Logs:Screw You, Dragon Dad
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| RL Date: 6 July, 2011 |
| Who: K'del, Taikrin, Tiriana |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Taikrin's in trouuuuble. |
| Where: K'del's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 23, Month 2, Turn 26 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Riorde/Mentions |
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| /Someone/ told. Maybe the watchrider saw Szadath leave, maybe someone saw Riorde mounting up while they were still on the ground. Whatever someone saw, someone reported-- and that would be why, as Szadath returns from the South, there's a sharp-edged jangle aimed in his direction. « Return her to the ground and come and see us, » he instructs. « Now. » Not exactly a cheery invitation. Or... really an invitation at all. Inside his weyr, K'del is waiting, his expression unreadable. Except: kind of pissed. That's probably obvious. And Taikrin? She looks sublimely pleased with herself. The pink that heralds mild sunburn probably has something to do with it, or maybe it's the fact that there's STILL sand in her hair and clinging to her hastily-redonned winter clothing. Either way, she manages to look sound innocent and a little confused about the summons as she stomps into K'del's weyr. "Weyrleader, sir?" She pauses by the entryway, reluctant to enter. "Szadath said you were lookin' for me?" Though K'del is seated, he rather pointedly does /not/ invite Taikrin to join him at one of the others. Nor does he offer her any of the klah that has - by the smell - so recently been made. Instead, he fastens a long and meaningful glance upon the brownrider, measuring her up and down, sand and all, before he wonders, "Was there a particular reason you took one of the exiles out of the weyr? Against my express orders? Some kind of emergency; something vitally important that required you both to be elsewhere?" Hint: booty call is not a satisfactory explanation. Apparently Taikrin has given this scenario a lot of thought -- or else, none at all -- because her immediate reaction of clueless befuddlement looks convincing enough. "Express orders, sir?" Surely not! She does draw into the weyr proper, enough to not require yelling, and instinctively takes up an attention stance with her arms behind her back... which dislodges a shower of sand onto K'del's nice stone floor. It's a good thing K'del has lower caverns staff to clean up after him. Though maybe he should demand Taikrin do it-- or maybe not. He gives the sand a glance, then turns his gaze back upon the brownrider. "Yeah. The whole 'exiles don't leave the weyr' thing? Remember that?" It'd seem casual, except that there's definite force behind his words. Taikrin hesitates momentarily, glancing down and to the side before responding tentatively, "That was, like, months ago. Surely it ain't /still/ in effect, yeah? 'Specially since I'm, you know, part of the Weyr. She was under supervision, didn't talk to nobody strange, promise." She can't help the little quirk of her lips at 'supervision'. 'Supervision'. K'del's expression tightens. Can he be forgiven for immediately jumping to conclusions? After all this time, he's got to know /something/ of Taikrin's proclivities. Her habits. "It's still in force. It's in force until I say otherwise. And /you/ should've known that. What, you just decided it would be more fun to leave? You didn't think anyone would notice?" "I didn't think it'd be a big /deal/-- didn't reckon anyone even cares. I mean, it ain't like they're our /prisoners/, are they?" Taikrin's presentation of naive innocence falters, a little, on that last note when her voice hardens. With effort, she relaxes her stance somewhat and tries out a ghost of her lopsided smile. "Anyways, 'cause it was, you know, such a long time ago. Figured probably we just didn't hear about how they was allowed to go when they were /supervised/. I mean really, what's she gonna do?" "Of course they're not /prisoners/," says K'del, sharply, as though this is an accusation he takes very seriously - and very personally. "There are /reasons/. Can't expect you to understand that, maybe, but I /do/ expect you to follow orders." He doesn't smile to match hers; if anything, he looks more annoyed by the presence of it. "You disobeyed my order. Can't trust you with them." "Hey, we didn't know!" Taikrin protests, all innocence once more. "Just a misunderstanding, you know? Didn't know it was an /order/." Placating now, though pretending to be 'soothing' is not one of her strong suites, and it shows. "Now I know, we won't be takin' her nowhere. Besides, I figure gettin' to see the, uh, ocean totally made her turn." Silence. Lengthy silence. And then? "Bullshit. You knew perfectly well, and you decided to ignore it for your own benefit." K'del is clearly not taken in by any of it, and is biting back words rather sharper than the (already sharp) ones he's expressing. "You need to stay away from them. /All of them/. You see an exile coming, you walk the other way. Got my eye on you, Taikrin, and frankly? I don't trust you." There's a moment of heavy silence, then, "Wait, what? All of them? You don't mean that--" Taikrin takes a couple of heavy steps further into the weyr, unpleasant surprise painted all over her face. "We didn't know-- and /that ain't fair/!!" "Bullshit it isn't fair." K'del is not so cool, right now. He's pretty pissed, in fact. He half rises in his chair, pauses, then rises the rest of the way, arms crossing in front of his chest. "And until I say otherwise, you and Szadath are grounded except for your normal duties. You report when you're heading out for sweeps, you report when you come back. And I'll /know/ if you're loitering elsewhere. You hear?" "What?!" From surprise to outrage, now, barely controlled. "That's not fair!" The color is rising in Taikrin's cheeks, beneath the burgeoning sunburn. "We didn't do /nothing/!" K'del's eyes roll, a gesture of barely contained scorn. "I'm fucking tired of putting up with everyone and their fucking stupid opinions," he says-- a pretty good indication that his anger has probably been a long time coming, and can't /all/ be thanks to Taikrin. Lucky woman, in the wrong place and the wrong time. "You disobeyed my order. Won't give you the opportunity to do it again." The last time Taikrin looked so primed for violence, she came back to the Weyr with a new knife scar. She goes still in that dangerous way that she used to do all the time, hasn't indulged in for nearly a turn now, and it's only with heroic effort that she doesn't explode in turn. Instead, her voice is low and husky and /angry/ as she responds, "This ain't fair, not even a little, 'cause these people AIN'T convicts and if they want to go see the ocean then we bloody flaming well ought to LET them and---" Jaws slam shut on the rest of her rant and she just stands there, breathing heavily through her nose. A certain amount of wariness is visible in K'del's expression, as though he's caught exactly how angry Taikrin is - how close to violence. He has to force himself to take a deep breath before he replies. "They're not convicts, no. They're not prisoners, either. But until I say they can leave the weyr, they're staying here." His voice, now, is very low, and very quiet. "They need time to adjust before they're released into the wider world. It's for the best. So you /will/ stay away from them. And you /will/ stick to the weyr, except when duty calls you elsewhere. Or you'll be hearing from me again. Do you understand, Brownrider?" "You're turning into the fucking bedroom guard, too?" Taikrin's voice remains low, and she stays oh-so-still. "Or maybe my weyr ain't a part of the Weyr, either? Or maybe it don't matter if she /loves/ me, it don't count 'cause we ain't gonna have loads of nice babies for the Weyr, huh?" She can't help it-- she has to push, on this point at the very least. "What if she's /asking/ to see me? Begging? 'Cause she needs me? You gonna go tell that poor little girl she ain't allowed?" Dubiousness is written all over K'del's faintly-pink cheeks; his eyebrows raise. "Oh, sure. You love her. /Love/ her. And your perfect love requires--" He breaks off. "Stay away from her. If you're good? Maybe I'll lift the restriction in a little while. But right now, I do not trust you with them." Teeth grit together so tightly that it's miraculous K'del can't hear the grinding. "What, 'cause I might lose her between or contaminate her before you--" Taikrin has good sense enough not to finish /that/ thought out loud, whatever her private opinions might be. "If I'm good, you'll lift the restriction. Right." Somehow, she doesn't seem to believe that. But then, she also seems to be accepting the verdict-- or at least relaxing into it, given that she doesn't QUITE seem as prepared to knife K'del there-and-then. Before he? But K'del doesn't finish the thought, either, and certainly doesn't raise the question verbally - just a lift of his eyebrows that rapidly drops again. Don't answer. "I mean it, Taikrin," he says, then, firmly. "You stay away, you do your duties and stay out of trouble, and we'll review the situation. But until then?" She knows. "Hope it was worth it." Taikrin refrains from snapping back, especially because it would probably be as pithy as 'screw you, dragon-dad'. The muscles in her jaw work as she tries to form a suitable reply, before finally spitting out, "Yes, sir. Are you going to tell her, or should I?" Because nothing would give her greater pleasure, apparently. "I'll tell her." K'del's quite calm about that. "What's her name?" Silence. Maybe more silence than might be appropriate for such a question, before Taikrin blurts, "Ri-- uh, Riorde." It's not /exactly/ pronounced properly, though maybe that can be blamed on her accent? Or on the fact that she's probably said that name all of once, ever, in her time of knowing the exile? K'del looks dubious, as if to say 'and you profess to love her?' Again, however, he evidently thinks better of actually /saying/ as much. "Dismissed, Brownrider." And suddenly Taikrin has the burning desire to be somewhere - anywhere - else. With a clipped, "Yes, sir," she turns smartly on one heel and moves to leave the weyr with all haste. Smart brownrider. Sort of. K'del watches her go, expression unreadable. But probably pissed. Good! Because Taikrin is probably pissed, AND she can't go and take advantage of her favorite outlet for excessive aggression. Later: To Iovniath, Szadath grumbles and complains and moans. « Cadejoth is the worst dragon-dad, he's interfering with our girlfriends. » To Szadath, Iovniath, curious, « Plural? » To Iovniath, Szadath amends, after a moment, « Our most recent one. We took her to the beach and had fun with her and then he said we couldn't take her anymore. » He's probably not talking about a dragon. To Szadath, Iovniath's interest is caught more by this, a dusting of snowfall smothering Szadath in motherly attention. « Why would he say this? » To Szadath, it's pretty incomprehensible. The again, his worldview is pretty simple, and it shows in his interpretation of events - filtered, as they are, through Taikrin's sense of outrage. « Because he doesn't like us and he wants to take our mate for his own. And he hates us. » (Szadath to Iovniath) To Cadejoth and Szadath, Iovniath projects, « Does he. » She mulls this a moment, then expands her thought-range just enough to include her mate within her iciness. « Do you hate our son, then? » » To Szadath and Iovniath, Cadejoth is far away, a rush of cold air tangling amidst his chains as Iovniath expands to meet him. « I do not! » he returns, then, unable to help himself but to show an image of the open skies, the winds and the currents swirling around him. « He broke the rule. » This much, at least, is firm. « When you break the rules, you have to be punished. » To Cadejoth and Iovniath, Szadath doesn't have that sulky teenager feel, but he /is/ displeased -- and, in an echo that can be felt through his bond, Taikrin is apparently pretty drunk. « He doesn't want us to enjoy our new mate. We found her! We caught her! We can fly her wherever we want. » So there, dragon dad! Rules, broken? That's an interesting twist, one that narrows Iovniath's attention to first Cadejoth, then Szadath, scrutinizingly. « What rules were these? » she wonders, her voice still light all the same. (Iovniath to Szadath and Cadejoth) Over the turns, Cadejoth has grown up, some, thankfully; he's not as cowed by Iovniath, not as unwilling to disagree. « We said the *exiles* were not to leave the weyr. That they were to stay on the ground, safe, until we said otherwise. » He's firm: it's not a cage, in his thoughts, despite the faint chink of chains. It's /safety/. « Yours should not have taken her outside the weyr. If she hadn't, we wouldn't mind! » And it makes him /sad/, Szadath. Do you hear that? /Sad/. (Cadejoth to Iovniath and Szadath) To Cadejoth and Szadath, Iovniath's mind takes a rapid turn toward absolute zero at the mention of exiles; the cold turns brittle, no wind or snow to soften its focus on Szadath. « You took an exile from my Weyr. » It's not a question. It's unusual for Szadath to be cowed; he'd never admit to it, but the echo of his mindvoice is dulled, quieted. « Everyone else is doing it, we were just helping. » A thought plucked from Taikrin's mind is offered, dripping with booze as it is. « They're not convicts and they should get to go on a trip if they want to, if we bring them back and we don't break them. » He adds, in his own mind-feeling, a little sulky, « We brought her back. » (Szadath to Iovniath and Cadejoth) Almost as soon as the cold arrives, it starts to fade, giving way to packed snow and then looser drifts that pile up against Szadath's mind. « My son, » she says. « We do not wish to /lose/ one, not so soon after we've found them again. And what if one should get broken after all? Yours is not always so careful with her toys. » (Iovniath to Cadejoth and Szadath) To Iovniath and Szadath, Cadejoth's chains ring like a bell. « The day will come, when we don't /mind/, » he puts in; the doting father, this time, not /angry/. Chiding, perhaps. « But you have to be patient. Your rider... » He'll trail off, let Iovniath's words suffice. To Iovniath and Cadejoth, Szadath can't exactly argue with that logic-- neither one of them is known for being /gentle/, after all. Still, « We wouldn't break this one, or lose it, she's so little. And she liked flying with me. » Image of Szadath, banking too-sharply over the ocean to shrieks of feminine delight. « I wouldn't break it! » After all, he managed not to break A SINGLE ONE of /his/ eggs. Surely that counts for, uh, something? « When the green is in season, you chase her. Why is it different? » To Cadejoth and Szadath, Iovniath, indulgently, offers, « You may fly her over the bowl, if you like; for ones such as them, even that is still exciting. » A beat, though, and a touch of white fur brushes against her son's mind, all too-soft caring for him and his drunkard rider. « I only hope that yours does not get broken, either, » she confesses. « These exiles have no love for us, nor gratitude either for the things we do for them. » To Iovniath and Szadath, Cadejoth projects, « But /not/ until we have given you permission to do so again. » Cadejoth is not going to let that one go: his rider would probably murder him. Or be pissed off. Something like that, anyway. « If you and your rider are good, it may not be long. » To Cadejoth and Iovniath, Szadath perks, temporarily, at Iovniath's reprieve. « She did like it, when we circled the bowl. Because you can see so far. » There's even a rebound in his enthuasiasm: in brief, a dull roar fills out the timbre of his mindvoice. « This one belongs to us. We caught her, it was fair. We should get to enjoy her until she picks a new mate. » It all dims, though, at Cadejoth's affirmation. « It should be soon, or else she'll just pick a new one and then we have to chase all over again. » And while Szadath is relatively popular amongst the greens? Taikrin is significantly less-so. To Cadejoth and Szadath, Iovniath reiterates, « They like it when you can do for them. » But it's all so indulgent you could almost miss the undertone there. « Which one was it you took, anyway, my son? You said she had been going with others, too? » Because there were definitely others doing it, he said. To Iovniath, Szadath doesn't actually have any clear idea about this 'others' business, aside from the sort of information that floats around in the draconic gossip pool. « This one. » Clearly his rider isn't so enamored of her exile if Szadath is reluctant to actually name Riorde. « One of the greens said she talked to a blue who talked to someone from Ista who-- » the gossip chain proceeds in that vague fashion, until he gets to the meat of the issue, « ... who said they met an exile at the hold when they were on watch duty. » To Szadath, Iovniath mulls this a moment, freezing the thought in ice so she can study it at her leisure. Then, she withdraws slowly, with just one last burst of snowflakes and crisp wind to swirl them. « That is very interesting, son. We will think on it. Please, though, let us know if you hear of this again; we don't want to risk our new finds, after all. » To Iovniath, Szadath doesn't withdraw, precisely, so much as split his attention towards where his too-drunk rider has just flamed out spectacularly with a greenrider. « Yes, we will let you know. » And, since Cadejoth has removed himself from the link, conspiratorily, « Tell me when we can chase our exile again; she is very good to catch. Better then Aralath's. » Who is now mocking poor Taikrin down in the Snowasis for her awesome failure. |
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