MOO Time: 2011-01-26 14:02:17
Internet Time: @834 beats
And on Pern ...
The time is 10:02.
It is noon of the eighty-fourth day of summer.
It is the nineteenth Turn of the Tenth Interval.
It is a summer noon.


Characters: Mireille, Tussart, Tilla, firelizards
Summary: Shenanigans in the greenhouse

Greenhouse
Moisture hangs in the air, a subtle humidity trapped within this glass-walled building. A single 'sign' on a simple wooden shingle welcomes those who enter. Warm for High Reaches, the greenhouse seems to disregard the seasons with cheery light and ambience: hanging baskets are visible far above, while a number of different lattice trellises guard the dedicated pathway with delicate vines twining ever upwards. A large horseshoe of tables holds a number of trays, flanked by larger bushes in kiln-cast pots. The main gravel path meanders through four distinctly separate areas, each labeled individually by a carved sign. The 'Edibles' garden flows into a brightly-colored 'Kidlet' area, merging seamlessly into a lovely 'Flower' garden. The last section is cordoned off with ropes of brilliant blue, the 'Healer' section carefully tended and maintained with the same strict standards as the rest.
It is a summer evening.
Gliding above are four firelizards.
You see Peppermint bush, Fern bush, Fluffy, and Blackberry bush here.
Obvious exits:
To The Meadows

Tilla strolls in from the Lower Alpine Meadows.

This lovely summer evening at High Reaches Weyr finds many residents relaxing after a hard day's work. Some are doing some stargazing and picnicing in the meadows on colorful blankets, some are taking a dip in the volcanic pools, or camping. Some are sitting in the bowl, drinking themselves silly. And some..are doing some evening..gardening? The greenhouse is bathed in soft glowlight, as they twinkle, intermittently strung up on ropes. But the building seems mostly empty, save some movements near the back. Seems a certain greenrider is fixing a few trellisses, humming to herself as she caresses a few moonflowers that were about to spill out onto the gravelled path. Auri, her bronze stomach-with wings is doing a few loop de loops, snapping up insects that are buzzing about the glows. MMMM, dessert with legs!

The sounds of the night mask the gentle creak of the doorway when Mireille slips through it. A moment is taken at the doorway, a pause to breathe in the damp, humid air that warms her lungs even more so than the night outside. A quiet sigh is then executed as the herder takes those first few steps into the Greenhouse. Unfortunately, all thumbs and toes, Mireille nearly crashes into one of those wooden signs which gets her knocking into some bush or tree that might be in her way. "Eep!" she yelps out, reaching up to drag out a few leaves from the inky fall of dark hair that rests unbound down her shoulders. Her attire is otherwise perfunctory -- good, sturdy clothing meant for working with animals.

Humming abruptly ends as the redhead is a bit startled by all the noises near the door. Dropping her hammer, she winces as the wooden handle clunks into her heel a bit. That is what you get when you trade your usually sturdy boots for Birkenstock-like summer sandals. But they go with her pale gray, midriff bearing shirt, tied at the waist and cinnamon brown short pants so well! "Shards!" she calls out, rubbing it a bit. Turning, she grabs a glowlight and takes a few paces back to where the noise originates. Auri backwings and lands on her shoulder, hissing and acting the 'guard dog'a bit as Tilla calls out, "Hello? Whose there...need some help?" Sounds like they both do for the bruises they probably are developing. Is there a healer in the house?

"Oh! No, I mean, I'm--," Mireille says, breathy as she stumbles into the light of the glow that Tilla holds, "--fine. I just tripped on," she glances back and pauses, seeing nothing on the path, to finish lamely, "something. I'm Mireille." Dark eyes turn back to the gardening greenrider, fingers tucking her hair behind her ear. "Herder Journeyman, though I'm stationed at the Hall these days." Finally, situated with a sigh, the herder offers a smile and adds, "I'm just here waiting. Well, okay, I'm kind of hoping to run into someone." Who says stalking is illegal?

Tussart aimlessly wanders in from the Lower Alpine Meadows.

Auri is given a pat and a reassuring word, perhaps a piece of pocket-jerky is thrown thattaway and he departs to a nearby tree. "Tilla," is offered with a smile, "Well met, Mirei- Oh wait. Are you /the/ Mireille. The one my cheesemaker friend has told me about? Well I've been wanting to meet you!" If that isn't a friendly reception, I don't know what is. "I...do a bunch of things, although officially, I'm an Assistant Weyrlingmaster and dragonhealer, mostly. If you'd like a seat, we have some nice stone benches near the pond in back." she gestures with one arm, hopefully the herder will follow her back to where she was working on the trellisses. "Who are you looking for?"

It's evening, the light of the glows casting a mysterious air over the greenhouse, with the central focus on the greenrider and her trellis making. Mireille does follow after Tilla, blinking a few times. "You know me?" she can't help but ask, though it's more in gentle curiosity than anything else. "Oh! You know," the barest hint of a pause is hitched between her words here, "Cullen." She ducks her head and does take a seat on the bench nearest Tilla, "It's nice to meet you, Tilla. Dragonhealer /and/ Assistant Weyrlingmaster. That's quite a handful!" Once seated, she leans forward, pressing her weight on the palm of her hand, fingers curling around the edge of the bench so she can better see what Tilla's working on. "Cullen got me something like that. A trellis to grow things on, but my Istan flowers died when I moved back here and I've not been able to find a good, hardy winter flower, so I've got vines." Pause. Blush, "Oh, well. Not /waiiiiiiiting/, realllllly," she drawls. "Kind of doing -- well have you ever tried to stage a 'chance meeting'?" Tilla's open friendliness has affected the herder in a quick and ready smile. It's a good, pleasant summer evening.

"'ey, now. Qui' i'! Stop -- stop bit'n! Hey -- leggo!" With an annoyed squeal, a gold firelizard streaks into the greenhouse, sending a chorus of annoyed squawks behind her. She's tiny, nearly newborn, but her ferocity belies her inexperience. Following closely behind is a lanky young man, hat askew and hand bloody. "Hey! Ge' back 'ere! Bloo'y /stupid/ anim'l! Oh--" There are /people/ in here. The young man gives an awkward smile even as his colorless gray eyes scan the greenhouse. "Din't happen t' see a li'le gold 'lizard go by, d'ya?"

Tilla fiddles with yet another loose nail as she nods over to Mireille, "Yes, Cullen! And you have an Ellen too, right? He said I should meet you both." At the compliment, Tills shuffles her foot, "Yeah, I know, I do too many things, likely. My other passion is this greenhouse. I love growing things and medicinal herbs...helped get this place built." A pause, "Er, but I am /not/ a smith. Nono. Just friends with some." She takes a seat. "Winter flower huh. Have you tried the Ilex? it has really spiny leaves but pretty little white flowers. Not so good for a trellis but..still kind of pretty. Chance meeting huh? Yess. I have tried to." As the yelling about a gold firelizard commences, the greenrider squints, "Was that what the screeching was about? My little bronze can probably find her..um...Tuss. Is that..you?" She seems to remember him from a recent beach party.

"Yes, I do. Our daughter's name is Ellen," Mireille starts to say, but is interrupted by the explosive entrance of Tussart and his little gold. She frowns in concentration, working to weed through his words to gather the ones that make sense to her. "Oh! Um, that way," she says, pointing in the direction the little gold went, though she offers the man a smile. Her eyes squint a little bit, brows furrowed before her expression smooths out to one of welcoming, "Hi. I'm Mireille, herder." A glance back to the greenrider has the woman adding, "Well it's good to meet you. Try not to work /too/ hard, though I've a little passion for having flowers around my room." She tucks her hands beneath her thighs, just where they bend at the knee and leans forward, "Yes. I admit that I was hoping to trap Cullen. Sometimes, well, sometimes I have to be crafty to find where he is."

Considering his entrance, Tussart doesn't seem in much of a hurry to go after his firelizard, though he does stick the meaty part of his hand in his mouth, where it was bitten. It makes for garbled words as he tries to talk around it. "Oo. Yur da gree'ri'a." He releases his hand, sucking it clean of blood and saliva and tries again. "You're th' greenridah. From dat par'y." No, he still doesn't remember her name. He turns a little as Mireille introduces herself. Eyes widen; he points at her. "You're tha' crazy woman! Er..." He claps his hand over his mouth with a wince. "I mean, er, hello..." he amends weakly.

Tilla snickers, "I try not to work too hard, but sometimes it just happens, anyway." Eyebrow raise, "Trap Cullen? I'd like to see him in a trap. He is a very resourceful man. Did he tell you I once paid him to see if my boyfriend was cheating on me? Like, to follow him around? He is quite good, at being stealthy. I'd agree." Turning to Tuss, she nods, "Well I was one of the greenriders there, there were quite a few." Like a greenie convention. "Tilla. " A frown, "Crazy?" Now, she's curious. Gently placing the hammer on the bench next to herself, she takes a break. The work was almost done, anyway.

"Crazy?" Mireille echoes, eyes widening as she shares a look with Tilla, addressing Tussart first and his crazy accusations. "Wait a minute..." she starts to say slowly, leaning forward to get a better view. "I remember you, now. I am /not/ crazy, but Cullen has to have a firm hand taken to him. Otherwise, he /wanders/ and does things like lose Ellen's shoes." Frown. She takes a deep breath and glances back to Tilla, "Oh, well, it's kind of a game I play. He's a man who takes a lot of odd jobs, but sometimes I see if I can't find him alone and then I corral him into something /I/ want him to do." Conspiratorially, she leans forward, including even the crazy man in her little confession, "The man's allergic to the softer side of life. You have to trick him into it." Is that a crafty smile? Why yes, yes it /is/.

"Y' were th' one wid th' food," Tussart specifies with a lopsided smile of reminiscence. Mmm. He reaches up to readjust his hat on his head, pulling the brim forward a little bit, and settles back to rest his weight on a convenient table, making at least a passing attempt to not upset anything. Mireille gets an uncertain look. "Y' were hitt'n 'im. Wid a /shoe/. Aftah he'd fallen from th' /sky/." Thick brows draw together in something that looks mildly like concern. "No' sure how dat's 'soft'." He shakes his head and throws himself a lifeline. "Maybe 's a Weyrfolk f'ng." That explanation seems to please him; his expression brightens.

Tilla snickers, "Well my boyfriend has the opposite problem. Sometimes he is a little /too/ soft. Maybe Cullen could give him some manliness lessons, you know, ramp it up a little?" She winks. "Food? Right, I was eating up large quantities of barbequed meats." A shocked look, "Hitting a man with a shoe? Well, that's going to leave a hefty bruise, now isnt' it?" Sarcasm. "We weyrfolks are crazy. Especially the redheaded greenriders. I should know." She makes a dramatically whimsical face over to Tuss, the kind where you twirl you fingers around and cross your eyes. That one.

"Of course I was beating him with my baby's shoe. Man's thicker than a box of rocks and just as stubborn. If I don't make a point, he's just gonna keep right on doing it," Mireille mutters by way of explanation, shooting Tussart a slightly dour frown, though her expression, too, brightens. "He didn't fall out of the sky, he fell of a dragon. The man's as limber as an iron rod too. I tell you, Tussart, the thing to know about Cullen is that if he's moving and cussing, he's fine." A girlish wink is shared with Tilla, "Like all men, they whine the most when their wounds are all bluster. Cullen has 'manliness' in spades. Sometimes, I wish he'd bend a leeetttle more, but." She shrugs, the continues, "Though what I'm looking for by 'soft'," a look is shot to Tussart, "is something that involves some show of affection." Pause. "Not that Cullen doesn't show it, but sometimes, I force it on him." Yes. Just call her the Forced-Snuggler.

"Oh. Well, tha's aurigh', 'en." Tussart dismisses his concerns about the skydiving cheesemaker in the few moments it takes Mireille to give her explanations. "Cou' always ge'im liquored up, I guess. Works on, er--" There's really no good way to finish that sentence in mixed company, so Tussart's's attention turns, a little desperately, to Tilla. Her strange expression gets a snorting laugh from the young man. "'s i' th' red hair I got'a worry abou', or th' green dragons? 'cause I haven't 'ad good luck wi' greenridahs, so far." He gives Tilla a look of scrutiny -- one eye wide, the other narrow -- that probably doesn't look as intimidating as he wants it to. "You're a teas'n lo', y' know."

Tilla laughs, "A baby's shoe. I wish I could have been there to /see/ that." She shakes her head, grabbing the hammer and nailing in that last little nail in the trellis, securing a vine and then sitting back down again. "Yeah, well, still. We should make them go on a camping trip together or something. S'lo and Cullen. See if they rub off on each oth-" she chokes. "I /mean/, if the habits of each temper the other or something. I dont know. A learning experience." She snorts at Tuss, "Oh, both. Redheads are scary, but just check out a proddy redhead. Which thankfully I am not, for the time being." She shrugs, but has a sly grin on her face.

Mireille frowns. "No, I'm not going to ply him with drink." She leans over to say in aside to Tilla, "If your man is drunk, it's just not as good." A face is made and a finger is held out droopy-like before she gives a quick shake of her head. "Doesn't work, and plus, I hate drunkards," she says in a more normal voice. "The day Cullen comes home drunk is the day I'll tan his hide and then make him sit around with the baby all day." Tussart's last words get a look of confusion to the herder's face. While it's been /difficult/ to follow along, she's understood enough words to get the gist of what the man's saying. "You're a teasing loe? What's a 'loe'?" The mention of proddy has Mireille shifting in her chair, "Mmmm."

Tussart has a sort of lopsided grin of equal parts fascination and horror on his face as he listens to the two women talk. Who /knew/ he'd have such a learning experience today? Although it's hard to tell exactly how much is penetrating, since he looks half-drugged even at his most alert. From the hazy vacancy in his gray eyes, this is /not/ his most alert. Speaking of being drugged ... a look of mild unease crosses his expression as Mireille expands upon her dedication to sobriety. The change of subject is eagerly embraced. "Lot," he says, carefully pronouncing the 't'. He reaches up to scratch the back of his head, below the hat's brim, as he thinks up a translation. "Group? Li'e, o' folks?" Tilla gets a quizzical look. "Wha's 'proddy'?" There's care not to drop the 'd' sound, though it looks a bit weird coming from the young man's mush mouth.

Tilla wipes her hand across her forehead, "Thankfully, my green doesn't go proddy /that/ often. I mean often enough but, I can relax for a while." An odd look, "Um, making them drunk means less fun in bed. Potentially. So, yeah, I prefer my man sober. Well, maybe a little tipsy. But that's it." A look over to Tuss, "Proddy means. Well. It means the dragon is ready to mate and so is her rider. You seriously don't know? Well, I would hope you know dragons have mating flights..right?" Hopefully. She rises, making to put the hammer back in its toolbox. Gotta make sure the greenhouse is a cleanhouse.

"Exactly!" Mireille nods her head in agreement to Tilla, slanting a look at Tussart. She tugs her hands free from under her legs and leans back against the bench. "Oh, proddy is --" she pauses and glances at the greenrider, " -- what she said. Sometimes, you can feel it too if you're around when a dragon goes up. I was here once, pregnant, when one of the golds rose. Cullen hustled us out and we were back in Ista before I could throw up on him." Which she might have done. Though, Tussart might be getting the hairy eyeball to his look of unease. Drinking is bad!

"Firs' time I w's a' a Weyr was, li'e, a monf ago. Dunno all th' terms you lo' use." And there Tussart is, using a little slang of his own. The faintly mischievous look in those gray eyes suggests it was intentional. "Hear i' gets crazy, dough, when th' golds go up. Li'e, orgies all ovah th' place." There's a hopeful look sent to both women at the mention of 'orgies'. Please let that be true. Mireille's stink-eye meets Tussart's lopsided, friendly smile, though his expression is tinged with a vacant look of uncertainty, like a canine who knows he's in trouble, but not why. Without warning gold blur streaks past him; he's just quick enough to grab the firelizard by the tail and stuff her under his hat. He uses one hand to pin the hat down against the little gold's struggles, even as he winces at the feel of claws against skin. "Ruddy -- monstah!"

Tilla snickers, "Well you can't feel a green's proddy as much as a gold's. People at weyrs sometimes just go..overboard in 'activities'" Air quotes, "During that time." She nods. "Right, orgies. Sorry, didn't want to traumatize you there." She gives an odd look to Tuss, too. "Uhm, please make sure your gold doesn't go around breaking things. We have enough of that as it is. Although nothing like when certain people were letting their untrained canines in here. Peeing and digging. Ugh." Yes, the urine stain that shall live in infamy.

Mireille stares at Tussart's antics with the firelizard. "I don't believe she's reddish colored, but gold and, uh, you might want to be gentler because her wings are pretty fragile. Not to mention her tail. And all the other little parts." The herder isn't going to condone rough treatment of animals! If there's a look of satisfaction, well, it's the least of what Tussart deserves to get clawed. "No, mmm, it was nice to meet you Tilla," she says, after standing, "But I've got to get back. Well, rather, I'm going to go to Cullen's favorite place and see if I can't carve off a slice of his goods." She has the secrets, the secret /cheese-cave/ goodness. "He owes me for not... falling into my carefully placed plan of running into him by 'accident'." The pair of them are given sagenods, though that hairy eyeball is turned back on Tussart, lips thinning. "Clear skies, you two!" And with a parting wave to them both, and a final, "Be careful with that 'lizard!" The herder is slipping free of the greenhouse. To partake in purloined cheese. Stolen cheese just somehow /tastes/ better. Unfortunately, she'll likely get lost on her way there. Woe.

"Try'n t' keep 'er ... ugh ... put!" Communication is difficult when wrestling with a feisty little gold that's trying to burrow to freedom though one's /skull/. Finally, Tuss pulls the hat off his head and just bundles the tiny thing up in the thick wool. He rubs gingerly at his poor scratched scalp, but gives Mireille a bright, rather vacant look of reassurance. "'s aurigh'. She c'n take her licks. An' dish 'em ou'," he adds at a grumble. "Shou' pro'bly feed her..." So he's following Mireille out, though not too closely, with a parting wave and a lopsided grin to Tilla.

Tilla nods, "Well met, Mireille, see you later Tuss! The more you feed them, the sleepier they tend to get." And then she busies herself cleaning things up and then locking the greenhouse for the night, with all luck, not cleaning up too many more broken pots. But who knows.