Logs:Happy Birthday, Taikrin!
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| RL Date: 22 September, 2011 |
| Who: E'gin, Rhaelyn, Riorde, Taikrin, Tiriana |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Happy Birthday, Taikrin! |
| Where: Snowasis, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 8, Month 11, Turn 26 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Meara/Mentions, V'teri/Mentions |
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| In a stark contrast to last year, Taikrin is quite alone on this turnday. There's no racuous party, no greenriders dancing on the tables, no free-flowing booze-- well, no. There is some free-flowing booze, but it only seems to be going into Taikrin's glass. Though she's cleaned herself up, she looks as if she's lost a significant amount of flesh since Iskiveth's flight; there are new hollows in her cheeks, and her pale skin makes the dark circles under her eyes more pronounced. She's off by herself, perched on a bar stool in the corner where she can quietly drink her way into oblivion. It is late when E'gin enters the Snowasis. Dark circles under his eyes accentuate the thinning of his face. Taikrin isn't the only one who's lost weight, but E'gin's seems healthier. Months of hard exercise have carved away the last of his boyhood chubbiness, only to be conquered by hardened muscle. Ever present charts are tucked up under his arm, he seems set on finding a quiet table in the back, there is too much noise in the barracks tonight to get work done, or perhaps - as noted by the look on his face - he just had to escape the place. Though his head turns as he passes Taikrin, watching the woman. Something is different. His purposefully march is re-directed toward the brownrider. He saddles up into a stool next to her, his only greeting is a look in the woman's direction and a silent nod. Riorde's not far behind E'gin, having spotted him at some point outside and now hurrying in to catch up. Her wool hat rides low on her brow, with dark hair tucked up under the rim in an effort to protect it from the drizzle outside. She pulls it off as she enters, giving her head a shake, then unbuttons her jacket as she tails the other weyrling, beelining towards the bar until she recognises what else lies at the end of his trajectory. "Hey El!" has already left her lips though; she hangs back a couple steps, interposing E'gin between herself and Taikrin. A faint flush reddens her cheeks -- or maybe that's from coming in out of the cold. By the time E'gin is pulling himself up into the next stool over, Taikrin has taken notice of his approach. She raises her half-full glass of whiskey in salute, though whether she actually /recognizes/ him as anything beyond a weyrling is-- doubtful. "Come to join the par--ty?" It's only at the end of sentence that she realizes who /else/ has showed up, and then she goes very still. Her glass is still up, mid-salute, for a good couple of heartbeats -- though her hand is wavering uncertainly in the air, and she stares around E'gin at Riorde like a deer in the headlights. With a jolt, she seems to come to some sort of decision, and looks determinedly back at E'gin. "They lettin' you drink yet, kid?" Taikrin may not recognize E'gin but E'gin surely knows Taikrin and he knows Riodre, what he doesn't know is that anything ugly went down. "A party! What are we celebrating?" He turns at his old nickname with a grin, "Ri! Come on, we're having a party." He waves two fingers at the barkeep and nods, "We're allowed a little." He points at the charts, "But I have to come up with formations so the night might be short for me." Riorde is still standing, uncommitted, on the verge of spinning around and walking away. Her startled expression quickly shifts into sullen discomfort, and rather than flee in haste, she takes up a position besides E'gin, leaning up against the bar. It's less permanent than sitting. "Party?" she repeats with traces of incredulousness. Her quick sideways glance accidentally includes Taikrin; she's hard to entirely ignore. Riorde occupies herself with looking for the barkeep as she asks E'gin, "You sticking us in the back again?" "It's my turnday, a'course. Twenty-six turns old today, so my mamma talls me," Taikrin informs E'gin, the slight slur in her voice an indication of how long she's been celebrating this evening. "I'll buy you a drink, then." Though her gaze flickers over to Riorde when her ex (HER EX) interjects, Taikrin seems pretty intent on pretending she doesn't even exist. "Formations! I'm good at those, me an' Szad." Apparently she noticed E'gin's knot, because-- "We did that whole silver-thing, too. Know what sorta stuff you gotta do. On account of it bein' my turnday an' me bein' generous, I reckon I could help y'out. If y'like." It's super passive-aggressive: SEE what you're missing out on?! It doesn't take long for E'gin to pick up what he has, literally and figuratively, found himself in the middle of. It is a role he is comfortable in and he seems to relax a little into something familiar. "Party! Yes," he nods, now informed of the event of the day, "I always imagined your parties were wilder Taikrin." He grins softly, "Especially when your still as young as twenty-six. This, this is what I imagine your 30th will look like." He shoots a glance at Riorde before answering Taikrin, "Oh, I would love took take you up on that, but you see I have this pride issue. I might ask for information about who rides like what but I have to fill them out myself. It is an issue, I know. /Pride/ always gets the best of me. You know. I'm working on my pride, but for now I'll do it on my own." He pauses, did either of them pick up on that, he doesn't give them time to respond, as the drinks he order are set before him. He hands one in the direction of Riodre, and shakes his head, "No, but I do have a question to ask you some other time." He raises the glass of whiskey, he has taken in his hand, to the ceiling, "To Taikrin on her twenty sixth turnday..." He whispers loudly towards Riodre, "Though I have a feeling she's lying, she doesn't look a day over twenty two." Back up right he grins, "Now lets drink, and not talk about formations at a party." Riorde is far too busy flagging down the bartender and watching him as he goes about filling her order to pay attention to Taikrin's conversation with E'gin. E'gin, who is conveniently a barrier blocking not just the sight of Taikrin, but the sound of her too. "All ears," she replies to E'gin dryly, except that she's barely seeming to pay attention. The comment on Taikrin's apparent age goes completely unremarked upon, though there's a narrowing in her gaze when E'gin stages that mock-whisper. Hands close about the ale pint set in front of her; for a minute, she lets E'gin's toast trail off unanswered. But then, lifting her pint, Riorde toasts too, finally looking back in the direction of her companions as she utters, "To Taikrin." Innocuous enough, her echo, except that Riorde's gaze goes straight to the woman in question. Straight to her /heart/! Taikrin can't help but meet Riorde's gaze, as much as she'd been trying to avoid it, and it's terribly sad and vulnerable and puppylike before something inside her hardens and forces her to smirk back. "You ain't gettin' in my pants that way, kid. Good try, though." Apparently she caught that whisper, though she seems to be taking it all in good humor. "You just let me know if you change your mind; ain't good for a weyrling to have too much /pride/. Might go around jumpin' to ideas he ain't got quite figured out. Bad ideas." She finally drains her whiskey, all in one go, and pounds the glass on the table as she demands more from the bartender before he can get too far. "Drinkin' it is! Somethin' I'm still bloody' shardin' good at!" Seems content that the two women can at least be here and not killing each other. If two women are fighting, it better be over him. He winks jokingly at Taikrin, "Ah well. It was worth the shot wasn't it?" Riodre gets an approving nod as he clinks his glass with her. The first sip of whiskey since before candidacy. He coughs slightly, tries to look more manly than one can after that happens. "Solid advice. I really shouldn't let my pride get in the way of...things." He leaves the vague word hanging in the air for a moment before shuffling the conversation another way, "Taikrin, this is your party! What would you like to do?" That little flash of Taikrin unmasked is more than Riorde wants to see. Unsettled, she glances quickly away once her toast is completed. She fails miserably at producing a smile for E'gin when their glasses clink -- to be fair, she doesn't really even try. Her shoulders slump as she leans both elbows against the bar, letting the glass rest after she takes a long swallow. "Ah, but you're our illustrious wingleader." The teasing rings of mockery. "Surely pride goes with the position." It's Taikrin's turnday today, which means that the lack of Glacier rambunctiousness is borderline-criminal. There's no wild party, no cheering and drunken shennanigans-- only Taikrin, alone, drinking in the corner. Or rather, she /was/ alone, until the weyrlings came along. Now it's Taikrin, E'gin, and Riorde, alone, drinking in the corner. "What do I want t'do? Now, that's a question I don't reckon anyone's asked me in longer'n I can right recall. What do /I/ want to do?" Is she looking pointedly at Riorde? Maybe, for a second or two. "I want to drink until I gotta have Szadath carry me home, and /maybe/ if I'm real lucky there'll be a cute greenrider in my bed waitin' for me. Naked. With fruit." That must be a thing, because she's glancing at Riorde again. Maybe Tiriana heard about the great party going on; probably not. It looks like she's just out for a little evening socializing on her own, as she saunters into the Snowasis and orders herself a drink at the bar. It takes the bartender only a couple of moments to get it made for her, which earns unappreciative looks for the other patrons waiting on drinks; but Tiriana flashes a smug smirk at them--the perks of being Weyrwoman--as she turns to glance about for a seat. Oh, look! Weyrlings. And Taikrin. She heads that way. "Not really." E'gin says almost shortly. "It's not like it is a permanent thing. It cycles around. I just like strategy." He points at the formation charts he set on the counter. "It's fun." As the conversation progresses the male seems less willing to put up the shenangians of the females surrounding him. As Taikrin continues on about drinking and naked riders, his jaw sets tighter. Finally he can't take it anymore, "You realize Riodre doesn't have a green right? Tension in here unbareable. Get over yourselves." He slams his empty glass against the counter, though the approaching weyrwoman stops any further scolding from the weyrling, instead he just waves a finger at it towards the barkeep. Rhaelyn heads up a short flight of stairs from the Weyr entrance. Rhaelyn has arrived. "You only want one greenrider?" Riorde has given up pretending to ignore Taikrin. She affects the tone of an innocent question. "Not two? Three? A whole wing?" The farce slides off her in the wake of E'gin's comment. Her hands fist as she straightens. "And thank /fuck/ I haven't got one, either," she snaps, with all her anger focused. "Won't be getting myself caught by the likes of you -- /or/ her." With her back to the entrance and on the verge of taking a swing, Riorde misses the Weyrwoman's approach. "One?" Taikrin seems startled at Riorde's question, and more than a little taken aback. It takes her a few seconds of gaping, mind churning furiously, before she can figure out what in the world is going on. Then, well. She gets a little mean. "A whole wing! Reckon I could handle it. At /least/ two or three, though. Because, you know, just /one/ ain't enough for me. " The statement is sharp, needle-pointed, and as soon as her whiskey glass is refilled? She's knocking the entire highball down her throat. Again. E'gin? Gets a withering look for his oh-so-obvious statement. "No shit, really? I know! Maybe we'll throw in a goldr-- uh." It's just at this wonderfully-timed sentiment that she catches Tiriana approaching their special little corner of the bar from behind Riorde. It's probably a testament to how drunk she is that she can pick up without much of a hitch. "Weyrwoman! Come t'join my turnday party?!" Even Tiriana isn't so oblivious as to miss the hostility in the air, and she glances from the two weyrlings to the drunk rider with her brows slowly going up. "Throw in a what?" she asks, with a snort more bemused than anything else. "And here I didn't get you anything, either. Guess I'll just have to go wait naked in your weyr to make up for it?" "Oh shards, Ri ~ You can't even take advice from people who care about you." It is more of an exasperated statement from E'gin than anything else. Taikrin doesn't even get a response, his gaze levels on hers and he simply stares. The corners of his lips raising just slightly in a frustrated sneer. The lack of sleep, the late hour, and the infuriating company, has started to settle in, he crosses his arms on top the bar and leans forward. Waiting silently for his glass to be refilled. The gold rider's entrance gets a rather forced grin, "Weyrwoman." People shouldn't look so cheerful and happy! It should be a crime that a weyrling looks this way. Rhaelyn comes in with pink in her cheeks and a big smile on her lips. Spotting familiar faces she heads over to the birthday celebrations without hesitation nor indication that she's noticed the friction in the room. "Juice please good sir." She gives a warm smile to the man behind the counter who levels a steady and measuring look at Rhae. "Did I hear 'birthday'?" Even alerted to Tiriana behind her, Riorde can't resist a pointedly muttered retort following Taikrin's 'throw in a goldrider': "If you can manage it." She can be mean, too. At least E'gin hasn't incited Riorde to following through on her unspoken threat of violence. Dampened, she leans against the bar again and leaves it for someone else to answer Rhaelyn. Apparently she can totally manage it. Taikrin smiles brightly -- and drunkenly -- at Tiriana, though her manner is more comradely than flirtatious. "Hey, sounds like the best kind of present to me. /I/ sure ain't gonna complain. I look good with gold. Goes with my color." Her gaze slips off the Weyrwoman to Riorde, again, with more pointed mean-ness. Louder, to the bartender, "Hey, a drink for the Weyrwoman! Didn't you hear, it's a party?" Look, she can be generous, too, Even to Rhaelyn, who she spots right after she finishes yelling at the bartender. "And one for Rhaelyn, too-- it ain't a /proper/ birthday without a greenrider. How /you/ doin', Rhaelyn?" It doesn't matter that she's shouting right over both Riorde and E'gin's heads-- there is a /greenrider/ to greet. "Drinks for everyone," Tiriana corrects Taikrin's call to the bartender. "It's Taikrin's birthday!" She can be super-generous, and at least the weyrlings are old enough for a drink or two now, right? The bartender, at any rate, gives the partiers a long look before he sets up making a round. "How many have you had already, exactly?" Tiriana asks Taikrin in the meantime: curious, not disapproving. "I give up." E'gin pushes his stool out, gathering up his charts he waves to the 'tender, "Not for me, thank you very much all the same weyrwoman." He waves the charts once in the air, "Have to get back to work." He turns around to find himself face to face with Rhaelyn. "I..." He pauses, that staple grin spreading back across his face, lead by example right? "I hope you had a very nice lunch, have fun at Taikrin's party." He calls out to Taikrin as he leaves, "Have a good turnday party." E'gin heads to the patio ledge. E'gin has left. "A real drink?" Rhaelyn sounds particularly delighted. Part of that delight has got to be from the extra special greenrider-greeting. She hitches up one hip and gives her head a proud little toss. Just in time to flaunt for E'gin too, and she ups it a bit. "Ooh, I /did/ and...I /will/." Even if he ducks out before she can really see the result of the fun at his expense. "Oh, leadership has made him /so/ uptight." Riorde, who has been trying to finish her pint as quickly as possible without drawing attention to the fact that she's angling for an exit, sticks around out of sheer stubbornness. The presence of persons of authority - namely, Tiriana - makes Riorde aim for inconspicuousness; the only thing she does that might draw attention to her is nudge out the stool E'gin was sitting on, in case Tiriana wants a seat. Also, conveniently, that would maintain a shield against Taikrin. Taikrin is feeling malicious, now, bolstered by her successes. She seems not the least bit perturbed by E'gin's exit; she even smirks at Riorde and slides over /herself/ into that empty chair, so that she can gesture Tiriana into the one she's just abandoned. So there! While she's sliding, "Since, uh. Half past lunch?" Which is a long time, given that dinner has since come and gone. For Rhaelyn, she confirms, "Why not! Come an' sit with us." Aw, look, she's even patting her knee. It's the special greenrider seat, after all! "Leadership classes're gettin' to a /lot/ of people, seems like." She's not looking at Riorde, she's not looking at Riorde, she's not-- "Wonder if they're all gonna make it through?" "Coward," Tiriana decides of E'gin when he leaves; clearly, she is more intrigued than anything by the still obvious current of hostility. She even sprawls herself down in Taikrin's offered chair, making herself at home while the bartender brings over a fresh round of drinks for all of them. "You think they won't?" she wonders, the latter to Taikrin, though she's looking at, and sizing up, Riorde instead. "Wouldn't really expect them to be able to cut it in the first place; don't know why Meara picked half of them." Rhaelyn's eyes flick to Riorde to see how she's taking Taikrin's offer and then to the patted knee. "I imagine they will bruise themselves raw trying to prove they can do it. And defy the odds and opinions of the weyr." Is offered as opinion to the batch of leadership candidates. There's no lack of smugness in her tone, good not being the leader you see. "So glad it's not me." Coming in closer she decides to be an evil bitch and she slides right up and onto Taikrin's lap and loops an arm around the brownrider's shoulder to help climb/crawl up there. "So, what are we drinking?" "Here," Riorde says, and suddenly she's getting up, vacating her place for Rhaelyn and generously gesturing her into it. "Have my seat." She's clearly about to leave (and take one of the newly arrived drinks with her), and it's only Tiriana's summarised opinion of E'gin that keeps her from going, now trying to look unconcerned as she stands alongside-- then, as Rhaelyn sits (but not in her seat), sitting herself right back down without a glance Taikrin's (and Rhaelyn's) way. Instead, she looks back squarely at Tiriana, gaze direct, jaw set. "Meara likes t'give people a chance," Taikrin allows gruffly; she did, after all, give Taikrin herself one. But then Rhaelyn's sitting in her lap, and she's looping an arm around her waist absentmindedly; it's the best way to keep a greenrider onto her lap, after all. "Sometimes I reckon maybe she's too optimistic-like. Here, Rhaelyn-- try this?" The bartender has just poured Taikrin another whiskey, which she generously offers to the weyrling in her lap. Meanwhile, she looks over her shoulder at that /other/ weyrling, and her expression is empty behind the smirk that's been pasted there. "Such a nice girl, ain't she? Helpin' me celebrate my turnday proper-style?" "Much too optimistic," Tiriana agrees. "Faranth, all we got this time was exile fuck-ups, not even fun fuck-up slike you." It's a compliment. Really. She reaches for her own drink, taking a long swallow of it before she leans back in her chair again. Taikrin and Rhaelyn in her lap are studied a moment, and then Tiriana glances at Riorde again. "I'd offer to let you sit on me, in return, but I don't really go that way and anyway, I'm taken." Beat. "Although R'uen probably wouldn't mind much if he got to watch, but still." Rhaelyn is trying to get into her expected role as greenrider, at least to take advantage of free drinks and attention. "What harm can it do really? I mean, E'gin is so cute with his ideas and earnest eagerness." The tone is heavy with contempt and amusement. She squirms slightly on the brownrider's lap, clearly not accustomed to lap-sitting. Her greenrider skills are weak. "Well, not all of us exile fuck-ups were selected. You should be grateful for that." She shifts attention back to Riorde, "You're in the leadership program right?" one leg swings as she leans in to have a sip of the offered drink. If Tiriana's trying to provoke Riorde, the weyrling is being highly uncooperative and won't play nicely. A twitch brings her expression out of complete impassivity in the second following the summary naming as exile fuck-ups. "Pity." She turns finally to study Taikrin, and Rhaelyn with her; the other weyrling's question goes unanswered, for now. "Very nice of her," she agrees, almost genial. "Though something seems off..." She sets her drink down and slides off her chair, head tilted to one side as if considering them both. Then, quick as a tunnelsnake, Riorde strikes: she aims to give the both of them a hard shove off the barstool. "Yeah, well--" says the most charming fuckup-- it IS a complement, and one that has Taikrin grinning her charmingly lopsided grin, "They can't /all/ be as awesome as--" at that point it devolves into a wordless yelp, because she's completely overbalanced on her stool by the time of that shove. Down she goes, ass over teakettle, and with her arm wrapped so securely around Rhaelyn's waist, well, the green weyrling is probably coming with her. At least they're oriented such that Taikrin will probably be on the bottom (hah) this time? Oh, it's so unfair. And the night was going so /well/ too! Rhae's eyes fly open wide as Ri attacks! As her brownrider-seat slips out from under her and the stool right along with it, whiskey sloshes out of the glass and all over her and Taikrin. "SHIT!" With a twisted scowl, Rhaelyn launches the glass full of whiskey at her fellow weyrling. It's a little too well aimed to just be a random toss. For a brief moment, there's nothing but surprise written on Tiriana's face, and she freezes where she is, glass halfway to her mouth. "Weyrling," she begins, but she can't go anywhere else with that. Not because she's too disappointed, or too angry, to follow up her words to Riorde. Nope. The Weyrwoman is now laughing too hard for anything else. "See, that's better," Riorde says, stepping back quickly to get out of the way of flying legs and barstools, though not quickly enough to get out of range of Rhaelyn's drink. Riorde calmly wipes whiskey off her face with the edge of her hand, looking far more satisfied than upset. She takes Tiriana's laughter as a sign of having gambled correctly, and reclaiming her drink, the weyrling surveys Taikrin and Rhaelyn once more. "As I recall, you prefer to end up on the floor." It's a good thing Taikrin's had the wind knocked out of her, or there might be hell to pay. As it is, she's having a hard enough time getting her breath back from around that pointy elbow of Rhaelyn's that somehow ended up lodged in her diaphragm. Oops. Beneath the croaking and gasping for breath, she certainly doesn't LOOK too amused. At least she's no longer holding onto Rhaelyn? "Yeah, real smooth." Rhaelyn grumbles as she rolls off of and away from Taikrin. Whiskey soaked hair falls over one side of her face as she peers towards the laughing weyrwoman and then over at Riorde. "What's wrong with you? No, don't waste your breath." A slow sweep of her hand through her damp hair and then the greenrider is slowly getting to her feet. "You ok Taikrin?" Slowly turning back to check how much damage her boney-bits might have done. To Sforzath, Smug satisfaction almost covers Riorde's bitterness. But nothing's hidden from you; instead, layer after layer is plain to perceive, the pleasure papered over the hurt pride, the pain. « That's how we do it. » Meant as instruction, somehow it sounds more as affirmation. Yes, this is how they do it, hiding guilt even from themselves. « Wait until the right moment, then hit back. » Tiriana, enabler: "More drinks." She flags the bartender down, gestures to Rhaelyn and Riorde now that liquor's been thrown and wasted. This time, the bartender is not nearly so snappy in getting them out, although he seems to be a little too wary of the Weyrwoman to actually cut them off. "Weyrling," Tiriana begins again, in the meantime. "Is that any way to treat your elders and betters? Didn't your damned exile nannies teach you about kiss-and-make-up, shit like that?" She's definitely amused now, just watching the pair smugly as she eggs violence on. "Your fault you got in the way." Riorde's unconcerned about Rhaelyn, shrugging her off right before she tosses back her tumbler of whiskey. Apparently another round's coming; Riorde can't back out now. She watches Taikrin, smile receding. Tongue-in-cheek, to Tiriana: "We were far too uncivilised to have exile nannies." Coughing roughly for breath she might be, but that won't stop Taikrin from gingerly getting to her feet once Rhaelyn's climbed off of her. There's a baleful glare for Riorde (did you REALLY have to do that?), but she manages to stop coughing long enough to dump the next drink straight down her throat, too, as the very first act of being newly-upright. "'M fine," to Rhaelyn, followed by a barbed comment to Tiriana that's mostly free of coughing: "Likes it rough, anyways. S'like foreplay." Cough. "Should see how they are when they really gotta have a go." "Really? I was in your way?" Rhaelyn's head tips to one side and then laughs softly, untroubled as she goes to get her next drink. This one she drinks in silence, watching over the rim of the glass, eyes twinkling in amusement. "Apparently," Tiriana agrees, easily enough with that. "I think I broke V'teri's back like that, once." Good times, to judge by her smirk at the memories. When the bartender arrives with the fresh round, she finishes off her drink and reaches for her refill in short order. "Really? Fucking exiles--they're twisted. I'm not surprised," she tells Taikrin. Riorde meets Taikrin's glare coolly, with any possible traces of guilt or second-thought well hidden. "Could have sat elsewhere," she points out to Rhaelyn. She plays with the glass that the bartender slides her way, not drinking immediately. "Well - she's fine." In the wake of Tiriana's remark, Riorde's glance slides to Taikrin and, for a moment, lingers there with a sudden twist of doubt. She didn't mean to break any backs. "Thank you for the drinks." Polite when it suits her, Riorde takes her leave, along with the whiskey, with every intention of nursing it outside before heading back to the barracks. "Yeah, well, y'know me--" only when Riorde is leaving can Taikrin allow herself to look at the weyrling's retreating back with remorse (and maybe a little guilt), though it doensn't reflect in her voice. "-- I like it a little twisted. More fun." By the time she's looking back at Rhaelyn and Tiriana, she's all crooked grins and smiles, even as she's working the last few coughs out of her system. Barkeep, another whiskey! "You alright, Rhae?" because now they're on such friendly terms that Rhaelyn suddenly has a nickname, "Didn't mean t'be gettin' you all dragged up in all of this." To Taikrin, Szadath is all ice-cold and flame-hot fire at once. « Your green, » he urges, « go catch her. » His need is burning, a red-hot presence trapped in the back of Taikrin's head that itches and twitches and refuses to be ignored. « Otherwise, go chase another one. » Riorde or Rhaelyn, either image-- they're all the same, to Szadath. There's a laugh at that and shrugs up her shoulders, "I'll have to remember that. Just push people who are sitting where I don't want them to. Good leadership skills." Rhae watches her departure before turning back to Taikrin, "Dragged me into it?" Her eyebrows lift as she shakes her head, "It's fine. Don't worry about it." She crinkles her nose at the smell of liquor on her, "I think I should go get cleaned up though." With Rhaelyn on her way out, too, Tiriana nods to her, offers a surprisingly civil, "Weyrling," in parting. Then, her attention slides back to the poor injured brownrider at her side. "We should go somewhere," is the Weyrwoman's sudden decision, with an earnest look at Taikrin over the rim of her glass. "Get out of this place for a while. I know this great shady bar down south." To Riorde, Sforzath listens well -- to everything. « Like that, » he agrees. « You should be happier about it. » Fierce, blanketing affection spreads: here, he can make you happy again. Whole. Riorde goes home. Riorde has left. Poor Taikrin. Abandoned by her actual girlfriend and by her greenrider-of-the-night. At least Tiriana still loves her. Right? "Thanks, Rhae. You're too sweet." Taikrin is gingerly sitting her butt down on the stool, pursing her lips to blow a kiss to Rhaelyn when Tiriana catches and holds her attention. "Yeah?" So what if she's /almost/ too drink to sit a dragon? There's a lot of flexibility in that 'almost'. "Reckon I'm game. Been floating around this shardin' place too flamin' long." "C'mon," and Tiriana is reaching to grab Taikrin by the arm and haul the brownrider along. She, at least, is mostly just good and tipsy at this point, though that last drink at least has probably not quite hit her system yet. "We'll take the watchdragon; don't trust either of us to make it back in one piece otherwise, and anyway, Iovniath doesn't want to be seen with us, I don't think." Taikrin is very easy to haul around. Especially if the person doing the hauling is a goldrider. Even /more/ so if it's Tiriana. "Sure, sure," she says, though she looks a little mournfully at the High Reaches' oh-so-familiar whiskey stock. At least she can more or less keep her feet, even if she is knocking into things every fifth step. "Szadath don't mind, he likes a good drink-and-rumble." She's not so gone into her drink that she won't be a riot-a-minute wherever they're going, though, full of twice as much vim and vigor as usual, to make up for the previous month's lack. So, off they go, to meet up with the watchdragon Iovniath's already called down for them. And without a gold announcing just who's visiting, it's a whole lot easier to go incognito: which is exactly what Tiriana has in mind, when they had for the sketchy speakeasy buried far down in the caverns of Tiriana's first home. |
Comments
V'teri (Satiet) left a comment on Fri, 23 Sep 2011 06:38:09 GMT.
Tiriana would get all happy thinking about giving someone a near-fatal injury.
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