Logs:Some Sort of Loyalty
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| RL Date: 18 May, 2009 |
| Who: A'son, Carobet, Tiriana |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: A'son just wants juice. But he gets more. Entangled, one again. |
| When: Day 10, Month 10, Turn 19 (Interval 10) |
| Tiriana shakes her head. "No, it wouldn't," she agrees, taking another sip of her juice. It's too early for anything stronger, and the place is half-empty in the morning, with both Carobet and Tiriana at the bar. "I think if I were Satiet, they'd leave me alone," she says after a moment, frown deepening. Carobet swirls the drink in her cup, watching the liquid move intently. "They might," she agrees, "But did they when Satiet first became Weyrwoman?" A beat, then the candidate clarifies: "Not that I knew her until... well, you know. The end. But from what I gathered, Satiet's image was something she created herself." Now /there's/ impudence, but for the first time this morning, Carobet seems bold. Break be damned. "It takes time." It's morning! A'son is not doing anything important, because he's here. He initially walks in with a far too chipper step to his walk. Oh hey, it's Carobet. And... Tiriana. That woman who hates him with a seeming passion. The chipper step is curtailed to a somber walk and he directs himself away from them. An empty spot on the bar is taken and he begins quietly ordering from the bartender, being as inconspicuous as possible. "I'm sure they didn't," is Tiriana's sour rejoinder. "She got it all right. They didn't /have/ to tell her how to fix it all." And she sulks then, sliding down in her seat a little more. The sound of footsteps this early in the morning makes her glance over her shoulder just to see who it is; when she sees A'son, it does nothing for her mood. She glowers at him. "Satiet wasn't perfect," Carobet says softly, as if aware that saying so-- especially to Tiriana-- is nigh on sacrilege. Tiriana's glance makes her look over in the same direction, and-- oh, look, A'son! Not exactly the same reaction, especially since she smiles in his direction. "Good morning," is added, directed towards the bronzerider... because clearly, Tiriana isn't having one. The bartender he's ordering from smiles over his shoulder to Tiriana. He even goes so far so to give her wave. Then he's looking at the bronzerider in front of him and saying cheerfully, "Weyrwoman is giving you the eye. Should say hello." There's a tightening of A'son's shoulders. Spotted. When Carobet sends him a greeting, his body if possible gets even tighter. Spotted and acknowledged. A sigh that they probably can't hear slips out from between his lips before he turns around in the chair. The drink that he's just recieved is lifted and waved at them. "Morning. Cheers!" Carobet calls back to A'son. "Cheers!" And downs the rest of her juice in one go. Suddenly, as if it dawns on her for the first time, "I have a message to deliver." Right, that's why she was here in the first place. And off she goes again, to (finally! actually!) do her candidate chores. Carobet has disconnected. "Oh, sure, now you run off." Tiriana, though the company doesn't seem to have been particularly welcome, looks more crestfallen when Carobet actually abandons her. Maybe it's just being left alone to A'son's devices. She fixes him with a glare. "So what do /you/ want?" she asks. A'son's devices seem to involve slowly swiveling his stool around and away from Tiriana, drink in hand. "To have a nice cold glass of juice before going back to sweeps, sweeps and more sweeps." He tells her. That swivel doesn't seem to stop at putting his back to her, it brings him around again to face her. "Then... why are you talking to me?" is her counter. Tiriana lifts a brow, leaning a forearm on the counter as she looks at A'son. "It's not like we're going to sit here and trade how-are-you's and talk about the kids until you have to go." "Carobet said hello to me. I said hello back. You asked me what I wanted, I told you." A'son shrugs his shoulders, still swiveling back and forth. He sips from his drink watching her with upraised eyebrows. "I don't have kids. Neither do you. At least I don't think you do. Do you?" "Of course /I/ don't have kids," Tiriana says, with a roll of her eyes. "It's obvious if I have kids. You, however--" But she doesn't finish that, just waves it off with a gesture. "Anyway, I was speaking metaphorically. That's what normal, boring people chat about, the weather and their kids and all that stuff." "Definitely don't have kids. But I get your point." A'son's shoulders roll and he places the glass down onto the counter. "Well. I guess since we don't like each other and at least one of us isn't boring and or normal, there's nothing to say." His eyes stay on her for a fraction of a second longer before spinning that stool away from her decisively. Tiriana shakes her head. "You can't really know," she says, confidently. "You don't get pregnant, unless you're even more of a girl than you act like." And she, too, seems content not to talk for several long moments. But eventually, without looking at him, she asks an out-of-the-blue question: "Has K'del talked to you?" A'son's mouth opens as if he's going to start objecting to this thing about kids. But he just shakes his head, back still turned to her. Those several long moments are blissful. He drinks from his glass, stares at the wall. His shoulders even look less tense. But then she's talking to him. The question gets him to turn around and look at her questioningly. "K'del? We've never spoken to each other." The bronzerider looks ready to turn away, but his feet fidget on the bar under his stool. Curiousity killed the cat. "Why?" "Or you really don't have any balls," is Tiriana's addition, a beat later. It's accompanied by her own smirk, one that quickly fades into an incredulous expression. "You've never talked to him? You're fucking the same girl and you've never talked to him. Now that's ballsless," she decides, snickering. This turn of the conversation is doing wonders for her bad mood. But the latter question, of her reasons? That's a little sobering. "About these thefts." "I just don't go around fucking random women who might hide pregnancies on me. Not big on surprise babies." A'son says with with a wiggle of his fingers. Like randomly appearing children is something even Tiriana could agree with him on. "Were. Not now. No reason to talk to him. Especially with that." He's got the 'all ears' expression on his face at the mention of thefts. Eyebrows lift he watches her expectantly from his spot. Slowly, "Right. Why would uh, K'del want to talk to me about them?" Tiriana snorts, doesn't look like she believes it at all. But, "Good. You can do better than that whore. Now--" and on to business matters, like she hasn't just insulted his girl. "Because. You took care of Crom." And she gives him a pointed look. A'son gives Tiriana an utterly perplexed look for the first part. It doesn't seem to get any better when she mentions Crom. In fact, he's just staring at her. There's some time before he finally answers, "It wasn't my idea and I didn't do it alone." He's looking her over, eyebrows furrowing together. "What exactly did you have in mind?" "Yeah, but N'thei's an asshole and I'd kill myself before I asked him for anything," snaps Tiriana in return. She frowns at him for a long moment before she actually tries to answer that question. "I don't know. Something. Nothing. Whatever--I just want those fucking thieves caught," she answers. "Caught and punished. K'del can't do shit about it, and I'm stuck here half the time now." A'son rubs his hand tiredly across his face. "I can understand that." He says in reference to N'thei. "He might not do it now anyway. Not without her." His eyes take to the floor before he's dropping off the stool. The seat Carobet vacated earlier is taken and he sinks into it uninvited. His fingers drum on the table while he stares at its surface. "We're expecting more tithes to come through?" He asks suddenly, looking up at her. "He'd laugh at me," Tiriana admits after a moment, flicking her almost-empty glass with her fingers, making it wobble just shy of tipping over. "Wouldn't do a damn thing except to impress her." She pushes the glass away outright then, while she sits back and breathes out heavily. "Not much more, but--we still have to try to get back some of what was lost. Except... never going to be able to do that. Don't know how else we're going to get them if we can't catch them in the act." "You're not the only one that he'd laugh at. Probably not something to take personally, if that's any consolation." A'son offers, watching her glass. "They're probably not holders." He decides, making circles on the table. "Regular people wouldn't know exactly what to take. Exactly /which/ wagons would carry what. /When/ would be a good time to go after a caravan. The weaknesses even with improved guard." His hand comes up to rub his face. "Maybe they'll do it again. Or something like it. We sucked hard not getting them the second time. They'll be much braver now." "Gee, that makes me feel loads better," and Tiriana rolls her eyes, huffing. It doesn't last, at least. She rubs her eyes with the heel of her hand, thinks. Finally scoffs, "Oh, you're a real wealth of information. I /never/ would have figured out that now that they've done it /again/, we look even more like their bitches." "Well, you're not exactly providing anything useful either." A'son feels inclined to point out. "You've got a bunch of renegades out there who know the trails and how to travel on them and surprise caravans. They know how to get shit and take off with it without getting caught." He keeps going, more face rubbing. "Stick some riders on the tithe trains. But keep the dragons way the fuck out of the way. Not advertised. In fact, actually." He laughs, mouth taking to a smirk. "Make us look like real bitches. Like we're running away. Stop doing anything you've been doing. Keep it on the downlow. Send someone undercover." The hand drops away. "And I don't know. If they attack, they'll be surprised as shit when a couple of dragons dive out of the sky and sit on their heads." Now this, this makes Tiriana's brows lift more, surprised. "You think--" she begins. She shoots a look around the almost deserted bar, as though a spy might be listening in as they speak. "That'd just look too suspicious. Us completely giving up? They know I'd never do that. Just... go talk to K'del or something. And... maybe round up some guys? Faranth knows nobody's going to follow /him/ anywhere." Scowl. "Maybe. Maybe. Maybe we pretend something happens. Something that changes everything. Lures them out more. Makes them even more brazen." A'son's lips twitch, like there's an idea there. When she shoots that look around, his eyes do their own sweep. "Guys should be easy to find, I hope." For talking to K'del he frowns, rubbing his face for the billionth time. "Do I have to talk to him? He's..." The guy who fucked his old girlfriend? Seventeen? The Weyrleader the Weyrwoman doesn't seem to have faith in? It all hangs there. Her mouth spreads into a broad smile, and Tiriana nods quickly, going along with that plan. Be's got her there, about K'del. She sighs, tells him, "He's an idiot. But I had to go talk to him so you go talk to him. Tell him I made you, if it makes you feel any better. He's /supposed/ to be the one putting a stop to this, but you can see just how well that's going at least." "He's..." A'son seems ready to jump or at least hop to K'del's defense. But then he's just shaking his head. "Right. I'll do it. Because you want me to." He's look away from her there, like he's not prepared to see whatever reaction she might have to do that. "I might tell him you punched me and told me to do it." "An idiot," Tiriana reaffirms. But A'son's agreeing, and that makes her expression both relax and turn just a trifle confused. "You will? I mean--you will. Of course. I /am/ the Weyrwoman," she recovers not so subtly. "I should black your eye, so it sounds more convincing. You're not saying that unless I get the pleasure of actually doing it." "You /are/ the Weyrwoman." A'son brings gaze back to her. The words aren't said hollowly. "And I'm one of your riders." Some sort of loyalty pledged here? Perhaps. What she says brings a lift of his 'brows before he's looking past her to the door. There are some people beginning to mill in. In a low conspiring voice, "Better make it /really/ convincing." Now he gets to his feet, loudly proclaiming, "There isn't a fucking chance that you'd get me to talk to that /idiot/. You're out of your batty little mind." "You are? I mean--you are." Tiriana is not catching on real quick on that front, though she does on the latter offer. She jumps off her stool in an instant, scowling as they fake their confrontation. "You fucking well will if I say you will," she shouts back. "And he's /my/ fucking idiot Weyrleader." Translation: she's the only one who gets to insult him. And with that, she aims a fist right at A'son's face, and doesn't pull her punch at all. In fact, she'll even try to get in another at his stomach, because she's just mean like that. How's that for convincing? A'son's head rocks back as he accepts his "unexpected" attack on his person. He blinks a couple of times and then oofs loudly at the actually surprise punch to his stomach. He stumbles close by her, "A little too convincing." He huffs out before starting to straighten. Steps are taken away from her shooting her a totally indignant look before saying, again loudly, "Fine. For what good it's going to do. /Weyrwoman/." There's a glare and he turns to stamp away (with a limp) out of the Snowasis, bumping into confused bystanders as he leaves." And Tiriana somewhat ruins the effect by just beaming at his back as he leaves. Until those confused watchers are looking at her, at which point she scrunches her face and scowls. "And stay out!" she yells after A'son, for good measure. |
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