Hostile Home? [tag T'lon/open]

[wylvaren]

The smooth rock of the candidate barracks spoke to Anka, showing her all who had passed through it's halls, and those who left without a life partner. The images brought tears to dark brown orbs, which were quickly wiped away, least someone see her and start to ask questions. Her fingers curled against the cool stone, the image of a young Valoryn walking through the archway for the last time with her Gold Amaranth passed before her eyes, causing her to quickly turn her head, thinking the Weyrwoman was actually standing behind her, her Gold towering over her.

No one stood behind her . . . Or even near her.

A tear slipped down her cheek, as she stepped back and placed her palms against the wall. She didn't know why she did this to herself, but she thought of her father, T'yra and his Brown Bapith, walked before her. Her father looked so young, so at peace with his life mate that the tears started up once more, as she slid to the ground, drawing her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around her knees. She cried, unable to stop herself, letting out all the pain and heartache at being alone, at losing her father.

Once she was finally done crying, she leaned her head back, opening her eyes, and peering through her curly mass of black hair. No images of young Riders stood before; her hands were pressed against her skirts. She snuffled, leaned her head back, and slowly closed her eyes. "Is this truly where I'm suppose to be?" she questioned herself, not fully sure. There had been rumors of a clutch on the Sands at Skysong Weyr, which meant a chance to Impress . . . Except she was at Fort Weyr, and there didn't seem to much of a chance of getting to the new Weyr, without causing problems with Valoryn or the Weyrleader, T'lon.

"SHARDS!" she shouted, knocking her head against the stone behind her. She was stuck, unable to get away from this place that held so many good and bad times for her. She seemed out of place, her new found abilities would alienate her from the others at Fort Weyr . . . but would the Weyrwoman allow someone to fly her to Skysong Weyr, or would she simply be banished from the Weyr and left on her own? There were some many bad thoughts in her head that she couldn't stop the fear from building.

[/blockquote]

[funkkeh]

Foosteps echoed along the stone walls, like a guitar amplifier set on delay. One boot before the next, continuously repeating the measure as the Weyrleader stalked down the narrow hallway. He paused for a moment, to peer into an open room. Cup of Klah in hand, he raised the beverage to his eager lips sipping and enjoying it very much. He sighed as his eyes closed, reveling in the brew. His weight shifted, pivoting on one heel to turn and continue on his inspection of the barracks. It was not required; he merely wanted to take a morning stroll before the afternoon brought its to-dos. Plus, it was nice to spend some peaceful…alone time, every once in a while. T’lon was certainly one of those types, he enjoyed his personal time almost as much as fighting Thread!

The barracks stayed surprisingly warm despite the stone walls, though still a bit chilly. He was dressed in his usually wher-hide jacket and his riding boots. His hat remained back in his quarters though; he enjoyed the draft sweeping through his hair. It was a nice day outside, but too much commotion for his first outing. The barracks supplied an opportunity to converse with the hopeful candidates, allowing him to pass on useful information to future riders. This was something he enjoyed most dearly; maybe he should’ve become a Weyrling Master. Alas, he had not. Norenth had caught the Senior Queen in flight, leaving him heir to the Weyrleaders duties which he had to attend to. This was a bad time for Fort though, with the tension between the two Weyrs and all. It had led to tension and contempt between himself and his Weyrmate as well. Maybe things would get better; this was what he kept telling himself as he traversed the Candidates Barracks, his thoughts racing as usual.

An open window caught his eye in an empty room. He walked in casually and shut it tight; shaking it to make sure it was secure. It was, it will suffice. He smiled and left that room as well. It was then that an age old sound met his ears. The timeless, uncanny sound of a young girl sobbing. T’lon took another sip of Klah with a smirk on his features before proceeding to follow this somber sound. He hadn’t made it very far when her words echoed around the corner. A small chuckle slipped from his mouth as he rounded the bend, only to find a young woman in a bit of a mess. He tried to make out her face beneath all her curly ebony hair but was unable to do so. He did his best to appear sympathetic, and he was to a certain extent. Though, his mind was elsewhere…

”What’s the matter with you dear? Are you hurt or simply frustrated?” These words were spoken softly in T’lons deep baritone voice. They were uttered in a worried, yet soothing demeanor. He approached her, sitting his mug down on the floor as he crouched before her. His thoughts raced, rambling about. She appeared to be of age, maybe…hopefully. T’lon was a flirt by nature and enjoyed pursuing his desires, whether fruitful or not. He had been shot down before; it didn’t bother him at all. A calloused hand rose to his brow as he ran his fingers through his dirty blonde hair. Hazel eyes watched her intently, almost lustfully. The Weyrleader awaited her reply, hoping she would not think him rude to intrude on her moment of gloom.

[/blockquote]

[wylvaren]

One moment, there were no images before her, and then the next, Weyrleader T'lon was crouched before her eyes. He looked slightly worried, but at what, and what was that other look within his gaze that made her through up every defence she had? She sniffled, and did as he did, running a hand through her hair to get it out of her face.

"Are you a vision, Weyrleader T'lon?" she asked, her voice holding a note of distance, while her eyes seemed glassy. "Wonder if I can show you you in the past," she whispered, her left hand slowly moving toward T'lon's eyes, but she stopped inches from touching the Weyrleader. Her eyes changed in a second, going from glassy and distant to glaring at T'lon with rage and frustration.

"There are so many things wrong with me, it isn't funny, my Weyrleader," she stated, starting to draw her hand back. "My mind was playing tricks on me . . . . I was seeing my father, and it upset me a bit . . . That is it," she stated, not convinced from her voice alone. She knew he would see right through her statement, but at the moment, she didn't care. She wanted someone to talk to. Someone who would listen but she didn't think it would be the Weyrleader of Fort Weyr.

[/blockquote]