Logs:Egg Go Smash
| |
|---|
| |
| RL Date: 8 July, 2011 |
| Who: Iolene, Rhaelyn, Riorde, Tiriana |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: What should be a quiet morning of staring at eggs turns into ... well... the Weyr might have reason now to consider the exiles personas non grata. |
| Where: Hatching Galleries / Hatching Sands, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 1, Month 3, Turn 26 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Taikrin/Mentions |
    |
| The weather is horrible. Sploshy bootprints trail up from the entrance, drying in the heat rising off the hatching grounds but still making a direct path to where Riorde sits at mid-level in the galleries. Her wet gear is laid out alongside her, including footwear - not accustomed to it in the first place, no one's told her it could be poor manners to take it off in public and put it where other people are destined to sit. Oh, how quickly people's blood thins. How quickly, Iolene has become accustomed to the niceties of life: boots, a warm jacket, and now this venture into the heated hatching sands. While Riorde's situated and her shoes are getting comfortable on the seat next to her, Io's just walking in from the super wet outdoors, her wool outergear dripping. Clearly, no one's taught her the finer points of dressing for rain rather than just cold. Upon arriving, her attention latches immediately to the curiosity of /giant/ inedible eggs, before those dark eyes turn and find Riorde. Cues are taken and shortly Iolene's own gear finds itself plopped on the bench below the other islander's with the girl leaning forward, all too belatedly, to make a cute face and go, "Boo!" right in front of Riorde's face. Riorde is a spoilsport. "Heard you," she tells the younger girl, not even smiling for the cute face. And Iolene's cute faces are really cute as cute faces go. A soft spot kicks in a minute later though, and Riorde finds it in her irritable heart to smile, just a little. "Hi." From somewhere in the depths of her pants pockets, Iolene retrieves a rather squashed roll, quick to split it in half and offer the larger of the two sides to Riorde. It looks... well, as unappetizing as a squashed breakfast roll can look. Knees to bench, back to the sands, Io looks squarely upon the dark haired woman, head tilting to one side curiously. "Indigestion?" is her, not so serious, guess of what the ailments a cute boo-face cannot fix. "The worst," Riorde relates, also not serious, well aware that the excuse is flimsy shelter to hide behind. She takes the half of the roll that's offered and starts picking it apart. Most of gets to her mouth, with crumbs falling to the floor for some drudge to sweep up. "Come to see how dragons get born?" Rhaelyn comes alone into the galleries. Bundled under two jackets and a rather ornate fur hat pinned with several trailing feathers. Seems a little too fancy for this place, but the hand-me-downs are often a hodge-podge of selections. "Hello." Spotting familiar faces she heads right for them, tromping away. There's a little flicker of relief that lightens Iolene's eyes as Riorde takes her well-meant, if squashed, offering and picks at it. Taking this as a good sign, the younger girl picks at her own roll, rolling each tiny piece into an even firmer ball and popping that into her mouth. "You should eat better," and though it has the vocal timbre of an admonishment, clearly, /clearly/, the flimsiness of the excuse has sunk into Io's brain as she leans forward on her knees, close enough to try and push back a lock of Riorde's hair. It's meant to be consoling. Sort of. "Yeah. I didn't get to see them the other night. After Turnover," the girl's voice trails off. "After then, I don't think I like joining in on parties here much. Strange things happen. Oh, hey," as Rhaelyn approaches, the blonde turns with a lifted hand for the fellow islander. Pinching off bits of bread squashes it even further, but Riorde isn't picky about what she eats. Bread is still new enough to be exciting whatever form it comes in. "Probably," she admits, acknowledging the merit in Iolene's advice. She doesn't pull away from the other girl, and this time her smile is a little sadder but more genuine. "I know what you mean." Parties. Riorde didn't go, either. She turns her head towards Rhaelyn, and the hair that Iolene pushed back immediately falls back right where it was before. "Hey," she echoes, eyes on the hat. "Where'd you get that?" Rhaelyn's nose crinkles up in response to the actions of the weyr parties, "You are better off not being there last night." For a moment it looks like she's going to burst into the story but bites at her tongue to keep silent. Instead she removes the hat, it is damp while the hair within is still glossy and dry. "I got it in the last delivery of things." The hat is offered out for the others to see it better, feathers and all. "It's nice and warm." "They're-," Iolene completes the turn that started with Rhaelyn's arrival to twist and spy out the eggs again. "A lot bigger than I thought they would be. Softer looking too. Shells. Can you imagine how many people could be fed with just one of those eggs?" Joking, albeit in a muted way, Io turns back to Riorde first and it's then, in the deliberate ignoring of Rhaelyn's hat, that the tiniest flare of teenage jealousy is visible beneath the surface of the blonde's cheered countenance. "Looks like it." While Iolene seems a little jealous, for her part Riorde sounds a little dubious and just a bit scornful, like there's other things she could say about how the hat looks and is biting them back. "How many fish do you think would fit inside?" she asks, picking up the macabre humour where Io left off. Having finished her half of the roll, the girl rubs her buttery fingers against her seat rather than wiping her fingers on her trousers. Eventually, she comes round to asking about party from the other night, a bit reluctant to allow Rhaelyn an opportunity to talk about herself. Obliging her curiosity wins out. "What happened?" Rhaelyn doesn't notice the jealousy, or doesn't register Iolene's look as such. Her lower lip pokes forward when the blonde isn't satisfyingly interested in her find and then there's Riorde's expression. She pulls the hat back and lays it over her lap as she settles down in her usual sulky huff when she's not the center of attention. The talk of eatting the eggs gets a sickened look, "I bet it's chewy inside. But better than that seaweed pie we had to eat." Oh the memories. For a moment it looks like she might ignore Riorde asking about the previous night but c'mon, she can't resist, "Alright, so..." turning to face the other two now, "This horrible brownrider was slobbering drunk. She was throwing herself at anyone that moved. Then, when she found out I was an exile, she flipped out and called 'me' a slut. Like /I/ was the one falling all over myself." Iolene pulls her braid forward, playing fingers about the turquoise ribbon threaded through the strands, as if part of the braid itself, the continual rub of the back of her fingers against the satiny material almost like an act of self-consolation. A response to Riorde is stopped before her parted lips can speak when Rhaelyn recounts her story. And so she listens, it is, after all, the hat she's ignoring and not Rhaelyn herself, and the girl's eyes widen, the stare broken infrequently by the most owlish of blinks. "Were you-," the girl hesitates, looking a mix between entranced and dubious, "Were you acting like she thought? Maybe inadvertently? Did you drink any of their crazy juice?" Riorde resolves not to look interested in the story, but the pretense falls apart as soon as the 'she' is out, identifying Rhaelyn's drunk brownrider as female. She shifts uncomfortably, crossing and recrossing her ankles. "Which brownrider?" She just has to ask it on the heels of the questions Io's posed, dragging her gaze back up and half-dreading an answer. "I was being 'friendly'." Rhaelyn says firmly, and with a wide length of denfensivness at Iolene's insinuation. "Is it my fault that she sees 'sex' in anything that smiles?" There's a brisk shake of her head in response to the drinking, admiting, "I was going to drink, but she made me spill it all over myself. /She/ must have had a lot of that crazy juice though, her eyes were all red. Who would actually take her up on having sex with her? Smelly and drooly everywhere. Yuck." Sure, she might drag it out a bit, for Riorde's pain and discomfort, but not on purpose surely, "Taikrin, the one who is always buying exiles drinks and talks like a man." Soon, it's less Rhaelyn's story that interests Iolene and more Riorde's discomfort. Iolene looks between the two other exiles, back and forth before her blue eyes linger on Riorde. Rhaelyn's bristling, however, does not go unnoticed, and after a moment of silence from the youngest of the three girls, Io favors Rhae with a frank study, "I only asked about drinking because I know it can lead to awkward situations. Situations you don't always want to get yourself into and I know people do things when they drink that stuff that they normally might not do, and sometimes. Sometimes, some people forget what they've done." As for the rest of what the girl says, it's unaddressed in favor of the knees she rests on sliding out so she might exchange her lower bench to sit by the distinctly uncomfortable Riorde, an arm offered about the other girl's waist chummily in lieu of words. "You probably /were/ acting like a slut." Riorde can be tactless and harsh, but the sudden dip towards cruelty is atypical even for her. She hunches into herself, shoulders near her ears, conspicuously tense and bad-tempered. As Io slides down next to her, Riorde glances at the other girl with a hint of surprise for the gesture and, in greater measure than the surprise, glumness. Rhaelyn, again, shows her usual lack of empathy for her fellow exiles by fixing a blank look between the uncomfortable Riorde and the consoling by Iolene. "What?" Riorde's insult keeps her from dipping too far into the troubles of others though, "Oh, shut up you cow. That woman is a bitch and everyone knows she'll screw anything that moves." Rhae being cruel isn't something new or unexpected really. The arm about Riorde hesitates as /Riorde/ pulls out the big guns and suddenly, Io is at a loss for what to do exactly or who to stand by. Her arm doesn't move, but it does fall lax. "Ri," the single syllable nickname falls, alarmed. "/Rhae/," even more shocked. "You /guys/!" Helpless: that's what she is in the face of all this conflict. Riorde's apologetic look at Iolene is incomplete as she turns to face Rhaelyn with a hot glare. "She is /not!/" Riorde turns explosive, each word gathering in force. She leaves the second smear on Taikrin's character alone, either afraid to out herself or uneasy about just how much truth there is in it. Rhaelyn smells the blood in the water. She leans in closer to Riorde, ignoring the plea to stop from the sweet mannered Iolene. There's a sudden poke at the center of Riorde's chest with the poiny edge of her finger. "I hear," Rhaelyn's tone dips into the nasty edge that is so like her, "That she has them two at a time because she can't get enough. And that she's not allowed to be around us exiles, because she's already seduced a number of sweet, young, girls." It's too bad Riorde and Rhaelyn don't have the right parts, Io has a way to resolve fights rather quickly, but only among boys. Kneeing is not quite as effective with girls. And then Rhaelyn shocks Iolene's, exiled but still really holdbred mind into pieces. "With-," blink, "Girls?" What? What manner of nonsense is this? You can't make babies with girl on girl action! If Rhaelyn smells blood in the water, Iolene discerns something similar and though she remains by Riorde, a little less staunchly than before, that lax arm does fall all the way. "Why are you being so mean? We're /supposed/ to get along." Riorde is utterly still as Rhaelyn's finger jabs her breastbone. The offense is there, manifest in the way her glower blazes out. Riorde, who considers herself neither young nor sweet, reacts in a fashion predictable for her. She lashes out with her right fist, aiming for Rhaelyn's face. The girl knows how to throw a punch. Rhaelyn isn't much of a fighter, the physical hasn't ever been her weapon of choice. So, she's not thinking of protecting that precious face of hers as the fist comes flying at her. Even if she were ready, she'd likely not be able to dodge that blow. The fist connects with her cheek with a solid crack and a scream of pain rips from the dark-haired exile. For a moment, Rhae bows forward, cupping the side of her face with a trembling hand, disbelief making her tearing eyes wide with the shock. Her lower lip trembles and for a moment it seems she might back down and relent. Rage and pain blind the thinking side of her brain though. "YOU BITCH!" The war-cry echos around the cavern as she lunges for Riorde with one hand clawed and the other reaching out to grab a fistfull of hair. For all she's been bred a hunter, Iolene looks /aghast/ when violence is wrought against other people, particularly amongst /her/ people, and when Riorde throws the first punch, the naive little blonde's mouth drops in horror, covered quickly by her lifted hands. "Stop. Stop! /STOP/!" as if repeating herself in increasing volume might actually break up a girl fight. But her place in this disagreement is that of the bystander, up until Rhaelyn turns it into an actual cat fight and the once hunter, now somehow still underfed if nourished skinny girl, tries to propel herself in between the two girls. It will, likely, result in pain or complete ineffectuality. Riorde looks darkly satisfied as her fist connects. "You /deserve/ it," she snaps out a justification, partially telling herself it too to quell the first glimmer of doubt as Rhaelyn screams and doubles over. All of that fades as Rhaelyn launches herself at her. There's plenty of hair to grab, drawing forth a gasped intake of pain, and she instinctively tries to turn away in what turns out to be a shove at Iolene and a tumble down the tiers that is sure to result in several bruises. Rhaelyn tires her best to keep a secure grip on Riorde's hair, attempting to give the handful a yank back and forth but then Riorde is falling down the stairs, hair ripped out of her grasp and Iolene right in her path, "Get out of my way! Io! Get away. I'm going to teach her..." A solid shove goes to Iolene and she goes stomping down the steps after Riorde. Another grap made for Riorde, hair, clothes, whatever, with every intention of removing her from the galleries altogether, even if that means to deposit her into the sands. When Riorde shoves and tumbles, so too does Iolene follow, her landing only softened by the presence of Riordes body, however (not) plush that might be. The teenager grunts and rolls off the exile, mostly to avoid Rhaelyn's grabby hands. As much as she wishes she'd stop being a baby and not cry, here's another instance where Io's tearing up again, though not from pain. "Stop," is her fourth, probably still ineffectual, tearful mumble. "Why can't you be /nice/? Ever? Why are you such a-, such a-, such a /bitch/?" The expletive is flung at Rhaelyn, wherever the girl ends up. Most of the ripping might be out of Rhaelyn's hands, but there's at least a bit of it that is ripped out entirely and has Riorde putting her palm to her head as she stumbles to her feet. She tries to help Iolene up too, without malice for the younger girl and stepping forward to try to put herself between Io and Rhaelyn as the other dark-haired exile comes stomping down. "Do you even /know/ how to hit?" she practically snarls at Rhaelyn, ready and waiting for the other girl to come at her. "Or do you bat your eyelashes and try to get some boy to do it for you?" As Rhaelyn grabs Riorde shoves and steps back against the rails, trying to get enough distance to get in another swing. She hits fast and dirty without much direction, off-balance herself, almost going over. Rhaelyn's teeth click together in very unladylike manner as she hisses at Iolene, "/I/ am the bitch? She is the one who hit me! I'm not going to..." Her eyes fly open wide again at the insult but she spits back, screaming, "At least I'm not a lady-lover!" Since, even if it's not true, it seems to be a hit bellow the belt for Riorde and more like her usual fighting style. Too much talk and not enough action is her downfall though, she takes a hit to the jaw and another to her nose before she gets the hand up to deflect the flail of punches coming her way. Blindly she reaches with her other hand to snare Rio's hair again, tugging the girl closer and then shoving out. Out and over the railing. Unfortuately, her own footing is anything but balanced as she over extends herself. "You-, you-," stammering, Iolene has to stop to think when Rhaelyn shoots back logic at her. "You baited her!" There! But she's taken so much time to think that she misses the ensuing aggression, and /gasps/ when the two go over the edge. Living all those years with Rilka has done its damage and she wails, "The sea monster's going to /eat/ you alive." Narrowed eyes meet Rhaelyn's insult - if insult it is. Riorde doesn't deny anything, doesn't even look panicked or upset. Instead, with a bit of a taunt to her tone, she fires back, "At least I can /get/ a lover." The surprise of going over the edge of the galleries takes the breath right out of her, but in her last minute before she tumbles out, she snags Rhaelyn by shirt and hair to take her down with her. A gasp as she hits the sands six feet below, landing hard and not even trying to get another punch in at first. It takes a minute for her to recover enough to call up to Iolene with momentary confusion, "Sea monster?" -- Dragon. Right. Riorde has forgotten all about Iovniath. Rhaelyn screams as she wobbles at the edge, grabbing with a hand at the railing to try to stop her fall. No good. The momentum and Riorde's weight on her and the pull of her hair. Down she goes, screaming again in outrage and then in pain as she splats into the sand. The impact knocks the air out of her and gasping she claws her way to Riorde, nose drip-dripping blood. "Not...going to have....time to eat you." It's a real horror-show, that nose bleed. Iolene looks to Iovniath anxiously, and down to the scuffle just at the base where sand meets galleries. "Get back up here. You guys can beat each other up here. Get out of there." There's only a moment of indecision before Io's made it to the stairs down and taken the safe way down, standing at the very bottom step and holding out her hand. Her eyes? They're imploring: please come here so she doesn't have to step closer to the brooding sea monster. "You're the one who's bleeding," Riorde points out as she pulls herself up. Nevertheless, she staggers away from Rhaelyn in an attempt to recover her bearings, unwittingly wandering further onto the sands and not looking back to see where she's going. "Do you /want/ me to finish you off?" There's the option in that to run off crying; some of the fight has gone out of Riorde now that she's no longer in the stone tiers. "Go on, run back to Io," she taunts, undoing some of the extended possibility for a cease-fire. Rhaelyn wipes the back of her hand over her nose at the remark that she's bleeding and the smear of warm blood makes a stripe across the arm and her face, not making it any better. She casts a hateful look over her shoulder at Iolene, who is just trying to guide them to safety, but Rhae is having none of it. The taunt from Riorde pushes her over the edge, the bleeding exile scrambles to her feet and makes a mad rush for her, aiming to body-slam her into the hot sand, head low, shoulder aimed just right. Iolene's dark eyes flare open at Riorde's taunt, though targeted to Rhaelyn, hits the blonde girl squarely in her soft-hearted little heart. Not only is a possible cease-fire over, so is Iolene being afraid enough not to venture onto the sands, and there she goes, kicking up sand with her bare feet stomping all over the place, and in the adrenaline only given strength by anger, ignores how her feet might blister. She's about to reach for both of their ears and haul them away physically, in a long observed Grams move, but then Rhae's body slamming Riorde, which leaves Iolene staring again. "FUCK. FUCKITY FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK. FUCK. Both of you suck. SUCK!" Only Io can go from expletives to toddler taunts in the same breath. Riorde tries to dodge Rhaelyn, but it doesn't entirely work as she's still unsteady her feet. What happens instead: Rhaelyn's shoulder hits Riorde on one side, and the momentum carries them both into one of the still-soft eggs. Riorde falls down, likely with Rhaelyn, and all of a sudden stops fighting completely. "Fuck." She picks up the word from Iolene and puts it to new use. Iovniath, however, has /not/ forgotten about the girls. She's been asleep through most of this, resting soundly after the ordeal of clutching and putting up with new-mother Tiriana again. But now? The crashing is what wakes her, and she flutters her wings vaguely for a moment as she comes to--and then realizes what's happening. For just a moment, the gold stares at the wrestling girls that are now on her sands and, worse--oh so much worse--rolling into her /egg/. And then, rising up in full icy fury, her wings spreading out over her, she ROARS. It's the least that Rhae can do, bleed all over Riorde once she has her down. Down in the hot sand, ready to grab a couple handfulls of hair and...."Oh!" There's a mushy-soft egg against her, rubbery-like and "Eeewww!!!!" All else she might say or do dies in the wake of the roar that makes every hair on her body stand up on end. The only option is the scream in terror right back. To say Iolene panics is possibly the understatement of the Interval, but none of her reaction is displayed physically. A draconic roar is something entirely different from anything she's been hearing lately coming from dragon throats. Instead, the blonde islander is absolutely still. So utterly, perfectly still as she stares up at Iovniath. Please, please, those big big eyes say what she's unable to voice, /don't eat me/. "/Rhae/!" Riorde is the first to scramble to her feet and in a sudden reversal, tries to get the other islander to stand up too. "RUN!" The flight part of Riorde's fight-or-flight instinct kicks in, and without waiting, she tears towards the exit. Rhaelyn tries to get her suddenly jelly-filled legs to obey her. Toes dig in, kicking up sand but she doesn't seem to get traction fast enough. Like one of those horrible nightmares where you can't /go/ anywhere. At last she does get those limbs under her and she's pelting for an exit, grabbing for the fear-struck Io, "Cmon! Cmon! Go go GO!!" Trying to catch up an arm, or bit of clothing to drag their non-combatant from the battlefield. It's the hand on her arm that undoes her and her legs seem to follow of their own accord when Rhaelyn pulls. Funny, how a dragon roaring is enough to stop a seemingly unstoppable cat fight. And suddenly, just as they're about to exit the sands, Io's look of fear turns to one of a muted frustration: Where was Iovniath five minutes ago? But that's a thought for another day. The girls flee, and Iovniath doesn't chase them, though she does stalk over her eggs and loom threateningly above them as they flee. She hovers, particularly over the injured one; she curls a paw around it protectively and puts herself between the eggs and the entrance. But she's more concerned now with protecting her clutch than punishing wrongdoers: she'll leave that for her rider. |
Leave A Comment