold him for his antics). The healer forced his face to a disdainful look and he flicked absently at the table, his eye focused sternly on Mi’rah’s face.

“You act so innocent. Her mother named her after you. And you’ve met her and never even bothered to take responsibility. I’m surprised Jingth hasn’t eaten you for your mistreatment of Meira. She deserves a better father.” He folded his arms and leaned back, giving Mi’rah a disdainful look. “Just because you can’t see the resemblance doesn’t mean that everyone else can’t. Meira’s just too nice to ever say it to you that you’re a pathetic excuse for a man. So she moves on taking care of herself, as she has her whole life, because you, like a typical Benden scumbag, left her and her mother to fend for themselves. You should be more than ashamed. I’m amazed you have the balls to talk to her. And you haven’t even given her son – our son – any kind of gifts.” His expression softened. “Have you even met him?”

Meira was definitely going to kill him. But he thought maybe Mi’rah would find it amusing when he found out the deception. At the very least, he’d probably be so relieved to know he wasn’t a grandfather that he wouldn’t be able to be mad. And if he was mad, R’wign was certain he could outrun him so in the end it was an okay gamble. Really, he meant no harm – it wasn’t like the man needed all the marks he got and R’wign was definitely of the opinion that bronzeriders were overpaid, especially since most of them hoarded marks like they expected a sudden deficiency of them (see: Ka’rys for example). He was sure Mi’rah could afford to spend a few and anyway, Riaren deserved more toys. He always did.

[Lotty]

Mi'rah shifted uncomfortably when he heard his name...his actual, correct name. His mistake theory was quickly falling apart, and even worse was that this man was sitting down, sitting across from him even, just so that he could jab more accusations his way. He had never imagined in a million turns that he would be in a situation quite like this one, and to be honest he was completely flabbergasted. What do you even say? He felt himself wilting. The bronzerider rubbed the bridge of his nose with his forefinger and thumb as he tried to deal with the information he was being given. Named after him? What? Who? Who named who after him of all people? He was rather self aware of his loser status after all...

The truth of the matter was that - contrary to popular belief - he actually didn't believe any of this. He was embarrassed to be entertaining the thought, but there he was thinking back on times past and the possibilities like that girl when he was sixteen, or maybe it was that other one when he was seventeen. Could it have been someone he didn't remember at all, like a flightlust victim that he never came to face with when he woke from it all, or was he just a typical scumbag Bendenite who had discarded the woman altogether? No...no. He was acting innocent because he was sure that he was. Maybe he wasn't Meira's father, but here the Weyrhealer had successfully mastered the art of bringing life back to the dead, and at the magic words Mi'rah's guilt broke through the dirt and grime to pull him back into the grave of all his misdeeds and ex-dalliances. He very well could be somebody's deadbeat father...and that was enough to make him want to take all the blame.

He wanted to believe, and Mi'rah willed it to be so, carefully blocking out the heaps of evidence that pointed to the contrary and conveniently neglecting to ask of R'wign the name of Meira's mother (why wouldn't the brownrider know, he seemed to know everything else about him too). Of course this new "truth" came with some baggage. As much as he wanted to be a father, this method also meant that he was an awful parent - and grandpa too for that matter - but here was his great redeeming moment presenting himself. Blue eyes flicked up from his thoughts, from that spot on the table, and to the sky, before falling back down to the other man, "I've met Riaren," he was avoiding addressing the rest. Could he even come up with a good enough defense? He doubted it, but he aired it out more for himself than did for R'wign, "I - I didn't know. I didn't know I had her...and I..." He cringed remembering what he had said when he had first met her, he laughed and said he liked her name and that he parents clearly had good taste.

Awkward.

"W-what do you suppose I do?" He had caught the hint. Riaren apparently needed gifts, though this seemed hardly adequate. Would it not be disingenuous to just apologize now and throw some marks at them? It had to have been over fifteen turns ago. It's hard to make up for that much neglect even with the best toys. Though, he supposed he was in no position to decide. He was the one who was the horrible human being. Bestmine been bad? Funny. Apparently Peccadillo was deriving great amusement from all of this. Mi'rahHers didn't have the capabilities to be bad. That was her job after all.

[glamourie]

“Show how sorry you are,” R’wign said with a slight nod. He’d have felt bad but – really? Really? He’d bought it entirely too easily, which meant to R’wign that there may well have been a chance that he was Meira’s father. Of course, it’d help if he knew anything about Meira’s family and childhood – aside from the fact that she’d grown up at Benden Weyr, which was, conveniently, where Mi’rah was from. He didn’t usually ask questions about people’s pasts, because he’d rather no one ask about his. Not that his was particularly dark but R’wign was secretive. As a result, he didn’t know much about Meira all things considered. For all he knew, Mi’rah really was her father, although the man certainly had no resemblance to the dark-haired goldrider. She was prettier by far but… Mi’rah was old so it was hard to decipher really. And he was male. R’wign had trouble seeing resemblances between people over both genders. He’d never been good at it.

Drumming his fingertips on the top of the table, R’wign looked up and nodded toward the stalls. “Meira’s graduating soon, and she’ll have a queen’s weyr. I’ve seen the kind of decorations she has – or lack thereof. She doesn’t have that much stuff, and neither does Riaren. You could start by buying her a proper bed. Hers is just the standard that comes with weyrs and really, who actually enjoys those?” He didn’t know if Mi’rah used one of the standard beds or not and he really didn’t care: he found then uncomfortable and hard to sleep on. His bed was big enough to attract stares and it was laden with enough blankets to be one of the softest surfaces at Selenitas – and he figured Meira could use a more comfortable bed. He was really just trying to think of things she could use, though. “Since she’s a goldrider, she’ll probably have visitors. Maybe some vases to put flowers in, since it won’t be long before she has an army of suitors. Proper beads to separate her rooms from Jingth’s would be excellent. Fancier riding clothes – actually, fancier clothes in general, she doesn’t own a lot of nice ones, in my opinion. I know her sizes.” Of course he did. They had a son together, derp.

And what did Riaren need? “If you want to be grandfather of the Turn – Riaren could use a lot of new clothing, and he’s getting older, he’s going to need a bed that isn’t a crib soon. He’s over a Turn old now,” he said with a very slight shrug. “Probably could use some ‘big boy’ clothes, too, since he’s not a baby anymore.” Riaren had a decent amount of clothes, but more would be good. “Some more bedding, and as far as toys go, pretty much anything goes. He’s got a lot of dolls, but I’m sure he’d love some more just the same, and he really likes blocks… and salamandyrs, firelizards and dragons. Anything with them on it will be his favorite thing ever. I’d recommend starting with things for him and move on to things for Meira, otherwise he might feel neglected – and you’re more likely to redeem yourself to her by spoiling our son. And yes, Riaren’s mine too.” He sniffed, unashamed; it wasn’t exactly something hard to deduce, though, since his eye and Riaren’s were the same color… and Riaren had his bobbly black curls.

Yours bad indeed. Very bad. Mistreat baby, let baby not get pretties. Need to give, Vex commented, answering the other green with a hint of scolding in her voice. Recommend shinies, mine – Vexling thinks just give marks. Mine better taste anyway. She swished her tail and then rubbed affectionately on R’wign’s neck. Who you, baby?

[Lotty]

All of this buying. It seemed ridiculously shallow to Mi'rah, but he didn't know any other way to express regrets...or thanks for that matter either. He felt rather powerless in changing people's opinions of him, and being a typical man, he fell back on the idea that gifts would buy him his reputation. He wished he could think of another way, but obviously words were not his strong point, and sheer charisma alone wasn't going to get him anywhere. It seemed like this was the only option, so he patted down his vest pockets in search of writing utensils. He had to keep track of this long laundry list somehow. At least Mi'rah was a generous man despite how cheap and tight fisted he was when it came to his own personal finances. Speaking of which...

How was R'wign expecting that he pay for all of this?

Mi'rah found a weathered old scrap of something to write on and pulled it out from the inner pocket and looked it over quickly. Too used up to tell what it might have been once, but it was dated to five turns before. Yikes. Someone didn't get out very much, and obviously tended to hang onto things for a very, very, long time. Flipping over the piece he fished out a little stylus too, and began jotting down things as they were thrown at him. A bed, vases, nice clothing, bedding for Riaren, more clothing, toys with flits and dragons and mandyrs on them... Mi'rah was more partial to the practical items. Clothing was a necessity, but he'd get more use of the bedding. The shame of it was that he didn't know how he could actually afford to buy the child those bigger nicer things. He most definitely thought that a whole new bed for Meira was completely out of the question if he planned to save a few marks to buy Tenlie that mystery egg. After all he promised and owed her, where as this was all just to satisfy his guilt.

He would say this all out loud though. Even if he wasn't as obscenely wealthy as the other bronzeriders - he had shown up at Selenitas' doorstep completely markless, he owed too many people throughout his life not to leave them a little something - it was still not this man's - whom he figured out was R'wign, he remembered Meira mentioning that name now - business to know this. Mi'rah was a lot more secretive than he put himself out to be and he was very selective about what exactly he would reveal. Things that were objective, things that couldn't be candy coated were put out there...it was the more private things that he kept close. He, for whatever reason, found his marks to be very private, "Uhm....ok..." he looked down at his list briefly, "Riaren....uh yeah. I agree, this should be for Riaren. Bedding? How about...where should I...I mean. Yeah, I guess I should start somewhere."

Doppelganger was suddenly distracted him his Rahmine. After all, he calmed down a lot in the past few moments and now there was a pretty green one and oh my!!!!! He whole body wiggled with utter delight at the thought...he could add this one to his shiny collection. So pretty next to his Lilitu. Not that he knew what a faux pas that idea was... Hiiiiii Doppelganger me~ Who you prettylovelygreen? Peccadillo whirled her head around at him angrily flaring her boney spars that should have held a frill. Not ask you Doppeldummy! He turned to look back at Vex again and gave her a simple answer, Peccadillo is I.

[glamourie]

Fighting over Vex, no need. Peccadillo, pleasure is Vex’s. Hello, Doppelganger. You are Mimic’s twin. It wasn’t a question. She knew Mimic fairly well – and she also knew that he was nowhere near Hers’s most favored salamandyr. This one was a little different though. Just a little. A lot alike, but somewhat – hm. Vex flared her frill thoughtfully, the light gleaming off her metallic-green hide. Her eyes glittered curiously, but she did not move toward the other salamandyrs. It could be said that Vex’s interaction with her own kind was minimal. She talked to PMS frequently, sometimes to Lust if they were around each other (which was not often), but mostly, Vex kept to herself. She just wasn’t a social creature. She loved Hers. Wasn’t that enough? Yours should give marks to mine. Yes, for a salamandyr, she was beyond eloquent; she could be followed by almost every human and hold a conversation with most of them if she wanted to. Of course, Vex didn’t bother two thirds of the time, but – yes. When she spoke it was always perfectly eloquent, for better or for worse. Has good taste, mine does. Will tell Mimic’s that Yours sorry for neglect. Will. Tell him? Although she was projecting, so doubtlessly, the bronzerider could hear her. Save awkward, will. Vexling thinks good.

“I’d start with whatever you can afford the most of at one time,” R’wign commented, pretending to be oblivious to his salamandyr’s antics, while privately being quite amused. She was wicked, his Vex. He wasn’t sure how he’d managed to Impress such a little miscreant, but he wasn’t complaining if it helped in his plotting. To think, when he’d first Impressed her, he’d been nothing but angry at ending up with a salamandyr in his life – he still detested most of them (especially Mimic – he was a sharding omen that Meira was arriving to take Riaren away). “And then move on to the big things, but that’s just me. It’s really your choice, but the things Riaren needs most – that I haven’t bought him; I spoil him really – are warmer clothes. With the heat the way it is, we’ve been buying him mostly things that cater to the weather, but winter’ll come and it’d be a shame for him to get cold, yeah?”

Notice the insults had stopped. R’wign actually looked thoughtful as he tapped his bottom lip. There was no way to say Riaren was “neglected” – far from. The baby was, in fact, spoiled. Spoiled beyond words. But he acted so sweet that it was hard to not give him anything he could want and more. R’wign didn’t care – he didn’t see Riaren nearly enough, so what if he wanted to give him something to remember him by every time they were together? Riaren was getting older too – old enough to appreciate their time together more, and R’wign was going to have to think outside the box in what he’d do with him. Terilyn had him full time and, sadly, he felt like he treated her better as a result. R’wign was weird about that though. Time was what he owed Riaren. But… he didn’t get enough of it. Tch.

“Do you always carry around scraps of hide to write on? Sheesh, that thing looks older than me. I think – hm.” R’wign patted down himself before pulling out a list of things and held it over. “This one might hold up better.” It was the list of things he was buying at the Gather, with several objects (most notably, a kite) crossed off. “It looks less likely to fall apart on you anyway…”